Revolution Twenty20

This worksheet engages with Revolution Twenty20 by Chetan Bhagat using Generative AI as a tool for literary analysis, in line with the pedagogic approach outlined by Dilip Barad (click here for the link). The activities combine visual, textual, and thematic analysis, allowing AI to assist in organizing ideas, creating character maps, and generating infographics or slide decks.

Activity 1: Character Mapping (Remember → Understand)

The map reveals a clear moral geography of Revolution 2020, where power circulates through institutions, while integrity struggles to survive within them. At the centre stands the triangle of Gopal, Raghav, and Aarti—personal relationships shaped by larger systems of ambition and corruption. Gopal’s path shows how education becomes a marketplace, enabled by political patrons like MLA Shukla-ji and legitimized through inspectors and consultants. Power here is transactional, built on compromise rather than merit. In contrast, Raghav’s journalism represents resistance, yet even activism is surrounded by corporate media pressures and establishment control. The map also reminds us of the “common people” at the margins, whose realities fuel the revolutionary rhetoric but rarely gain true agency. 

Activity 2: Cover Page Critique  

1. Expectations Created

1.1 Themes of “Revolution” Suggested

The cover frames “revolution” as a social, emotional, and moral revolution.

The word "LOVE" is boxed inside the word "REVOLUTION." This creates an expectation that the "revolution" isn't just about changing the country, but about how love can be a radical or disruptive act within a corrupt system. 

The subtitle at the bottom — “LOVE. CORRUPTION. AMBITION.” — strongly suggests that the revolution explored in the book is multi-dimensional:

• Emotional revolution through love

• Political/social disturbance through corruption

• Personal struggle through ambition

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1.2 Impressions of Youth, Energy, and Modernity

The silhouettes immediately create a strong impression of youth identity:

• The central solitary figure appears like a conflicted young man—perhaps a deep thinker, burdened with grief or uncertainty, lost in reflection.

• The two smaller figures suggest companionship, friendship, or intimacy. However, their identity remains unclear, creating ambiguity:
  
  Are they real people, memories, or symbolic presences ?

The overall mood feels urgent and restless, reflecting:

• youthful impatience

• moral uncertainty

• a desire for change

The title element “Twenty20” evokes:

• the age of youth (early adulthood),

• a phase of life shaped by aspiration and uncertainty,

• or a personal “twenty-year” moment rather than a broader political revolution.

• contemporary youth culture

• a distinctly present-day atmosphere

Rather than emphasizing pace or innovation, the title appears to frame the novel as a story of a particular generation and its experiences, leaving the idea of “revolution” deliberately open and ambiguous.

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1.3 Marketability and Audience Appeal

Bhagat also actively engages in self-marketing through social media platforms such as Facebook, YouTube, blogs, and personal websites, reinforcing his visibility and accessibility. Rather than pioneering cinematic book trailers, his early use of video primarily involved direct, informal video messages addressed to readers, which functioned as a tool for audience engagement

Bhagat’s educational background at IIT and IIM equips him with an understanding of branding, marketing, and consumer behaviour. He consciously situates his writing within India’s demographic reality—a nation with one of the largest youth populations, particularly within the 20–35 age group.

Bhagat consistently places youth at the centre of storytelling. The problems he addresses—competitive exams, elite institutions, employment, entrepreneurship, marriage, corruption in education, and corporate life—mirror the aspirations and anxieties of young, urban, middle-class Indians.

The cover design clearly targets:

• young urban readers

• college students

• audiences drawn to fast-paced popular fiction

Key market signals include:

• The bold author name “CHETAN BHAGAT” at the top, placed for instant recognition.

• This market awareness is further evident in:

• Youth-centric diction, including campus slang and familiar metaphors.

  Short, fast-paced narratives, readable in a single sitting.

  Affordable pricing (typically ₹99–₹150), suitable for student budgets.

  Simple, conversational language, requiring minimal literary effort.

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2. Design Elements

2.1 Typography (Font Style, Size, Arrangement)

Author Name

• Large, uppercase, sans-serif font

• Positioned at the top for immediate visibility

• Suggests commercial confidence and strong branding
  
  

Title: “REVOLUTION”

• Stylized with distortion and uneven arrangement

• The fragmentation visually represents disruption

• Interestingly, the sequence “EVOL” stands out inside the word, subtly hinting at “LOVE,” reinforcing the romantic dimension of the story.

