Dispatch #102: 'Bande Mein Tha Dum'
This dispatch dives into Prakash Magdum’s book 'The Mahatma on Celluloid' and four films that bring the Mahatma to life on screen.
I read Prakash Magdum’s The Mahatma on Celluloid: A Cinematic Biography last year, and ever since, I’ve been meaning to write about it. What better day than today—January 30th, the day India remembers Mahatma Gandhi—to finally put my thoughts down? This dispatch combines two things I love: reading offbeat books and watching movies and documentaries on historical events and personalities. Magdum’s book beautifully explores how Gandhi has been portrayed in cinema, and I couldn’t resist diving into some of the most striking films that bring the Mahatma to life on screen.
Magdum’s book fascinated me because it delves into Gandhi’s complex portrayal in Indian cinema. Gandhi’s life has inspired filmmakers across generations. Magdum himself was inspired to write this book during the 150th birth anniversary celebrations of Gandhi in 2019. While curating events at the National Film Archive of India (NFAI), he realized that cinema had consistently returned to Gandhi’s story, reflecting not just historical events but also the evolving perceptions of his legacy
Every January 30th, India pauses to remember Mahatma Gandhi, whose principles of non-violence and truth changed the course of history. While his life has been extensively documented in books, speeches, and essays, Indian cinema has been fascinating in shaping and reshaping Gandhi’s legacy for successive generations. Magdum’s book is a comprehensive exploration of how Gandhi has been portrayed in films over the decades, each interpretation offering a new lens to understand the Mahatma’s impact.
Gandhi has been reimagined in multiple cinematic forms, from historical epics to psychological dramas and satirical comedies. This dispatch delves into four significant films that have left an indelible mark on India’s cultural consciousness: Gandhi (1982), Hey Ram (2000), Maine Gandhi Ko Nahin Maara (2005), and Lage Raho Munna Bhai (2006). It also summarizes the broader themes of Magdum’s work.
Richard Attenborough’s Gandhi (1982)
No discussion of Gandhi in cinema is complete without Gandhi, the magnum opus directed by Richard Attenborough. The film, which won eight Academy Awards, was a meticulous and reverent portrayal of the leader’s journey from a young lawyer in South Africa to the Father of the Nation. Ben Kingsley’s performance as Gandhi remains iconic, blending stoic resilience with the quiet power of non-violence.
Attenborough spent decades trying to bring Gandhi’s story to the screen, and his commitment paid off. The film is structured around key milestones—his struggles in South Africa, the Champaran movement, the Dandi March, and his ultimate assassination at Birla House. Unlike many historical epics that take creative liberties, Gandhi was shaped by rigorous research and consultation with Gandhi’s associates and historians. However, the film has also faced critiques for its hagiographic portrayal, often simplifying Gandhi’s complexities and overlooking the ideological debates of his time.
Magdum highlights the significance of the film, noting how it impacted filmmakers like Rajkumar Hirani:
Gandhi bashing was a fashion until I watched Attenborough’s Gandhi... I always thought that someday I would make a film on him and Attenborough was responsible for Lage Raho Munna Bhai.
Magdum further adds:
During their first meeting on 7 July 1964, the maverick American producer Joseph E Levine asked a question to Richard Attenborough and his exact words were, ‘Why the hell do you want to make a film about Gandhi?’ Obviously, this was not the first time Attenborough faced such a question and also not the last time. Even though, it has been a dream for several filmmakers, both Indian and foreign, to bring Gandhi’s life story to the screen, the prospects of mounting such a film had its own challenges. Braving several obstacles and uncertainties, Attenborough was the one who finally managed to make his film Gandhi and termed it as ‘a human biography’. Right from the day when he met Motilal Kothari in London on a cold morning in 1962, Attenborough kept at it, struggling to find actors, manage finances and find a suitable script. In the process, the dream of Kothari became his too. Despite being asked so many times by so many people and studios as to ‘why the hell’ he wanted to make a film on Gandhi, Attenborough persisted with his mad dream. Finally, in November 1982, after about twenty years of struggle, the film was released worldwide to both critical acclaim and commercial success.
