Saif Ali Khan occupies a unique place in post-2000s Bollywood cinema. His eyebrows stitched together in confusion, his grin stuck in non-committal permanence, he became, for well over a decade, the poster boy of indecisiveness. Fans know that Salaam Namaste (2005) was one of the first mainstream Hindi movies to capture live-in relationships. These bonds, free of nuptial obligations, were explored by him again some years later in Cocktail (2012) and Happy Ending (2014). His excellent portrayal of hesitation and lack of conviction lent a tenor of instability to these relationships, becoming a representation of the societal outlook towards them and its change over time.
There is a reason why most depictions of these relationships are set in foreign lands. While Salaam Namaste was based in Melbourne, Cocktail and Happy Ending were set in the UK and US respectively. A distance from the prejudices of South Asian society and a more refined perspective of personal space enables these films to plumb the inner geography of these characters. Realistically speaking, an entire film cannot be about how partners navigate the aspersions of people who frown at them; where PDA is still videographed and uploaded online; where you’re either a spinster—Pride and Prejudice-style—or rushed into wedlock. Pyaar ka Punchnama (2011) and Luka Chuppi (2019) showed us that. Outside the glamourous and fictional realm of Bollywood, Vogue India reached out to a few cohabitating Indian couples after news of Uttarakhand’s UCC Bill, which mandates the registration of live-in relationships, made headlines.
Nafisa, a student living with her partner in Dehradun, considers him her best friend. “He’ll graduate before I will. The thought of it makes me sick to my stomach,” she says. Nafisa thanks her stars for her living arrangement, which she doesn’t recognise as a “live-in” at first blush. They have a pet dog and are always occupied, besides their course load, with errands, house parties, and conversations, sans filters, about where they’re headed together. “Honestly, if I can, I would live my entire life this way. It’s easier. There’s no pressure, and, in my case, it’s just between two people. No third party can get nosey.” Nafisa, however, is wary of what may come next. Some interfaith relationships still do not make it past society-imposed deadlines of legal union. But she doesn’t want to borrow grief from the future.
In conversations with other people, what often comes to the fore is the idea that live-in is perhaps a modern concept—a foreign germ of an idea alien to the Indian society and weft in the incorruptible fibres of tradition. The hems of these are fraying fast. Indira and Ananth (both 24) met in college and now live and work as accountants in New Delhi. For Indira, living with her partner has liberated her to pursue things much more freely than if they lived apart. “My life doesn’t orbit around thoughts of how and when I get to see him. There is an element of codependence, which, if carried too far, may consume you. I’m glad I’m free of that. He’s right there.” There is a refrain, not Indira’s, that modern relationships are hesitant to name what stage of courtship they’re at. The idea of love and its extensions is often seen as something that sits like a stone, weighing heavy. A live-in setting allows, as per Indira, for all involved to blossom in their own spaces.
It’s important that living together doesn’t ring the death knell for privacy either. Anjali, 30, who lives with her partner of six years in Bombay, advises factoring in a firm sense of privacy and cautions against a total accretion of different persons into one ungainly whole. “Always, always value your own space and have your own friend groups. Your partner is one person; you cannot ethically count on them to juggle so many roles for you.”
Indira, who didn’t consciously choose to live with her partner, has grown to embrace it, describing it as a great testing ground for questions of genuine compatibility. For her, it’s a template which slithers off more superficial concerns to actual modes of cohabitation, finances and where their careers are going. Thrust into marriages amidst the quicksand of 21st-century living with nary a notion as to what that entails often spells doom for young couples. Live-in, here, gives you a headstart. The convenience of access comes at a cost, though, as landlords continue to exercise rights to premises as per their own customs. Couples often have to pretend to be engaged or married to stop tongues wagging but it’s a small price to pay instead of attracting attention each time they drop in to visit their partner.
Living in, considered to be a symptom of cultural decline by many, has incidentally been the norm in more than pockets and snatches of the country for a long time, says Archana Nandan Trasy, an artist who lives with her partner. Both of them chuckle away the term ‘girlfriend’ to address each other. They recently contributed to Disney Star’s Words of Pride campaign, which aimed to cultivate awareness and employ the right vocabulary to address queer communities across India. “Live-in provides a safe space for open communication, including the idea of exiting the relationship should things not work out. Unlike marriage, which is sometimes upheld by societal pressure rather than an authentic connection, live-ins are sustained by the effort and commitment of two (or more) people choosing each other every day.”
Long before more popular debate on the matter, Mahesh Bhatt poured part of his life into Arth (1982), starring Shabana Azmi and Smita Patil, based on his extramarital affair with the late Parveen Babi. The old ball and chain assumes metaphysical dimensions here, as the protagonist, a filmmaker, feels trapped within his marriage, and ventures forth. A good summary of the film is that who one chooses to be with doesn’t come to define them, and that life, for want of a better substitute for the ephemera of what the everyday is, is a collection of several missed connections. Some of them eventually strike gold. But the process is a crucial deconstruction of becoming and unbecoming, each successive relationship an echo of the previous one, past familiar stages and frequent revisions of memory as partners get to understand each other better. It turned out to be a breakthrough success, the kind Bhatt had always hoped for, launching a celebrated career, perhaps reflecting a more accepting audience for the time it released.
For many, the self-starter aspect of live-in, the trust and degree of love, and the abiding faith in the future it assumes become central to their idea of love itself. It has to be cultivated; an act of constant gardening that is best done when the nourishing sunlight beams from within, instead of flickering into being from false starts. As elements of societal bondage slip away and these relationships gain greater currency, affection can produce its own grammar and croon to its own symphony. Love must set us free—even if you cannot put a ring on it.