“TWENTY20”

• Bold, blocky, modern typography

• The repetition of “20” emphasizes contemporary youth branding

Tagline

• Small, spaced-out typography:
  
  “LOVE. CORRUPTION. AMBITION.”

• Functions like a film trailer hook, delivering quick emotional triggers.

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2.2 Colour Palette (Dominant Colours + Emotional Tone)

Dominant Colours

• Deep pink/crimson/magenta background

• Black silhouettes

• White typography

The background also includes architectural sketches resembling Indian temples or city buildings, grounding the story in an Indian social environment.

Emotional Effect

Pink-red evokes:

• romance

• charm

• compassion

• passion and intensity

Black suggests:

• secrecy

• corruption

• moral darkness

Thus, the palette blends romantic warmth with underlying threat, perfectly matching the emotional tension implied by the subtitle.

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2.3 Symbolism and Imagery

Silhouettes

• Anonymous figures represent universal youth experience.

• The central figure suggests isolation, inner conflict, and deep thinking.

• The smaller pair may symbolize relationships, companionship, or even betrayal or memory

Paint-like Background Texture

• The splashes and stains evoke:

  • chaos

  • instability

  • the messy nature of moral change

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3. Alignment with Popular Literature Aesthetics

3.1 Youth Literature Trends

The cover matches common conventions of Indian popular youth fiction:

• bold title design

• romantic-political thematic blend

• dramatic silhouettes

• high-contrast colour palette

It resembles the visual language of:

• campus narratives

• Bollywood-style emotional storytelling

• aspirational middle-class youth struggles

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3.2 Genre Conventions: Follow or Break?

Follows Conventions

• Romance + social struggle marketed together

• Strong author branding

• Cinematic, poster-like layout

Slightly Breaks Conventions

• The distorted typography hints at darker complexity.

• The lonely central figure feels reflective rather than heroic.

• The two seated figures appear almost like a memory, suggesting emotional depth.

The cover of Revolution Twenty20 presents revolution as a modern Indian youth experience shaped by:

• love

• ambition

• corruption

• inner conflict

It does not specify whether the revolution is political or purely personal, which creates curiosity.

The central figure’s posture—standing, thoughtful, and not visibly happy—suggests that the story may involve hardship, moral struggle, and emotional seriousness rather than a purely joyful resolution.

Activity 3: Infographic from Video Discourse 

Clarification vs. Flattening of Complexity

The infographic succeeds in clearly mapping the central conflict of Revolution 2020 through two contrasting paths: Gopal’s pragmatic climb through corruption and Raghav’s idealistic reform through journalism. For students, this visual division makes the novel’s moral tensions accessible. However, it also risks flattening complexity by presenting morality as a binary—“corrupt pragmatist” versus “pure idealist.” In the novel, Gopal is not simply immoral; his choices emerge from insecurity, poverty, and systemic pressure. 

Reduction of Power to Political Transaction

Power is strongly shown as transactional—flowing through MLA Shukla-ji, education bribery, and media control. While accurate, the infographic leans heavily toward portraying corruption as the sole engine of ambition. It misses how power also operates emotionally, through love, loyalty, and personal desire—especially via Aarti’s central position.

Missing, Distorted, or Exaggerated Ideas

• Missing: The inner conflicts of characters are minimized; morality appears structural rather than personal.

• Distortion: Journalism is presented as a clean space of activism, but the novel shows Raghav also facing compromise and limitation.

• Exaggeration: The “common people” remain peripheral icons, whereas their suffering is meant to be the moral core of Raghav’s revolution.
  

Presentation

https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1LJ6nwUxWZqFHzkNxWIKqBV17RLYfbt_Sk5fWTEUqLS8/edit?usp=sharing

revolution2020-love-corruption-ambition-pptxfrom Bhargav Makwana

Revolution2020 Love Corruption Ambition .pptx

revolution2020-love-corruption-ambition-pptxfrom Bhargav Makwana

AI  is very efficient at summarizing content and organizing ideas. For example, when I asked it to make slides, it clearly identified key points, themes, and arguments, which helped me orient my own thinking. Its structured approach makes it feel like a helpful collaborator when tackling dense or complex material.

However, I also noticed where AI falls short. In several slides, it adopted a moralistic or overly simplistic stance, presenting ideas in binary terms rather than grappling with ambiguity. For instance, when discussing ethical dilemmas or character motivations, AI often framed them as clearly right or wrong, ignoring the nuances, contradictions, and subtle tensions that give literature its depth. This tendency made me realize that AI’s “insight” is often surface-level; it can tell me what is there but struggles with why it matters or how it resonates. 

