Long story short…: Deepanjana Pal on Nari Hira and the Hema Committee report

When the Hema Committee report was finally made public, I couldn’t help but wish it was being written about by a publication like the ones introduced to the Indian media landscape by Nari Hira, who died on August 23, aged 86.

Some of these magazines are still around, but they are no longer as bold as they were when Hira launched them, 50-odd years ago. Irreverent and impactful, his magazines were pioneers of celebrity and tabloid journalism in India. They made space in everyday conversation for subjects then considered taboo, such as divorce, infidelity, harassment and even abuse.
Unlike the celebrity “gossip” that circulates on social media today, the stories in Hira’s publications were not based on handouts supplied by actors’ PR teams. In fact, there were occasions when film stars took to the streets in protest. (The likes of Salman Khan and Sanjay Dutt joined a morcha that walked up to Magna House once, in support of Anupam Kher, who had slapped a Stardust journalist for writing a salacious story about him.)
Colleagues recall that Hira was unperturbed by such reactions. He would find ways to soothe ruffled feathers, and his publications would continue to carry stories that weren’t always examples of great journalism, but did often serve to pull the curtain back on sordid aspects of the glamour industry.
What would have remained the stuff of gossip between insiders became known to the general public, spreading from person to person through the osmosis of conversation.
Just recently, I was talking to someone about misogyny in the workplace — it has been a subject of conversation since the horrific rape and murder at Kolkata’s RG Kar hospital — and I mentioned the Hema Committee’s findings about awful working conditions for women in cinema. Shocked, she asked, “Hema Malini cares these days about junior artists not having changing rooms?” Justice K Hema is, of course, a retired Kerala high court judge, and no relation to the former film star.
If the Hema Committee report had been written about in a gossip column as popular as Neeta’s Natter in its prime (when Shobhaa Dé was rumoured to be the writer), I am guessing that our conversation would have been different. The good journalistic coverage of the Hema Committee report might also have benefited from this wider awareness.
The Hema Committee was set up in 2017, following a case of sexual assault in which one of Malayalam cinema’s biggest stars, Dileep, was listed among those accused. (The case is ongoing and the actor is currently out on bail.) The committee’s report, submitted in 2019, summarises the rampant discrimination and abuse that women face in the Malayalam film industry, which, ironically, produces some of the most intelligent and progressive films in India.
From a lack of toilets and poor pay to sexual harassment and assault — and “a mafia of powerful men” who wielded their power to threaten and abuse — the report is valiant in its efforts to be comprehensive.
The 296-page report was never made public. It has only emerged now because journalists filed a Right to Information request asking to see it. The released version has significant redactions, including the names of the accused.
The stories that are mentioned can be difficult to cover, because testimonies without names can sometimes sound like hearsay.
In a time when access to stars and those in power is considered central to surviving in entertainment and its allied industries, investigative stories are challenging to execute. With Indian film industries earning bigger bucks, courage is becoming a rarity.
In these circumstances, a little bit of the irreverence of tabloids may have added a welcome edge to the limited coverage that the Hema Committee report has received.
The problems flagged in it are present in every film industry in India. Instead, no one in power seems willing to speak up about how sexism, intimidation and sexual harassment are practically woven into the DNA of our mainstream entertainment industries.
What does that say for us as a culture? And what does this fear do to our imagination?
(To reach Deepanjana Pal with feedback, write to @dpanjana on Instagram)