Pushpa- Fire and Farce

By Kalpana Kumari

Pushpa 2 is the story of a red sandalwood smuggler’s “rise” or more accurately, the cinematic worship of a man who cannot be defeated. He says, “Jhukega nahi saala” and everyone from police departments across states to mafia bosses from Japan, Central ministers, a sitting CM, an ex-CM, business tycoons, traders, and even the entire administration collectively agrees. No one dares to “jhukao” him. Pushpa is fire.

He doesn’t need negotiation or strategy. No “saam, daam, dand, bhed.” He simply bribes, threatens, and beats the hell out of 10, 20, 30, or 100 armed men even while tied up head to toe. He’s unstoppable. In his world, everyone can be bribed except him of course. If someone isn’t, like Mr. Shekhawat, they’re automatically painted as unstable, erratic, and obviously the villain.

But don’t mistake Pushpa for just another goon. No no, he’s an intellectual. He plans operations that would put global crime syndicates to shame. He learns Japanese by himself in a shipping container. He remembers everyone’s stories including that of some random police officer from an XYZ station. He puts even ChatGPT to shame with his readily available knowledge. His financial brilliance too is unmatched. He understands hawala so well that even after killing the source of his own hawala network, it somehow keeps working. 

But what really sets Pushpa apart?Misogyny. That’s the one villain he refuses to fight.

Poor guy didn’t get a surname. His mother was “just” the woman who gave birth, raised him, and endured being called characterless her entire life abandoned, humiliated. But the only pain Pushpa acknowledges is that his father didn’t leave him his name. That is the real tragedy of his life.

But mittar, don’t fikkar. He compensates. He gets women by stalking them, bribing them, or forcing them. And if they protest? Relax -it’s our culture. Remember, “ladkiyon ki naa mein haan hoti hai.” The women around him support this noble cause. They exist to stay subservient and obsessed with jewellery. Srivalli, for instance, becomes the ideal Indian heroine -a woman who falls for the man who stalked her because he saved her from another stalker. What choice did she have?

Even when Srivalli shows signs of being assertive, it’s limited to harmless playfulness like a puppy barking for fun. She's given a pseudo voice only to enhance Pushpa’s dominance. At best, her importance is reduced to a sidekick who gets gifts, rubs his feet, and carries alcohol bottles during his smuggling expeditions.

And this farce of female agency continues. When Srivalli gets pregnant, her biggest crime is not ensuring it’s a girl because a boy would inherit Pushpa’s dukh again. Oh, and remember how she’s shamed for her husband’s lack of a surname? Because obviously, it’s her fault.

Meanwhile, Pushpa's niece, the only family member who speaks to him is insulted for being just a woman. But she too plays her part by casually picking up expensive jewellery and not paying, because, well… her uncle is the town’s favourite criminal. Who’s going to say no?

Even in his “good husband” moments like trying to get a photo clicked with the CM for his wife it’s always more about Pushpa’s pride than any genuine affection. When the CM denies the photo, he overthrows the entire government. And yet, he convinces the world it was only for his wife’s wish. How sweet. 

Srivalli is presented as empowered because she gets to demand sex sometimes. Really? That’s the bar now? Meanwhile, Pushpa is out there erotically dancing with a random "hot girl" in item numbers but don’t worry, he’s loyal because he doesn’t sleep with them. Wow, what a man. And of course, that “hot girl” had no other role except to entertain with her body and vanish.

And then there’s the real MVP, Pushpa’s mother.

Her life is just one long punishment. Shamed by teachers, priests, and the entire village, even her son indirectly blames her for his struggles. She bears it all quietly. But please don’t ruin our “cinematic experience” by questioning how much she suffers.

Oh, and the niece again? When she’s kidnapped, Pushpa finally remembers she exists. He is dressed up as a goddess mockingly but he still manages to save her. Not because he cares, but because it gives him another opportunity to show he’s God level. Even the divine must make way for Brand Pushpa.

Meanwhile, all other female characters serve to highlight what Pushpa isn’t. That loud, short-haired officer? She dared to enter a male dominated world. She had to be humiliated because how dare she challenge him?

Enter Brand Pushpa

We must applaud the creators. They’ve built a character with a full advertising package: logo, tagline, walk, talk, costume, posture, soundtrack, and even dance steps. It’s a fantasy sold with such conviction that it puts marketing agencies to shame. And fans buy it, not the plot, not the characters, but the brand.

But this brand has a flaw. It’s allergic to weakness. Pushpa cannot lose. The movie betrays all logic to ensure he stays undefeated.

Imagine being a CM who can’t transfer an IPS officer. A Central Minister who can’t refuse a smuggler. A mafia boss who follows Pushpa’s rules. A trader from Japan who surrenders his helicopter. A Collector who can’t process files without Pushpa’s nod. Imagine being a woman and having agency. These things cannot happen in Pushpa’s universe.

Every enemy is reduced to a clown. Every resistance ends in acrobatics. Even Shekhawat, who’s built up as a menacing villain, is stripped (literally), bombed out of scenes, and ridiculed. Any moment of Pushpa losing - boom - a random twist ensures he wins. Always.

Pushpa’s narcissism is endless. He can’t be criticised. Call him a smuggler? He sulks. Ask him to apologise? He vanishes. His relationships are transactional. He blames loved ones for not predicting his mood swings. If they fail, he dumps them in the middle of the road.

And yet, he has a saviour complex. He feels for the poor while operating a criminal empire that launders crores, manipulates elections, and kills people. But hey, he gives money and gifts, so let’s call him a messiah. He even boasts about murder, reminding people how he killed Mangalam Srinu like it’s a resume entry.

But when challenged to become a coolie if his contraband is caught, he’s offended. And we’re told he respects the poor? If not, why is being a coolie considered an insult?

So, how is this justified? Cinematic expression. That's the magical excuse.

What did you expect? A smuggler with nuance? With dilemmas? With flaws? Who is he? Tony Soprano?

Don’t you see? He already showed vulnerability. His father didn’t give him a surname! What more do you want?

He’s doing so much; buying anklets, saving his niece, overthrowing CMs. And now you expect him to help women become independent too? Please. This poor man can’t do everything.

This film only makes sense if you watch it as the daydream of a megalomaniac. The fantasy of a man who imagines himself doing whatever he wants, beating whoever he wants, breaking every law and still being the hero. His violence is glory. His flaws are ignored. His world revolves around him, and he is the sun, the moon, and the fire.

The Right Way

Stop glamorising this fantasy. Let Pushpa fail. Show him wrestle with doubt. Let the villains be stronger. Let women be real. Show the syndicate story. Let criminals be powerful, anxious, and even broken like they really are. Don’t drag every other character down to elevate one.

Because until storytellers are willing to trade fantasy for honesty, strength for vulnerability, and swagger for substance, we’ll keep circling the same tired myth: where the Hero never bends but the cinema keeps breaking.

By Kalpana Kumari