AI Use Declaration

For this worksheet, Generative AI tools including ChatGPT, NotebookLM, and Google Gemini were used as assistive resources to organize notes, summarize content, generate visual structures (such as character maps, infographics, and slide outlines), and support the drafting process. All critical interpretations, analytical decisions, revisions, and final arguments were independently developed by the author. AI-generated outputs were carefully reviewed, challenged, and corrected—particularly where they tended toward simplification or moralistic framing—to ensure that the final work reflects sustained human judgment and critical engagement.

References

Bhagat, Chetan. Revolution Twenty20 : Love . Corruption. Ambition. Rupa, 2014.

Review: Coded Bias

Coded Bias - Documentary (2020)

The central problem posed by Coded Bias (2020) is not whether artificial intelligence works, nor whether it is improving in accuracy. The documentary advances a far more unsettling claim: algorithmic systems have become instruments of governance without democratic consent, transparency, or accountability. In doing so, they silently reorganise power—deciding who is visible, who is legible, who is trusted, and who is punished.

Rather than framing AI as a neutral technological evolution, Coded Bias interrogates the political life of algorithms. It insists that automated systems are not merely tools but decision-making infrastructures that increasingly determine access to employment, housing, credit, education, welfare, and freedom itself. The documentary’s argument is that power has migrated into code, while responsibility has evaporated behind technical opacity.

This concern places Coded Bias in direct conversation with George Orwell’s 1984. Orwell did not imagine oppression as the product of sadistic individuals alone, but as something embedded in systems, routines, and information architectures. In this sense, Coded Bias suggests that Orwell’s dystopia has not arrived through overt authoritarianism, but through bureaucratised computation, data extraction, and automated judgment.

The danger, the film argues, is not that machines will rebel against humans—but that humans will increasingly live under systems that classify, predict, and constrain them, while appearing objective, efficient, and inevitable.

Computers, as Coded Bias makes repeatedly clear, do not understand the future. They predict it by mining the past. Algorithms are trained on historical data—data shaped by inequality, exclusion, and structural violence—and are then tasked with forecasting human behaviour. What appears as innovation is therefore often historical repetition at machine speed.

This is the documentary’s foundational concern: when prediction replaces judgment, and efficiency replaces ethics, technology ceases to be neutral infrastructure and becomes political authority. The question Coded Bias asks is not whether AI has “bright and dark sides,” but rather who decides where those sides fall, and on whose lives they operate.

By situating facial recognition, predictive policing, and automated classification within global systems of surveillance and corporate power, Coded Bias argues that contemporary AI does not represent social progress. Instead, it replicates existing worlds, encoding inequality into software while claiming objectivity.

This is where George Orwell’s 1984 becomes analytically indispensable. Orwell’s insight was not merely that surveillance exists, but that power becomes most effective when embedded into systems that feel inevitable, invisible, and rational. Coded Bias demonstrates that algorithmic governance is precisely such a system.

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The Central Argument of Coded Bias: From Assistance to Control

The documentary’s central argument can be distilled into a precise claim:

AI systems have shifted from assisting human decision-making to silently governing it, without public consent, democratic oversight, or ethical safeguards.

While facial recognition is often justified as a tool for preventing attacks or increasing security, Coded Bias interrogates this justification by asking: security for whom, and at what cost? The film does not deny that AI can function efficiently. Instead, it exposes how efficiency becomes the moral alibi for surveillance.

AI has both “bright and dark sides,” yet deployment occurs before safeguards exist, particularly when technologies are tested on poor and marginalised populations. Surveillance infrastructures are rarely trialed on the powerful; they are piloted on those with the least capacity to resist.

Thus, Coded Bias reframes AI development not as public innovation, but as corporate-led experimentation, where:

• algorithms are designed for institutional convenience,

• deployed in socially unequal environments,

• and defended through technical opacity.

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Algorithmic Bias as Political Architecture

Replication, Not Progress

One of the documentary’s most incisive claims—echoed directly in your notes—is that machines are not creating new worlds; they are replicating existing ones. AI systems trained on biased data do not transcend history; they operationalise it.

This is why algorithmic bias cannot be reduced to error. It is the predictable outcome of systems designed within unequal social orders. The problem is not that algorithms occasionally fail, but that they work precisely as expected within unjust frameworks.

Corporate Surveillance and Institutional Power

Coded Bias is explicit: most AI systems are not built for public good but for corporate and institutional efficiency. Surveillance capitalism depends on continuous data extraction, and algorithms thrive on constant monitoring.

