J. Shruti
The persona remains limited to those wound-up Jaya Bachchan memes that are gleefully distributed on the internet. The patriarchal matriarch, with her unbending spine and blind spots, is denied acceptance by both the narrative and the audience.
To the extent that she names her son Tijori (the word means treasury) and pulls him into both her patriarchal convictions, as well as the ambition to prioritize being her scion rather than her husband’s son.
On one hand, incoming daughters-in-law are told to never lower their heads and literally hold their heads high, but at the same time, they’re to pay obeisance to their mothers-in-law and keep their heads covered in deference to tradition.
Is she spurred by the fear of being alone or genuine remorse? Why does she feel Rani will be more accepting of her than her own grandson? We are only told that despite her admission, Dhanalakshmi remains cast out of the family.
Can you not only accept Rani, but also unlearn what you have taken for granted as objective fact? Can you reconsider your entire operational philosophy? So burdened is the film with this pursuit, that it unimaginatively draws a curtain over her inner life.