“We want to produce children who will completely change your families. One thousand years of suffering must end, finally. That’s why we run Shanti Bhavan.”
In India, inequalities are deeply entrenched in society. It is not surprising when we hear stories about young girls being denied education and submitting to the cycle of poverty.
The Indian film industry has so far been pretty successful in documenting the lives of people from the most marginalized faction of the country. Movies like Ankur, Slumdog Millionaire, Pather Panchali, Masaan, and Super 30, have demonstrated the poverty that plagues the citizens of India. We like to think that we are above it all, but we fail to acknowledge our privilege.
The right to education is a privilege that is taken for granted by the majority of Indians. We are so blinded by entitlement that we fail to recognize how difficult it is for some people to access education.
Daughters of Destiny, a four-part documentary by Netflix, is a refreshing example of gritty cinema. Treading on an optimistic note, it is a charming celebration of Shanti Bhavan school in Tamil Nadu.
One of the teasers for the documentary is beautiful stop-motion animation. Playing in the background is an unfaltering recitation of Preetha’s ( a student from Shanti Bhavan) poem, with the lines, “I am that girl who shoots bullets into the sky and makes doorways of freedom, hope, and relief.” This encapsulates the rhythm captured in the series.
The boarding school is a pioneer for students from an underprivileged background, a part of Abraham George’s Shanti Bhavan Children’s Project. Established in 1997, it is a boarding school that enrolls 24 preschool students every year and gives them free education, shelter, and food till they find a job for themselves.
More than a traditional institution, this is a social experiment that attempts to question India’s rigid prejudices. It is a testament that young girls from the most socially and economically backward sections of society can thrive academically if they are given the right atmosphere to shine. It is also an effort to pull these despondent groups out of the cycle of poverty by grooming children for the future.
The school has limited resources and can thus only accept one child from each family. The pressure to succeed is woven intricately into each girl’s life, and writer-director Vanessa Roth has captured this beautifully.
Shot over seven years, the series follows the story of five girls. In the first episode, we are introduced to the girls. Thenmozhi (7) is the life of the party who wants to grow up and have a job in STEM. Preetha is a teenager who isn’t interested in academic life but dreams of being a singer. She knows that she will have to grow up and take a job to out her family and community, but that doesn’t mean she has to stop dreaming.
Shilpa’s parents didn’t want her because she was a girl, and her parents expressed disappointment at her move to Shanti Bhavan. She hopes to become a journalist one day and escape her family’s crutches. Manjula is just trying to enjoy her school but struggling with her parent’s expectations of finding a good job. Karthika wants to become a lawyer and help her village reclaim their rights.
As the episodes progress, we see the girls growing up. They look up to Abraham George as a father figure and are genuinely grateful to him. But, there is also a shift in their innocence. Most of them mature from being enlivened teenagers to adults burdened by the question of their future. Daughters of Destiny is a hopeful series, but it has a tinge of darkness.
For every moment of success on the screen, a few scenes bring attention back to the problematic aspects. There are constant themes of family strife and sibling resentment. Shilpa breaks into tears in one brutal scene as she mentions her sister Kavya who couldn’t come to school with her. Shanti Bhavan’s vehement policy of allowing one child per family has been the cause of friction in some families. Shilpa and Kavya are prime examples of this. Kavya resented her sister getting the opportunity, and it can be seen how drastically both of their lives turned out to be.
There is a sense of haunting reality. The parents of these girls see them as assets that will grow up to lift the family from debt and poverty. Shanti Bhavan encourages their students to become nurses, teachers, doctors, or go into professions like engineering, guaranteeing a secure job and income. Thus, they’re encouraged to dream realistically. They can dream, but they must dream within the constraints of society and their position.
Girls like Preetha who wish to be a singer are often instructed to be practical. Preetha has been presented as a rebel child who goes against her father figure (Abraham George) to keep yearning for a life in music. Her narrative reinforces the fact that perhaps, dreaming is for the privileged. Bollywood movies such as London Dreams, Rock On, and Secret Superstar have often confirmed the belief that to be successful in the artistic field; one must come from a certain degree of privilege.
Awkward moments between the girls and their families and discomfort when they visit home are present throughout. In addition, the girls frequently feel burdened with the pressures of fulfilling their parent’s expectations and the school’s. They are torn between Abraham George’s mission and their family life; their dreams are often lost.
In the last episode, we see Thenmozhi shyly talking to her friends about boys. She is still as lively as she used to be but has come of age. Her reality grounds her as she knows she should focus on her studies and getting a job.
While the girls of Shanti Bhavan are brimming with hope, there are occasional scenes of other young women in the village who passionately wait for their suitors to arrive and save them from their fate.
The problem of caste and poverty blends in every frame as Vanessa Roth patiently tries to discuss how the intersection of caste and gender discrimination in India is odious. A.R. Rahman’s unsparing music adds a unique quality to the breathtaking storytelling presented in the series.
The biggest ambivalence in the documentary is that the hopes of these girls are carefully manufactured. They don’t have the luxury of dreaming for themselves; they exist solely to satisfy their family’s expectations.
By the end of the series, the audience is left with a strange combination of hope and melancholy. While it is reassuring to know that these girls are being empowered, the stark contrast is also present. “Are they dreaming for themselves?” is a question that lingers in the mind as the closing scene unfolds.
The author is a Kaksha Correspondent as a part of writers’ training program under Kaksha Crisis