• Corporations know what they want algorithms to do,

• but often claim they cannot fully understand or control what those systems actually produce.

This contradiction allows responsibility to dissolve. When harm occurs, accountability is deflected onto “the system,” reinforcing what the documentary identifies as institutional opacity.

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Global Geographies of Surveillance

The documentary’s movement across global locations—China, the United States, the United Kingdom, South Africa, and beyond—demonstrates that algorithmic governance is a planetary condition.

listing Hankou, Huzhou, Philadelphia, London, Cape Town, Washington D.C., and the Soviet Union are not incidental. They reveal how:

• surveillance infrastructures adapt to political contexts,

• yet produce similar outcomes: classification, control, and behavioural prediction.

China’s social credit system is often invoked as dystopian, yet Coded Bias complicates this narrative. As your notes observe, China is at least transparent about surveillance. Citizens know they are being watched and are expected to behave accordingly.

In contrast, Western democracies often operate through invisible classification. Individuals are scored, ranked, and separated without knowing it. The absence of awareness does not indicate freedom—it indicates unconscious governance.

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Orwell’s 1984: Power Without a Face

From Big Brother to the Black Box

In 1984, Big Brother is less a person than a symbol of systemic power. Surveillance is not merely visual but psychological. Similarly, Coded Bias replaces Big Brother with the Black Box—the algorithm that decides but cannot explain.

“I have many names. I am Algorithm. I am Black Box.”

Algorithms promise conclusions without reasoning, outcomes without explanations.
How can a system give a conclusion if it cannot tell us how it reached it?

This opacity transforms authority into something unchallengeable. As in Orwell’s world, truth becomes whatever the system outputs, regardless of lived reality.

Recorded → Logged → Analyzed

Orwell imagined surveillance as constant observation. Today, surveillance is procedural:

• actions are recorded,

• data is logged,

• behaviour is analysed,

• consciousness itself becomes a data stream.

This is not speculative fiction—it is infrastructural reality.

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Invisibility, Efficiency, and the Loss of Human Judgment

Algorithms are often described as “better than random,” yet Coded Bias insists this is insufficient when systems shape lives. Efficiency, your notes remind us, is the primary design goal—not justice, empathy, or dignity.

The automation of workers raises urgent questions, but the documentary goes further by asking: who controls the gatekeepers? When algorithms determine access to jobs, housing, or credit, exclusion becomes automated—and therefore harder to contest.

Crucially, Coded Bias exposes how people increasingly understand themselves less than algorithms claim to understand them. When prediction replaces self-knowledge, autonomy erodes.

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Resistance, Ethics, and the Meaning of Being Human

The documentary does not end in despair. Your final notes provide its most human intervention: resistance.

To reject a particular technological future—to protest, regulate, or refuse—is not anti-progress. It is profoundly human. As your notes observe:

• To be human is to be vulnerable.

• To be human is not always to be efficient.

• Sometimes humanity means disobedience.

• Sometimes it means saying no.

Automation performs what it is programmed to do. Ethics begins where programming ends.

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Pathways Forward: Accountability Over Efficiency

Drawing from Coded Bias  meaningful responses must include:

• democratic oversight of algorithmic systems,

• regulation of facial recognition and biometric surveillance,

• transparency mandates for high-stakes algorithms,

• public education to recognise hidden governance,

• and ethical responsibility embedded at institutional levels.

The goal is not to eliminate AI, but to reclaim agency over systems that increasingly govern social life.

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Conclusion: From Dystopia to Infrastructure

Coded Bias reveals that Orwell’s 1984 was not a prophecy of totalitarian spectacle, but a blueprint for systemic, invisible control. Surveillance today does not require overt force; it relies on normalisation, efficiency, and data-driven authority.

The most dangerous aspect of algorithmic governance is not that it watches—but that it decides, quietly and conclusively.

To challenge this is not to reject technology. It is to insist that human values remain sovereign over automated systems.

In an age where prediction threatens to replace freedom, Coded Bias reminds us that the future is still a political choice.

This critique does not position artificial intelligence as an inherently harmful or regressive force. Rather, it challenges the uncritical delegation of social, political, and ethical authority to automated systems operating without transparency or accountability. AI, when governed responsibly, has the capacity to support human decision-making, reduce certain forms of bias, and improve institutional efficiency. The concern raised by Coded Bias is therefore not technological advancement itself, but the normalisation of algorithmic power in the absence of democratic oversight. To question how AI is designed, deployed, and regulated is not to reject technology, but to insist that it remains aligned with human values, legal responsibility, and social justice.

