City, Class, Capitalism, And Tales Of Resistance: Shree 420 And Jagte Raho

“Imaan bechna chahta hoon” from Shree 420🍸 (1955) encompasses the angst and the hope of India eight years after independence. This was the time when the country reeled under poverty but held to its chest the ideas of righteousness, hard work and dreams of leading comfortable, respectable lives. The film recognised early the class divides and corruption that was disillusioning the young, educated, diligent population. The lack of opportunities pushed them into crimes for survival, but at the cost of identity and morals.

Shree 420 (1955) and Jagte Raho🐲 (1956) are critical films in Raj Kapoor’s filmography. Both these films are deeply political and laced with foresight. They are searing commentaries on the inherent inequality, unemployment and suffocating class disparity. It is agonising that these divides have only deepened in present day India, 78 years on. Footpaths are still homes to the underprivileged, seeking refuge in the shadows of looming buildings that are seats of power, wilfully blind, comfortably deaf.

As we celebrate Raj Kapoor’s centenary, both these films must be revisited repeatedly for their gaze. In popular Hindi cinema where stories of the common Indian, the underprivileged and ostracised ones have been eclipsed, these films are a relentless commentary on their struggles. These are those who intentionally want to make an honest living but are denied repeatedly, by water tight systems that only answer to power—that can be bought and sold by money, and that is corrupt and only hungry for more. This disparity forces an Indian to eventually give up his most prized possessions—his beliefs that there will be space and opportunity for an honest man, willing to make an honest living. The morals of Nehruvian India tie the protagonist of the films, with the moral compass eventually being a brave and righteous woman, who discards his wealth when the means are dubious. These socialist morals have been depicted to be so strong, that the protagonist chooses a life of penury and oblivion over those of comforts procured through problematic means. Cinema all through the late 1970s carries these morals, as we see the triumph of ‘good’ over ‘evil’ when Vijay (Amitabh Bachchan) of Deewarꦰ dies eventually, and India prides itself in always choosing the right, over the tempting.

In both Shree 420 and Jagte Raho, the city of Mumbai is a character. A relentless, unforgiving, cold city that clutches opportunities only for power; that pushes people to the ground, to footpaths, to survive— almost doing them a favour. In Jagte Raho, we see an even colder version of the city that does not allow a simple man some water. The metaphor of the dog quenching his thirst and the man being labelled a thief for this basic ask is a stark one. The films symbolise the movement into cities, where everyone comes with hope and ambition. Yet, if honest, they are sentenced to a life of struggle. The monologue by the beggar who introduces Shree 420’s Raj to Bombay (M Kumar), explains the ruthlessness of the city. The films are set on footpaths, streets and a high rise building, where angry young people are baying for a thief’s blood. The city in both cases is shown to come across as an impenetrable fortress that opens its doors only to privilege, without checking its means. However, the city itself as a public entity is palpable. The police in both cases is showcased as an upholder of law with empathy, which is the final custodian of what is considered a crime and what is not. The imagery of Bombay, the angles at which the films have been shot at (building heights in Jagte Raho on a circular staircase, or the beach on which Raju sleeps in Shree 420🦋, woken up by a wave), is testimony to the alienation felt by anyone new in the city.

In both films, the crony capitalist named Seth Sonachand Dharmanand (Shree 420), and Ramnarayan Babu (Jagte Raho)- played by Nemo, carry names that symbolise moralistic purity. Both films are populated with such symbolism. With Vidya (Nargis in Shree 420) symbolizing everything right and with a name that means ‘knowledge’, and Maya (Nadira) being the temptress, symbolising money, power and societal respect. Symbolism is rife across dialogues and visual grammar. In Jagte Raho, before the attempted escape, there is a cut that looks at Jesus on a cross—symbolising crucifixion of an innocent by a crowd. The dialogues of Shree 420🥀 are deep, poetic, simple, yet full of symbolism, especially at the raddi wala’s shop—given what it is that we choose to sell and why, to survive.

Both films are deeply socialist in nature. They speak of community and togetherness in different contexts, but still hold power accountable at every stage. They speak of opportunities by and for the collective—the strength they have when together and not as individuals. It is the win of the disempowered oppressed, that they change to mean power as they come together to fight for what they deserve and desire. Powerful images—of Raj in Shree 420, as he calls out to the homeless talking of the potential of Rs 1 crore for Janta Ghar, or the nameless voiceless peasant in Jagte Raho,🎶 who finally uses his voice atop the terrace with a danda in his hand, talking of what actually thievery means—are ones that stay with us long after the films are over. The dialogues insisting that the privileged reflect on what it costs to be underprivileged in this country are sonorous in their simplicity and hard hitting in their call.

Jagte Raho is a braver film than Shree 420. It breaks all idioms of a conventional film. The protagonist is a bystander and through his eyes, we watch the tales of the rich. We watch wide-eyed, the open corruption and lies that populate our worlds, masquerading as the benevolent or the respected. There is no dialogue other than pleading from the protagonist until the end of the film. We also don’t get to know his name, in keeping with the symbolism of being just another peasant, voiceless in a sea of oblivion that is India. The film is set in a single building, tightening its playing field and therefore restricting its visual grammar, and yet the pace of the film never falters. The strong edit in the hospital sequence and a background score that keeps the tension going don’t make the 3 hour run time feel long. In 1956, to create such cinematic experiences with courage is testimony to the respect filmmakers had for the appetite of the audience. The songs of Shree 420, like ‘Dil ka haal sune dilwala🔯’ are rich, powerful, deep commentaries on the struggles of the day, still relevant and deeply simple. These are songs and dialogues of protest, laced with the lived experiences and societal truths that we often find hard to articulate.

ꦚWhile Raj Kapoor has been called the greatest showman of Hindi cinema, it is imperative to note that he was also a deeply political artist in the early years of his filmmaking career. By design, he created cinema that put under the spotlight the struggles of the oppressed, across gender. He looked at India the way Gandhi, Nehru did, hoping for an equitable world where respect, means and opportunities would be for all; a country he hoped would be a home for all. His was a vision that has been completely killed by the politics of the day. Today, when disparities are chasms, revisiting these films remind us of that dream, and the part we must play to restore the vision, and realise it.