Pushpa

The rise of everything that is wrong with us

This is an un-review. If something like this exists. I am sure what you will read here has not occurred to me alone, and yet let us reiterate it here in words, as we are all culpable in the crime of watching the movie and making it into a blockbuster.

Yes, I understand entertainment. Yes, I understand fandom also. I very well understand the sentiments of Allu Arjun Fans for dying to watch the film. No pun intended here. But the sheer number of things that are wrong with Pushpa -2 (or Pushpa: the Rule) made me actually question our society’s sense of morality.

Of course, this is an opinionated piece, and you are free to disagree and comment and argue with me on it. Or you are free to tell me to stop taking Pushpa so seriously. After all, movies like these do not reflect reality, right? Well then.

To begin with, our hero Pushpa thrives on a corrupt, morally decaying system. He operates a syndicate that smuggles precious homegrown red sandalwood to foreign countries, deceiving, bribing, and beating his way through every layer of the system—from start to finish. He is our own Pablo Escobar, and runs with two usool, plato-o-plomo - bride or bullet to those who dare oppose him (or in this case, bombs, knives, lathi, feet or whichever instruments of violence are available).

The first part of Pushpa still made sense—it depicted how a poor laborer breaks a powerful nexus and monopoly, rising through intelligence and sheer courage. We might have even cheered for this Pushpa: the Rise, until it spirals into Pushpa: The Rule, stretching logic to absurd proportions.

In one outrageous scene, he is shown to have bribed an entire police station (from top officers to constables, every single one left their jobs by taking the money) to free his laborers who were caught smuggling red sandalwood. And while I still would offer my sympathies to the laborers, who were after all working for a paltry wage, the idea of dismantling an entire edifice of law and order was deeply unsettling. Some might argue that he is merely exploiting an already corrupt system, but shouldn’t that make him an opportunist? Not a god, certainly. Not even a leader.

While we see his rise within the syndicate—with more violence and a few cunning tactics to eliminate his rivals—there is little explanation given in the movie for his immense popularity among the public. He rises from the working class to become a leader, but beyond throwing money and gifts at people, does he actually improve the lives of the laborers? Does he implement better policies, provide better housing, or bring any real change?

In another, he upstages the existing Chief Minister and replaces him with another political leader who is willing to do his bidding.

Why? Because this Chief Minister refused to click a picture with him which his wife requested (more on this later). The entire process is, once again, driven by bribes—without even the pretense of political maneuvering. In Pushpa’s world, everything works with a sofa stuffed with cash.

I am not a stickler for rules, in fact I usually enjoy movies which show the hero or heroine standing up to the establishment, breaking unfair rules to achieve justice or equality.

I’m sure the filmmaker intended this to appear like a working-class underdog who rises through sheer grit, challenging the status quo. But sadly, what we see instead is the unchecked arrogance of a criminal—one that we’re expected to tolerate simply because our politicians and police are just as corrupt. Pushpa’s world has limited choices, and yet everyone is happy.

Pushpa’s entire struggle revolves around his so-called illegitimate status. Born to parents who were not legally married, he and his mother endure the relentless stigma and shame that society imposes on them. He is denied school admission, and the resulting anxiety manifests in his signature one-shoulder-up posture. We understand his pain—it is deeply unfair for a child to face such prejudice.

Yet, Pushpa’s anger is never directed at the father who chose to bring a child into this world without ensuring security or stability. He does not resent the man who abandoned him or mistreated his mother.

Contrast this with Amitabh Bachchan’s character in Deewar. He was angry with his Father for almost all of his life because the father abandoned his family and his mother. That variety of bravery is vintage now. No, it is dead and buried.

Pushpa repeatedly proclaims that his name, Pushpa, is a brand in itself—an assertion driven home in the film almost absurdly often. But that doesn’t stop him from yearning and bawling for the family name of those who tormented his mother. Of course it did not occur to him that he can use his mother’s surname (which is not even felt worthy of mention in the movie). Or for that matter her own name as a suffix after his name.

His mother’s stance is even more baffling. Showing vulnerability of women in such situations is one thing, and glorifying their lack of self respect in the name of generosity, such that it almost makes one feel that this person really has something to be ashamed of, is another.

In the end, the movie uses the good old troupe of ‘protector of women’ to redeem Pushpa in the eyes of his brother. His brother’s cold heart finally melts when Pushpa rescues his niece from a horrific act of sexual violence.

The movie thus makes it clear that nothing is really worth living (not even the obscene amount of money Pushpa amasses) if you don't have a khandaan (family) name. The message is clear - if there is one thing that rules over Pushpa’s rule - it is Patriarchy.

Speaking of which, neither his mother nor his wife ever question his rising power, prosperity and the constant influx of armed men in and around his house. Pushpa claims to listen to everything his wife says - because she clearly doesn't say much, and which is of any real importance to his business. As Pushpa’s pan stuffed dialogue goes - tum bayko log kabhi kabhi kuch mangte ho apne Pati say (you wives hardly make any demands to your husbads). She asks for a photo with the Chief Minister and he stages a coup to place a CM which would do it. Wow, you say. What a loving husband.

I wonder if he would be willing to throw away his own syndicate and business if she ever called him out on his illegal activities. Or if she were to remember that she was once financially independent and decided to reclaim that life. Yes, the actors share electrifying chemistry, but before you gush over Shrivalli calling her husband Sami Sami being ‘sooo cute,’ take a moment—Sami means Swami, my Lord. Yep.

I am not at all averse to movies which are rather senseless in action or drama, we need these potboiler entertainers once a while, there is too much sadness in the world to show the real picture. But a film that glorifies violence and corruption as heroism while actively reinforcing outdated gender roles to elevate its male protagonist on the top isn’t entertainment. It is a propaganda of a specific set of values that the society hasn't come out of.

“Aisa Gharwala mil jaye toh Gharwali Maharani”. God forbid.