REFERENCES :

Kantayya, Shalini, director. Coded Bias. 7th Empire Media, 2020.

Nineteen Eighty-Four, by George Orwell, Penguin UK, 2004.

Humans In The Loop: Raising Intelligence, Owning Responsibility

 Humans in the Loop: Raising Intelligence, Owning Responsibility

Artificial Intelligence is often framed in extremes—either as an existential threat or as a flawless solution to human limitations. Humans in the Loop refuses both narratives. Instead, it asks a quieter but far more uncomfortable question: if intelligence is learned, shaped, and corrected through human intervention, who is responsible for what AI becomes ?

Humans in the Loop resists the dominant cinematic impulse to portray Artificial Intelligence either as an omnipotent threat or as a miraculous technological solution. Instead, the film grounds AI within a quieter, more unsettling ethical framework—intelligence as something that is taught, shaped, corrected, and socially produced. Structured around three conceptual chapters—To Learn Like a Child, A Child Moulds Like Clay, and The Child and the Bias—the film repeatedly returns to a central philosophical provocation: if AI learns like a child, then humanity is not its victim but its caretaker.

Rather than indulging in spectacle or technological mystification, the film directs attention toward the slow, invisible processes through which intelligence is formed. These processes are inseparable from human labour, cultural context, economic inequality, and ethical responsibility. In doing so, Humans in the Loop offers not a story about machines becoming dangerous, but about humans refusing to acknowledge their role in shaping them.

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I. To Learn Like a Child

 

The first chapter establishes AI as a learning entity whose intelligence is fundamentally dependent on human input and interpretation. Learning here is not presented as neutral data accumulation but as a fragile process shaped by context, selection, and omission. Much like a child encountering the world, AI does not arrive with innate understanding; it inherits meaning from the environments and narratives humans provide.

The Porcupine Scene: Embodied Knowledge and Indigenous Epistemology

The porcupine motif in Humans in the Loop is not framed as a simple allegory for error, fear, or misunderstanding in learning. Instead, it functions as a recurring symbol rooted in Nehmma’s lived environment and indigenous relationship with nature. The porcupine appears as a familiar forest presence—an animal that survives through adaptation, restraint, and coexistence rather than domination.

Its quills do not signify aggression but a form of embodied intelligence that is situational and defensive, emerging from long-term inhabitation of a specific ecology. This stands in contrast to the abstract, decontextualized logic of artificial intelligence systems, which often strip data from cultural, environmental, and relational grounding. The porcupine thus represents a mode of knowing that is experiential rather than computational.

Importantly, the porcupine connects Nehmma’s childhood memories with her present labour and her daughter’s future, establishing a generational continuity that challenges the narrative of technological modernity as a complete rupture from traditional life. The film subtly suggests that older forms of intelligence—indigenous, ecological, relational—continue to exist alongside AI, even as they are rendered invisible within technological systems.

Rather than imposing a metaphor onto AI learning, the porcupine operates as a counterpoint: it asks what kinds of intelligence are ignored or erased when machines are trained solely on client-driven, market-oriented datasets.

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II. A Child Moulds Like Clay

The second chapter shifts focus from learning to shaping, foregrounding the human labour that actively moulds artificial intelligence. By depicting data labelling, annotation, correction, and verification, the film dismantles the myth of autonomous AI. Intelligence here is not self-generating; it is manufactured through repetitive, meticulous, and largely invisible human effort.

These scenes expose a critical contradiction in contemporary AI narratives. While AI is often described as self-learning, its functionality depends on continuous human supervision. The labour involved—often outsourced, feminized, and underpaid—remains obscured behind the sleek language of innovation. it  argues that ethical AI cannot be separated from the labour systems that sustain it.

Nehmma and Situated Knowledge

Nehmma’s role as a data labeller complicates conventional assumptions about who produces technological knowledge. As an Adivasi woman, her engagement with AI is shaped by lived experience rather than formal technical training. The film does not depict her as technologically deficient; instead, it reveals how her understanding of context, ambiguity, and relational meaning often exceeds the reductive logic demanded by datasets.

By intentionally recruiting women from tribal and rural communities rather than formally educated urban professionals, the film challenges stereotypes that equate intelligence exclusively with institutional education. It suggests that tribal life is not disconnected from knowledge but embedded in alternative epistemologies that value sustainability, community, and contextual awareness.

