Moving In With Malaika reduces Bollywood’s most desirable woman to a cliché

At 49, Malaika Arora looks as if she is out to disprove every law of aging. She still looks as if she was the 20-something MTV VJ who embodied a “thirst-trap” when she danced to Chaiyya Chaiyya atop a moving train. Dressed in a backless choli and ghagra, Arora cut a steamy picture, alternating between suggestively heaving her chest and rhythmically gyrating her hips, single-handedly turning Chaiyya Chaiyya into the item song of the decade. A sly smile is on her face every time she makes eye-contact with the camera, as if she simultaneously knows the effect her body would have on the audience watching the song and enjoys the idea of having them at her mercy. It’s not like Hindi actresses hadn’t turned themselves into objects of desire before Chaiyya Chaiyya. The difference was that unlike the caveats of morality most actresses followed, Arora never pretended to be coy about weaponizing her sexuality. That’s on full display in every item song Arora has graced but especially in the horny Munni Badnam Hui (2010) that became a shorthand for the heat and steam she is capable of emanating at the blink of an eye. Dressed once again in a backless choli and ghagra, Arora — then in her 30s — aimed to hypnotize with her writhing hips and electric charm. Her irresistible appeal in Munni Badnam Hui can be best summarized by a line from the song: “Hai mere jhatke mein filmi mazaa” (My moves are filmy). Her rapt audience tends to agree. That is to say, Malaika Arora became the pin-up Bollywood “hot girl” not because the audience saw her as one, but more so because she rarely saw hotness as a burden. Today, over three decades since she started working in and around Bollywood, Arora remains as hotly desired as she was 20 years ago. In that sense, Arora’s continued relevance is both obvious and a thing of mystery. Despite not being an actress (her only “acting” role is in a forgettable flop film), she continues to hold social currency in an industry that treats women like dispensable props — especially when they cross a certain age. Perhaps, it’s got something to do with the fact that her celebrityhood is impossible to label. Granted, she is primarily known as an item dancer but Arora is also a reality television judge as well as a fashion and wellness entrepreneur. In that, she represents celebrityhood at its most unique — someone who is in the limelight for being perennially compatible with fame. It helps that Arora’s unusual celebrity standing (no other former VJ or item dancer commands the same following as her) is matched by the pluck that she displays in her personal life. It’s no secret that everything she does instantly makes headlines, whether it is divorcing her husband, buying strawberries, or dating a younger actor. The all-encompassing interest that the country has in her life also means that her choices are always under sexist scrutiny. To say that Arora threatens the male ego of a conservative, patriarchal society would be an understatement. I say that not only because she seems to be unaffected by the patriarchal expectations heaped on a single mother her age but more so, because she consistently insists on prioritizing her own happiness. After all, there is nothing that threatens Indian men more than a woman who refuses to feel any shame for choosing the life she wants for herself. It’s a shame then that Arora is reduced to a bland subject in Moving In With Malaika , her new Disney+ Hotstar reality show that offers audiences a ringside view into her daily life. The format is inspired directly from Keeping Up With the Kardashians and the tone, meant to replicate the guilty pleasures of The Fabulous Lives of Bollywood Wives . In the four episodes that are already out on Disney+ Hotstar, Moving in With Malaika doesn’t even come close to replicating the unfiltered absurdity of either of these shows. For one, Moving In With Malaika doesn’t quite crack the aesthetic of a celebrity reality show. By which I mean that the show has no voice or style of its own. The opening credit sequence and the opening montage are both tackily crafted — the treatment resembles a cheap knock-off of a generic video game (That Disney+ Hotstar put it up without any quality control is ridiculous). The lack of low-effort, low-stakes imagination is on display from the first episode itself which begins with a bizarre montage of Arora sashaying around a swimming pool at night. A clunky voiceover kicks in: she addresses the audience, promising us that the show will reveal a side of her that has gotten lost amid the headlines. It’s not entirely clear why a bikini-clad Arora had to deliver that message but the camera focusing its gaze on her underwater doesn’t exactly amount to anything beyond being cringe-inducing. Reality TV works best when its subjects completely forget that the camera is following them. That never seems to be the case with Arora in these four episodes. Not only is she painfully aware that she is being filmed but worse, she goes out of her way to perform for the camera in a way that is altogether off-putting. It then becomes so easy to see through the ruse of a celebrity starring in a scripted show that offers only the illusion of truth. For instance, her close family members and friends either appear as talking heads who praise her to the camera or on two-minute video calls offering her advice, which in itself contradicts the intimate format of such a show. As a result, we only end up knowing about Arora through what others have to say about her and the narrative that the show sets about her. For instance, we’re told certain things over and over again: Arora is made up of incredible strength, she’s not one to back down from a challenge, she was left traumatized after her she was in a car accident earlier this year and that she’s been a victim of the media’s relentless sexism. It’s intercut with shots of Arora looking at the camera and repeating the exact same things. If there was a secret recipe for a reality show to become painfully boring, Moving In With Malaika has definitely cracked it. The arc of the four episodes, which exist only to yaas-quen her bossgirl tendencies, follow this structure as well: in the first episode, Farah Khan appears in Arora’s living room to conduct a painfully scripted interview that touches upon Arora’s divorce from husband Arbaaz Khan , the debilitating effects of the car accident, and her… strength. The second episode stages a car commercial that Arora signs which requires her to overcome her fear of driving — she says she won’t do it, not after the accident only to eventually gather the “strength” to eventually do it. Once that is taken care of, we are told of Arora’s other fear: acting. Farhad Samji turns up out of nowhere to narrate a nonsensical film. In between, Arora falls back upon her sister Amrita Arora to dispense advice over video calls and her actor-friend Neha Dhupia to discourage her about trying stand-up. As is expected, Arora naturally finds answers to every doubt, obstacle, and phobia within five minutes. If it isn’t clear by now, there is little rhyme or rhythm to any of the proceedings.

It also doesn’t help that Arora seems to wear a carefully-curated persona throughout the four episodes, coming across as a cliché instead of a plucky woman who refuses to desexualize herself. She seems visibly hesitant to either be vulnerable or close out the distance between the audience and herself, the equivalent of asking someone to move in and then demanding that they remain plopped in the guest room. The lack of honesty is more palpable considering Arora doesn’t exactly boast a fun personality that can tide through the show’s dedicated mediocrity. The more I watched the show, the more it dawned on me that Arora seems so used to people speaking on her behalf that she’s forgotten how to introduce herself. Even Arora’s stand-up act seemed like a tease — an illusion of bravery on her part when in fact, she doesn’t discuss anything about her life that’s not already known (Arora taking a swipe at the judgement that has come her way since she started dating Arjun Kapoor is still enjoyable.) In that, Moving In With Malaika feels like such a wasted opportunity simply because of how rare it is for women in Bollywood to have the opportunity to set their own narratives. Especially when it’s one of the most desirable women in Bollywood. To be fair, Moving In With Malaika doesn’t have the emotional heft or intellect to examine female fame that feeds off directly from male objectification. Imagine a reality show that prodded Bollywood’s most desirable woman to think of desire? Or item songs? Or even about the gossip tabloids that keep inventing pregnancy rumours? Instead, all we get is a reality show that undermines Arora by simultaneously depicting her as a victim and an underdog. If her 30-year-old stay in the limelight is any proof, Malaika Arora is neither of those things. Poulomi Das is a film and culture writer, critic, and programmer. Follow more of her writing on  Twitter . Read all the  Latest News ,  Trending News ,  Cricket News ,  Bollywood News ,  India News  and  Entertainment News  here. Follow us on  Facebook ,  Twitter  and  Instagram .