The last 35 years have seen steady deterioration with multiple songs that are made with the single objective of catering and fuelling the patriarchal, misogynistic male gaze.
The men who write these lyrics absolve themselves of this objectification by getting women to sing these songs, robbing them even of the agency of voice.
Cinematography adds to the robbing of agency. Where the camera is in the context of the protagonist/subject is crucial in determining the gaze.
“Tamma tamma loge” from Thandedaar (1990), which has also been remixed for Badrinath Ki Dulhania in 2017, is one of the most memorable dance songs of Hindi cinema. Iconic choreography, long spells of music, lyrics that are rebelling against authority, varied camera angles—top angle shots, front shots, close shots of legs that show what is now referred to as the ‘hook’ step. And yet, a dignified distance from the female body is maintained. The camera is never intrusive. The male dancers have enough space from the female dancers, none of the choreography iss titillating towards the male gaze; on the contrary, the choreography is almost identical for both Madhuri Dixit and Sanjay Dutt as the song goes on.
Cut to one of the most popular dance numbers of 2024 from Stree 2, “Aaj ki raat”, featuring Tamannaah Bhatia. Everything from the lyrics of the song to its choreography, to the costumes worn, to the cinematography and camera angles are all working together to pander to the male gaze that sexualises women, objectifies them and uses them to titillate audiences. What we see working in tandem in this song has each seen its roots in many songs that have predated this. The last 35 years have seen this steady deterioration with multiple songs that visibly tie all the crafts coming together to create an audio-visual experience with the single objective of catering and fuelling the patriarchal, misogynistic male gaze.
What are these elements and how do they work? Let’s start with the words: “Waqt barbaad na bin baat ki baaton mein keejiye; Aaj ki raat maza husn ka aankhon se leejiye”. The lyrics themselves have the protagonist asking to be objectified. Objectifying lyrics can be traced back to the 90s, and possibly even earlier. The infamous “Choli ke peeche kya hai” (Khalnayak, 1993), or “Sexy, sexy sexy mujhe log bole” (Khuddar, 1994) are clear examples. Even in songs where female desire was cued, women bodies were still objectified. “Koi jaaye toh le aaye, meri laakh duaen paaye” (Ghatak 1996) is testimony, with both what is being sung and what is being said. The level of objectification also has steadily deteriorated. We went from “Main hoon ek sharara” (Mere Yaar ki Shaadi Hai, 2002), to “Main toh tandoori murgi hoon yaar, gatka le saiyyan alcohol se” (Dabangg 2, 2012) with veritable ease. In the latter, the song has the protagonist reduce herself to actual, specific objects. The men who write these lyrics absolve themselves of this objectification by getting women to sing these songs, robbing them even of the agency of voice. In sharp contrast are some of the evergreen dance numbers of the last two decades “Kajra re” (Bunty aur Babli, 2005) and “Beedi jalaile” (Omkara, 2006)—both exude the idea of desire without dehumanising the female.
The lyrics are only one part of the issue. The visualisation is the other. And within the visualisation are many parts—the choreography, cinematography, lighting, costume—all of which are essential to analyse to see whose gaze is being pandered to. The glaring problematic change can be pointed to two songs: “Ishq di Galli vich No Entry” (No Entry, 2005) and “Sheila ki jawani” (Tees Maar Khan, 2010). The choreography in the former is a series of movements to ensure a complete view of Bipasha Basu’s body that is scantily clad on purpose. The latter becomes even more problematic and has set a template of sorts for songs to come. Here, the distance between Katrina Kaif and the male dancers is miniscule, who are practically on her body. In parts of the song, she is seen on a rotating bed, holding on to a satin bedsheet as her only apparel, where the men are also on the same bed and the choreography consists of thrusting chests. The entire choreography of the song has the focus on Kaif’s bare mid body that has been specifically made the focus by strategically revealing costumes. Every time the line “Sheila ki jawani” comes in the song, the focus is deliberately shifted from her face as she moves it away from the camera. It is crucial to discuss apparel and choreography in tandem, given that visually songs today are being designed in a way that they titillate the maximum, using apparel as a way to do so through women’s bodies. In the entire song, costume changes are only pandering to male fantasies.
One sees the same template play out two years later in “Chikni Chameli” (Agneepath, 2012)—all midriff baring costumes, male dancers extremely close for comfort and choreography meant to keep the viewers eyes only on Kaif’s body. The song has edits where only Kaif’s waist is visible. What then is the agency of the protagonist on her own body? Contrastingly, think of “Aa jaane jaan” (Intaqam, 1969), where the man is stuck in a cage, while Helen dances with full freedom around him, at the distance that she pleases, singing of her desires. The “Sheila ki jawani” template plays out in the next Farah Khan outing in 2015, Happy New Year, with “Main lovely ho gayi yaar” with the opening shots being close ups of just waists.
What is even more ironical is that many times, the lyrics have nothing to do with the choreography that is made titillating. “Chittiyan kaliyan” (Roy, 2015) problematic at multiple levels, has Jacqueline Fernandez twerking suggestively at the camera at times. The song is about wrists! Similarly, “Taras Ni aaya Tujhko” (Munjya, 2024) is a song about the act of a ruthless heartbreak, that has been visualised on Sharvari as an ‘item’ song. What does a heartbreak song have to do with choreography that responds to the male gaze, with hands sweeping across the female form, clearly conforming to misogyny? At no point is this critique a justification or recommendation for conservative dressing, or a question of the return of patriarchal morality in movements and apparel codes. But what matters most is whose gaze this is being viewed from and whose gaze has the final output being tailored to. The pain of the heartbreak and the visualising of the song does not lend agency to the female by objectifying her or liberating her to use her body as a canvas as her space of expression. Instead, it reduces it yet again as merely an object of male desire through a completely unrelated idiom, for male consumption through the screen.
Even with songs in the 90s headlined by Govinda from films like Raja Babu (1994), one can trace back the pelvic thrusts and problematic choreographies. However, in many a popular dance numbers like “Husn hai suhana” (Coolie No. 1, 1995), “Sona kitna sona hai”, “Main tujhko bhaga laya hoon and “UP Waala Thumka” (Hero No. 1, 1997), “Ankhiyon se goli maare” (Dulhe Raja, 1998) and “Makhna” (Bade Miyan Chote Miyan, 1998), the choreographies started slowly shifting to his dance steps and comedy infused moves. However, the objectionable choreographies onscreen from the 90s legitimised the space for female objectification that continues today.
Cinematography adds to the robbing of agency. Where the camera is in the context of the protagonist/subject is crucial in determining the gaze. In each of the songs post the 90s mentioned above, the camera work has only accentuated the objectification and sexualisation of the female form through the camera placement. Top camera angles when front low cut costumes are being used and uncomfortably close and slow shots of the female body that follow various parts are all a part of what has become the ‘item song’ or dance number playbook. Every song that features Norah Fatehi—whether it is “Dilbar” (Satyamev Jayate, 2018) or “Saki” (Batla House, 2019), or as recent as “Dilbar ki ankhon ka” (Thamma, 2025)—follows and defines this playbook with new levels of titillation. The camera’s distance from the protagonist and the angles from where the shot has been taken determine the detail and point of view. That, apart from the choreographical blocking, is the greatest tool filmmakers have to determine the agency of the artiste, which today is flouted repeatedly.
So everytime you watch the next popular dance number or tap your foot and dance to one at the next party, go back and think about how it was picturised, who it catered to and why. And how we all, in consuming this content, popularising it without criticising it, are a part of the machinery that creates more of it. They will remind you of the agency being taken away from women, of their voices and bodies shamelessly each day.