Importantly, the film avoids romanticising indigeneity. Instead, it argues that traditional ways of life are not inherently regressive or anti-modern. Many are ecologically sustainable and intellectually rich, offering insights into data, meaning, and truth that modern AI systems routinely ignore.

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III. The Child and the Bias

The third chapter confronts the ethical consequences of shaping intelligence within unequal power structures. Bias, the film suggests, is not an accidental flaw in AI systems but a predictable outcome of selective data, economic priorities, and epistemic exclusion.

A pivotal moment occurs when tribal women question the nature of their work: “We are labelling the data provided by the client, but we should use our own data and scenarios and share them to get proper context or correct answers.” This statement crystallizes the film’s critique of data ownership and representation. It raises fundamental questions: whose realities are allowed to shape AI systems, and whose remain unacknowledged?

The women’s observation exposes the asymmetry at the heart of AI production. Marginalized communities are tasked with sustaining intelligent systems while being denied the authority to contribute their own experiences as valid data. This form of epistemic injustice transforms AI into a tool of extraction rather than collective knowledge-making.

Drawing again on Mehrotra’s concept of human-in-the-loop systems, the film emphasizes that ethical safeguards are not merely technical interventions but moral choices. When certain communities are reduced to annotators of external realities, AI inevitably reflects the worldview of those who control data pipelines.

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Conclusion: Raising Intelligence, Owning Responsibility 

The closing sequence of Humans in the Loop advances a clear yet unsettling argument: artificial intelligence does not inherently produce biased, insufficient, or harmful outcomes. These failures emerge from the false, incomplete, or prejudiced data humans choose to feed into systems. AI mirrors human values—not because it is powerful, but because it is dependent.

The film challenges humanity’s tendency to fear artificial intelligence while ignoring its own ethical failures. Despite possessing natural intelligence, humans repeatedly evade responsibility by attributing harm to machines rather than confronting the social, economic, and moral conditions that shape them.

If AI learns like a child, then society must take responsibility for how it is raised. Humans in the Loop ultimately asks viewers to reconsider intelligence itself—not as a technological achievement, but as an ethical relationship between those who teach and those who learn.

References 

Sahay, Aranya, director. Humans in the Loop. Storiculture Museum of Imagined Futures SAUV Films, 2025.

Gujarati Cinema Review : Reva and Hellaro

Reva and Hellaro

Contemporary Gujarati cinema has increasingly moved beyond formulaic narratives of romance, comedy, and nostalgia to engage with deeper questions of belief, tradition, gender, and cultural identity. Two films that stand out in this shift are Reva (2018), directed by Rahul Bhole and Vinit Kanojia, and Hellaro (2019), directed by Abhishek Shah. Though vastly different in tone, setting, and narrative strategy, both films interrogate belief systems embedded in Gujarati society—Reva through an inward journey of spiritual transformation and Hellaro through outward social resistance against patriarchal norms.

This blog offers  critical reading of these films from sociological, cultural, and philosophical perspectives. Rather than romanticising faith or rebellion, the analysis focuses on how belief systems are constructed, questioned, accepted, or resisted within specific social contexts. The aim is to examine what these films do with belief—how they represent it, justify it, or leave it unresolved—rather than what they emotionally celebrate.

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Reva (2018): Rational Skepticism, Spirituality, and the Ambiguity of Transformation

The American Character as a Rational Disruptor

The film strengthens this rational skepticism through explicit dialogue. Early in the narrative, the American character directly challenges ritualistic belief by stating,

“You people walk so much believing a river will change your life… isn’t this just superstition?”.

This line is crucial because it verbalizes the epistemological gap between inherited faith and rational inquiry. Rather than subtly implying doubt, Reva allows skepticism to be spoken aloud, momentarily legitimizing atheistic critique within a predominantly religious narrative.

In Reva, the introduction of an American character who openly challenges Indian religious rituals and belief systems serves as a deliberate narrative device. His atheism and rational skepticism function as an external gaze—one that labels religious practices as superstition, questions ritualistic repetition, and demands logical coherence rather than inherited faith. Sociologically, this character represents modern secular rationality, often associated (rightly or wrongly) with Western epistemological frameworks.

What is significant is that the film initially allows this skepticism to exist without immediately vilifying it. His questions are not caricatured as arrogance; instead, they echo genuine critiques often raised against ritualized religion—questions about blind faith, symbolic excess, and unexamined tradition. In this sense, Reva briefly opens a philosophical space where belief is not assumed as default truth but as a system open to interrogation.

