Mixed feelings: the Anglo-Indian identity and its portrayal in film

Films frequently rely on stereotypes and visual metaphors to portray Anglo-Indians, with characters reflecting societal prejudices and colonial legacies. While some films offer more nuanced depictions of the community’s complexities, others continue to romanticise colonial-era aesthetics

Films trade in visual shorthand and stock characters. An evil slinkiness to the dress, a tantalising redness to the lip. A Swaminathan rendered funny by his Tamil accent, a Ms. Braganza leading a convent school choir in a hymn. Movies take liberties with portrayals and stereotypes — a modern young woman is rendered Christian or Parsi to justify a perceived Westernness (even more recent movies, such as 2012’s Cocktail, give their free-spirited heroine a Western name, as if offering a soothing justification to the more orthodox).

Some, perhaps braver, filmmakers have ventured into a more nuanced territory, peering into the worlds of minority communities often relegated to the background of the film universe. Of these, some narratives have centred on the Anglo-Indian community, the increasingly dwindling group of people in India who claim both British and Indian parentage.

1975’s Julie trades in these visual metaphors. Like many minority depictions, it both describes and circumscribes. Anglo-Indian heroine Julie, portrayed by Lakshmi, is sweet of face, charming of disposition, and short of skirt. Her characterisation is what old-timers would deem everything wrong with “kids these days,” a glimpse at a persistent present prejudice with very traceable roots. Her father is an alcoholic and her family drinks to celebrate occasions. As with all heroines, many flirt with her, but there is an air of permissiveness seemingly explained by her Anglo-Indian identity.

A similar feeling is apparent in Bhowani Junction (1956), a Hollywood adaptation of an eponymous novel that follows the path of Anglo-Indian Victoria Jones (played by Ava Gardner) on the cusp of India’s independence, as she struggles to find a place where she belongs. Multiple slurs (with shocking terms such as chee chee for Anglo-Indians and wog for Indians) pepper the melodramatic storyline, which weaves through a web of romance, intrigue, patriotism, and a (mis)use of the sari to both accentuate the alluring Ava Gardner and her identity crisis. It does make an honest attempt to portray a fraught identity, caught in the cross-fire, but is undercut somewhat by the choice of white actors to play multiple Anglo-Indian and Indian roles. The actor playing town collector Govindaswami — Marne Maitland — is seemingly the only one of Indian heritage with any significant screen time.

Coming back to the subcontinent, a more restrained portrayal of post-war Anglo-Indians is found in Aparna Sen’s 36 Chowringhee Lane (1981). Lonely Violet Stoneham is a widowed English teacher, fond of Shakespeare, and quite solitary in 36, Chowringhee Lane in Kolkata, with black cat Toby for company. Her brother Eddie is ailing and in an old-age home, her niece Rosemary has married and relocated to Australia. Companionship and warmth arrive in the form of old student Nandita and her boyfriend Samaresh, but they too, have better things to do than keep an old English teacher company. Violet’s loneliness is not just the product of social exclusion, but her belonging to the Anglo-Indian community throws her plight into stark relief. She is left more alone than she might have been otherwise, more gullible to the charms of a friendly face.

Miss Stoneham is portrayed with a neat reserve and restraint by Jennifer Kendal, the British actress who married Shashi Kapoor and founded the Prithvi Theatre, bringing a touch of authenticity to the narrative.

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