Kamal Haasan’s Hey Ram (2000)
Unlike Attenborough’s Gandhi, which was largely celebratory, Kamal Haasan’s Hey Ram offered a radically different perspective. A bilingual film in Tamil and Hindi, Hey Ram is a deeply personal and political narrative that critiques Gandhi through the eyes of a disillusioned protagonist.
Saket Ram, played by Kamal Haasan, is an archaeologist whose wife was brutally murdered in the communal riots preceding India’s partition. Consumed by hatred, he is drawn towards the ideology of Nathuram Godse and resolves to assassinate Gandhi. His journey is deeply influenced by Shreeram Abhyankar, a character played by Atul Kulkarni, whose intense performance won him a National Award.
The film presents Gandhi as both a revered leader and a divisive figure, often blamed for appeasing Muslims. Naseeruddin Shah, who plays Gandhi, finally realized his long-held dream of portraying the Mahatma after missing out on the role in Attenborough’s Gandhi. Shah’s Gandhi is not a larger-than-life figure but a weary leader burdened by the weight of India’s communal strife.
The film takes historical liberties, particularly in its portrayal of Gandhi’s assassination. In a dramatic climax, Saket Ram, who initially intended to kill Gandhi, undergoes a transformation and instead seeks his forgiveness. However, before he can act, Godse assassinates Gandhi. The execution scene is exaggerated in a stylized cinematic manner, a decision that even Naseeruddin Shah later criticized.
Despite its controversial stance, Hey Ram is an important film because it explores the ideological conflict that led to Gandhi’s murder. It does not blindly idolize or vilify him but rather presents him as a historical figure whose actions were subject to interpretation and critique. By the end, Saket Ram recognizes the futility of violence and the importance of peace, but, as the film poignantly suggests, his realization comes too late.
Magdum writes about the climax scene depicting Gandhi’s assassination and closing credits:
Such a distasteful scene was rendered poignant by a soulful rendition of Gandhi’s favourite bhajan ‘Vaishnav Jan To’ in the background by D.K. Pattammal. One of the finest exponents of Carnatic music, Pattammal had sung many patriotic songs during the heydays of India’s freedom movement invoking Gandhi’s name. So, it was thoughtful of both Kamal Haasan and composer Illayaraja to get her to sing the bhajan, she already being eighty years old. The recording equipment was taken to her house, and when ‘told that the song was to be played at Gandhi’s death in the film, the redoubtable lady resorted to emotional recall to add sigh and sob at appropriate intervals!’ After all the Gandhi bashing in the three-and-a-half-hour film, Haasan’s ambitious project tries to salvage itself in the end when the protagonist Ram collects the spectacles and sandals of Gandhi as precious memories for keepsake. In a memorable last scene of the film, these memorabilia are handed over to Tushar Gandhi, real-life grandson of Gandhi. Saket Ram’s room, full of images of Gandhi, is shown filled with bright sunlight filtering in from the open windows.
Jahnu Barua’s Maine Gandhi Ko Nahin Maara (2005)
Jahnu Barua’s Maine Gandhi Ko Nahin Maara takes a unique, thought-provoking approach to Gandhi’s assassination. Instead of retelling the historical event, the film explores how Gandhi’s memory is processed in contemporary India.
Anupam Kher plays Uttam Chaudhary, a retired professor suffering from dementia, who begins to believe that he was the one who killed Gandhi. This psychological distortion serves as a metaphor for India’s collective amnesia regarding Gandhian principles. The film critiques the way modern India has distanced itself from Gandhi’s ideals, particularly his emphasis on truth and non-violence.
Barua was deeply conscious of this gap, stating, “I was very much conscious of the fact that today’s generation does not respect Gandhi”. He lamented how Gandhi has often been reduced to a simplistic, saintly figure rather than a dynamic leader whose philosophy remains deeply relevant. Through Uttam’s hallucinations and struggles, Barua sheds light on how Indian society has, in many ways, neglected Gandhi’s legacy.
