- On television you see the Fair and Lovely young man: if he has biceps, they are likely to be hidden under his branded shirt. And he never takes his shirt off on the tube. Actually, he tends to be a bit of a goody-goody sort. The Indian soap opera man is likely to be the bloke-next-door, the kind you bring home to mama and marry because he has the right job, the right house, and the right lineage. He blends in. The angry man in him is domesticated. And most important: he is not larger than life.
- In the movies he does take his shirt off, exposing on occasion more cleavage than his heroine. He is larger than life. And he's dark and dangerous when he is not being fair and lovely and moony. This bicep-ed biped flexes his muscles, not his brain. He turns macho—and yes, dark is beautiful on the big screen. The angry young man still lives there. His graph goes from caveman to mama's boy and back. And macho increasingly means patriotic. In Gadar: A Love Story, Sunny Deol took on the entire Pakistani army. We are now going into the season of retro-patriotism: coming in a theatre near you this year are three versions of Bhagat Singh.
- In advertising...well, something is happening here. The Indian male seems to have finally grown up. Nothing typifies the mature young man as much as the Raymonds man: he's the perfect and caring son, lover, husband, and increasingly, father. Television ads for cars (Maruti particularly), insurance, banks, household appliances bring out the nurturing side of the Indian male. If not his feminine side. Mothers and sons are making room for fathers and daughters: the busy corporate, good-looking honcho takes time out to share a sandwich with his little daughter. Alas, there's a flip side: the Indian male as stud, the one who preens about in his underwear, the one who has displaced the nubile nymphet as the latest object of desire. But more about that later.
- In the world of modelling, the descent has begun. In a recent newspaper survey, the male models ceded defeat. One of them actually said that men were the "second sex" in the world of modelling. Accessories or arm candy—that's his fate. What makes it worse for the ordinary Indian male is the fact that not only is he playing second fiddle to the women; he's been upstaged by celebrities. The admen prefer stars and sportsmen. The day belongs to the Amitabh Bachchans, Hrithik Roshans and the Sachin Tendulkars. And, of course, to the women—both the celebs and the mortals.
- And then you have the ptms: the page three men. Outfitted by designers, often sporting designer smiles, gym-honed bodies and well-coiffed hair, they come and go through salons—preferably those with the paparazzi in attendance—talking about which party they have come from and where they are going next. Need one say more?
Lapdogs On The Backseat
Who is the real Indian male? The domesticated angry man of our films or the puppyish "suitable boys" of our soaps? Madhu Jain tries to find out.
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Lapdogs On The Backseat
Lapdogs On The Backseat
