Why Bollywood needs Tabu

"I am big. It's the picture that got small." That's Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard. Tabu may well say it about Bollywood, so thank God for Vishal Bharadwaj. He likes his women complicated and complex. They love too much (like Vidya Balan's Krishna in Ishqiya) or are too independent (like the seven Priyankas in Saat Khoon Maaf) or are wildly ambitious (like Tabu's Nimmi in Maqbool). And no one can do a woman who wants more better than Tabu.

Every groove in her face tells a story. This is not a plastic face which cannot feel or reveal emotions. This is a real woman who is playing a real mother. A woman with flaws, who loves her son too much, using any emotional blackmail possible to keep him tied to her apron strings. Mothers in Bollywood are usually of three kinds - mothers-in-law who have gone from Lalita Pawar viciousness to being best friends with the bahu or Mummyjis like Kirron Kher who are fiercely protective of their children or Nirupa Roy/Nargis who kill one son to save the metaphorical others.

But no one has played her like a sensual and sexual being. A woman who is not ready to accept her condition - of waiting endlessly for her doctor husband to come home or her son to return from Aligarh. Who enters a sexual relationship with her brother-in-law even before it is clear that her husband is dead, and who thinks nothing of reminding her grown up son of how he didn't like that her husband touched her: "Mujhe batana nahin chahte the", she says to her son as he gazes at her reflection in the mirror while inhaling her perfume. "Abhi bhi to nahin", replies Haider. "Main ek khokhle baans ki tarah bajti rahti hoon", she says. Not anymore.

With her loosely worn hair and her minimal make-up, Tabu's brooding beauty looms over Haider. And Haider can never fully overcome her shadow, He hates her for disrespecting the memory of his father (as he perceives it) and he detests her for marrying his hateful uncle, whom he proves was a mukhbir. But he cannot resist her allure, rushing to her side when she gives up food and setting up a meeting with her even he is suspicious of her motives.

And that is Tabu's greatest strength. Life is not tidy, relationships are not pretty. There are tears, screams, recriminations and betrayals. Real women weep loudly and long. But their grief doesn't always heal. It can harden their hearts and Teflon-coat their emotions.

It's like the regal Cersei in Game of Thrones, for who her eldest born was everything. She would do anything, ally with anyone, to keep his inheritance. Similarly, Ghazala will do anything to protect Haider and herself.

And yet in the media narrative of Tabu, she is always portrayed as a recluse who hasn't got her due. Odd, because she has worked with some of the finest directors in the world (whether it is Ang Lee or Mira Nair or Vishal Bharadwaj). Odd also because she only makes movies worthy of her talent - whether it is the gorgeous Cheeni Kum or the troubling Astitva. Do we want all our actors to become celebrities, dancing on talent shows to promote their movies and hawking products in ads to promote themselves?

The media would like actors to conform to our notion of fame - to show they need us. Tabu is singular, self sufficient, and a star for all seasons. If she didn't exist we would have had to invent her. For our sanity.