The Narrative Shift: From Skeptic to Yatri

The shift from skepticism to devotion is also conveyed through dialogue, though far more sparsely and ambiguously. During the Parikrama, the character admits in a subdued tone, “I don’t understand this belief… but something here feels real.” This statement signals emotional disarmament rather than philosophical resolution. The absence of logical articulation—no argument, no counter-question—marks the transition from rational doubt to experiential faith.

However, the film takes a crucial turn when this same character later becomes a devotee and undertakes the Narmada Parikrama. This transformation is presented as deeply emotional and experiential, rooted in encounters with nature, suffering, and silence rather than articulated philosophical reasoning. The river Narmada becomes not just a geographical entity but a symbolic presence—suggesting continuity, endurance, and spiritual grounding beyond rational explanation.

The critical issue here is not the transformation itself, but the lack of sufficient narrative and philosophical scaffolding supporting it. While the film briefly gestures toward an explanation through the conversation between the protagonist and Shastriji, this exchange ultimately reinforces ambiguity rather than resolving it.

In the episode involving the elderly woman who has stopped eating and claims she will soon die, Shastriji offers no medical solution, instead giving her a pot of Narmada water. When questioned by the protagonist about why he “lied” rather than offering medicine, Shastriji calmly explains that the elderly are not interested in science but possess complete faith in God, and that connecting healing to belief makes recovery possible, however he later explains the reason also.

On the surface, this scene appears to justify faith pragmatically—as psychological comfort rather than divine intervention. However, the film does not pursue the ethical or philosophical implications of this reasoning. Shastriji himself raises a critical but unanswered question: what happens if such symbolic acts later become the unquestioned foundation of belief for future generations? What begins as a compassionate tactic risks solidifying into unquestioned tradition. Yet the film does not allow this concern to develop further. Instead, the moment concludes with a close-up of the protagonist’s face, suggesting quiet acceptance of Shastriji’s logic, after which the narrative moves forward.

Rather than staging a sustained dialogue between rational skepticism and faith, the film once again resolves tension through emotional acquiescence. The protagonist does not challenge the long-term consequences of substituting belief for reason, nor does the narrative interrogate whether such “necessary lies” contribute to the very superstition skepticism seeks to dismantle. As a result, skepticism does not evolve or find reconciliation with faith; it simply recedes. The transformation remains emotionally persuasive but intellectually underdeveloped.

From a philosophical perspective, belief systems gain credibility not merely through emotional intensity but through reflective engagement—either by confronting doubt or by redefining the limits of reason. Reva gestures toward such engagement but ultimately resolves the tension ambiguously. Faith is presented as something one feels rather than something one critically arrives at.

Nature, Spirituality, and Quiet Resolution

Nature functions as an unspoken interlocutor, occasionally reinforced through culturally loaded dialogue. A fellow yatri remarks, “નર્મદા જવાબ નથી આપતી, તે માનવીને બદલે છે.” (“Narmada does not answer questions; she transforms the one who asks.”) This line foregrounds a spiritual worldview where questioning is rendered secondary to surrender. Dialogue here does not debate belief; it neutralizes debate, subtly privileging faith over rational inquiry.

The yatri also says they are “followers of God, not religion,” suggesting a faith that transcends ritualistic or institutionalized frameworks, and that their culture has “updated” religion to align with moral or social realities. Yet the film repeatedly invokes “Narmada Mata,” signaling that even as it gestures toward universal spirituality, it relies on familiar religious symbols. Faith is thus privileged over reason, while the tension between personal belief and institutionalized religion remains unresolved.

The film’s strongest contribution lies in its portrayal of nature as a mediator between skepticism and belief. The river, landscapes, and physical hardship of the Parikrama offer a form of experiential spirituality that does not rely on doctrinal assertion. Yet, even here, the film refrains from articulating whether this spirituality is universal, cultural, or personal.

As a result, Reva neither fully interrogates belief systems nor explicitly endorses them. It occupies an in-between space where faith is rendered personal and ineffable, but this very ambiguity limits its philosophical rigor. The audience is asked to accept transformation rather than understand it.

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Hellaro (2019): Patriarchy, Tradition, and the Ethics of Resistance

The Village as a Closed Social System

Hellaro is firmly rooted in a traditional Gujarati village structured by patriarchy, rigid gender roles, and ritualistic customs. Unlike Reva, which moves across landscapes and internal states, Hellaro remains spatially and socially enclosed. This enclosure is crucial—it reflects how tradition operates not as abstract ideology but as everyday regulation of bodies, especially female bodies.