The film also delves into the idea of Swaraj, one of Gandhi’s central concepts. Barua subtly incorporates this idea into the narrative, emphasizing self-rule not just as a political doctrine but as a personal and moral philosophy. The film suggests that if contemporary India had truly embraced Gandhi’s values, many of its societal problems could have been mitigated.
One of the most poignant moments in the film comes during Uttam’s final speech, where he grapples with his supposed guilt and, in doing so, forces the audience to question their own role in erasing Gandhi’s teachings from public life. Barua wove Gandhi into the plot in a subtle yet effective way, ensuring that his presence is felt even though he never physically appears on screen. He reflected on this approach, saying, “We have been killing Gandhi every moment. More than half of the problems could have been easily solved if we had followed his principles and values”
Rajkumar Hirani’s Lage Raho Munna Bhai (2006)
Among all the films that revisited Gandhi in modern times, Lage Raho Munna Bhai stands out as a cultural phenomenon that reintroduced Gandhi to the younger generation. Rajkumar Hirani, deeply disturbed by Gandhi-bashing in public discourse, decided to make a film that would present the Mahatma’s philosophy in a lighthearted yet impactful way.
Hirani initially toyed with a different script about a boy who had met Gandhi in 1945 and woke up in independent India decades later. However, the idea wasn’t working. It was only when he thought of bringing Gandhi into Munna Bhai’s world—a gangster navigating the streets of Mumbai—that the story truly came to life. His collaborator, Abhijat Joshi, contributed to shaping the script by diving into Gandhi’s teachings, reading Mahadev Desai’s diaries, and researching his personal letters.
The Gandhi in Lage Raho Munna Bhai is not the austere, distant historical figure seen in textbooks but an affable, ever-smiling mentor who gently guides Munna through his moral dilemmas. Dilip Prabhavalkar, who played Gandhi, initially auditioned for a smaller role but was chosen for the part because of his warm, infectious smile—so similar to the Mahatma’s. Unlike previous portrayals, this Gandhi uses humour, wit, and colloquial language to connect with Munna and, by extension, the audience. He is a guiding force rather than a rigid moralist, making Gandhian principles accessible and practical.
The film also introduced the term ‘Gandhigiri,’ a modern adaptation of satyagraha that encourages using kindness and non-violence as tools for protest and change. Abbas Tyrewala, the film’s screenwriter, coined the term, cleverly playing on the Mumbai slang ‘dadagiri’ (bullying) to create a phrase that resonated with audiences. ‘Gandhigiri’ quickly became a cultural touchstone, inspiring real-life protests where people handed out flowers to bureaucrats and corrupt officials as acts of non-violent resistance.
The impact of the film extended beyond entertainment. It became the first Hindi film to be screened at the United Nations, and it was showcased at the Cannes Film Festival in 2007. More importantly, it sparked a renewed interest in Gandhian ideals, with grassroots movements in India adopting ‘Gandhigiri’ as a legitimate means of protest.
Vidhu Vinod Chopra, the film’s producer, admitted that he had been worried about the film’s reception, fearing backlash from people sensitive about Gandhi’s portrayal. However, the overwhelming positive response proved that the audience was ready for a new way of looking at Gandhi—one that was engaging, relevant, and, most importantly, deeply human.
Hirani’s genius lay in making Gandhi not just a historical icon but a relatable guide for contemporary struggles. Instead of focusing on abstract ideals, Lage Raho Munna Bhai showed how Gandhian philosophy could be applied in everyday life, making non-violence and truthfulness not just some abstract, moral concepts but practical tools for navigating the modern world.
Magdum’s book showcases the sheer diversity in the portrayal of Gandhi on screen. From Attenborough’s reverent hagiography to Haasan’s radical critique, from Barua’s psychological metaphor to Hirani’s modern reinterpretation, each film reflects the evolving relationship India has with its most iconic leader.
Cinema, as a medium, does not just document history—it reinterprets it for new audiences. Gandhi’s legacy is not static; it shifts depending on the social and political currents of the time. Through these films, we see him as a saint, a flawed leader, a misunderstood icon, and a moral compass. Perhaps this multiplicity is the best tribute to the Mahatma—acknowledging that his life and ideals continue to spark debate, introspection, and inspiration.