The film presents women’s lived realities with sociological precision. Women are silenced, restricted from public joy, and expected to absorb suffering as virtue. Being labeled a witch or being offered symbolically to appease a deity are not exaggerated dramatic devices but culturally recognizable mechanisms of control. The film’s restraint in portrayal strengthens its critique: oppression is normalized, not spectacularized.

Manjiri: Education, Questioning, and Moral Reasoning

Manjiri’s resistance is articulated most powerfully through sharp, ethically grounded dialogue. When elders insist on unquestioned obedience, she challenges them by asking, “જો પરંપરા આપણને બોલવા પણ ન દે, તો એ પરંપરા સાચી કેવી રીતે?” (“If a tradition does not even allow us to speak, how can it be right?”). This line reframes tradition as a moral question rather than a sacred mandate. Despite limited formal education, her reasoning is philosophically incisive, grounded in ethical consequence rather than doctrine.

Manjiri emerges as a central figure of resistance not because she is exceptionally educated or externally empowered, but because she persistently asks questions. Educated only till the 7th standard, she embodies an important philosophical intervention: critical thinking does not require formal academic credentials; it requires moral clarity and the courage to doubt.

Her questioning targets the ethical foundation of tradition. She does not reject culture wholesale, nor does she romanticize rebellion. Instead, she asks whether a tradition that demands women’s silence, suffering, or sacrifice can claim moral legitimacy. This approach grounds the film’s feminist critique in lived ethics rather than ideological abstraction.

Collective Assertion Without Exaggeration

The women’s collective voice emerges through restrained but forceful dialogue. When a male authority figure asserts, “આ તો પેઢીઓથી ચાલતું આવ્યું છે.” (“This has been going on for generations.”), a woman responds quietly yet firmly, “એટલે જ તો ખોટું છે.” (“That is exactly why it is wrong.”). This exchange encapsulates the film’s critique of tradition as historical continuity rather than moral legitimacy, without resorting to melodrama.

Hellaro avoids the trap of portraying liberation as instant or absolute. The women’s collective assertion—through dance, voice, and presence—is symbolic, yet it remains anchored within the social constraints of the village. The men are not depicted as monsters; they are products and enforcers of a system that has normalized dominance.

This nuanced portrayal allows the film to critique patriarchy structurally rather than emotionally. Resistance here is not about individual heroism but collective awakening, and even that awakening is shown as fragile and contested.

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Belief, Faith, and Resistance: A Comparative Reading

The most striking contrast between Reva and Hellaro lies in how they engage with belief systems.

• Reva approaches belief through inward spiritual surrender. Doubt dissolves into personal faith, and transformation occurs quietly, without social confrontation.

• Hellaro approaches belief through outward resistance. Tradition is questioned publicly, and faith is measured against ethical consequences rather than emotional comfort.

In Reva, belief is individualized and internalized; in Hellaro, belief is social, enforced, and therefore contestable. One film leans toward reconciliation with tradition, the other toward renegotiation of tradition.

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Reflective Perspective: Hellaro and Lived Gujarati Realities

From a sociological standpoint, Hellaro resonates strongly with lived realities in many Gujarati (and broader Indian) contexts, where patriarchal superiority is often normalized as cultural continuity. Practices that restrict women’s autonomy are frequently defended as tradition rather than examined as power structures.

What makes Hellaro significant is its refusal to depict this as an isolated or historical problem. The village may be temporally distant, but the logic of control—silencing dissent, moralizing suffering, equating obedience with virtue—remains disturbingly familiar. The film thus functions not only as representation but as reflection.

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Conclusion: Contributions to Contemporary Gujarati Cinema

Together, Reva and Hellaro signal an important shift in Gujarati cinema toward critical engagement with belief, faith, gender roles, and cultural identity. Reva explores spirituality and faith as personal journeys but stops short of fully interrogating their philosophical foundations. Hellaro, on the other hand, rigorously questions tradition by exposing its ethical and social consequences, particularly for women.

Neither film offers definitive answers—and that is their strength. They invite viewers not to consume belief passively but to examine how faith, tradition, and culture operate in shaping human lives. In doing so, they contribute to a more reflective, questioning, and socially conscious Gujarati cinematic discourse.

References 

Bhole, Rahul, and Vinit Kanojia, directors. Reva. Brainbox Studios, 2018.

Shah, Abhishek, director. Hellaro. Harfanmaula Films, 2019.