The representation of Gupta Rajan (a man from Chennai, albeit the improbability of the name) in the extremely well made Steven Spielberg movie Terminal marked the maturing (and de-stereotypification) of the Indian in popular representation in Hollywood.
And Hollywood, as we all know, is a fairly useful barometer for general American perception of various types from around the world. Gupta in Terminal is a problematic character. He’s not a very likeable person at the outset. He is suspicious, mean and a conspiracy theorist. But then, he is also much more.
For those who came in late the storyline of Terminal is about a Slavic man (played by Tom Hanks) trapped iat the JFK airport in New York because his country has suffered a coup since he emplaned, and he is, quite simply, persona non grata. Gupta is a member of the airport staff, responsible for cleaning floors. He, along with a Hispanic and an African American, befriends the stateless man. Together they help him achieve his apotheosis, as it were — to get out of the terminal and into the city to secure the autograph of a jazz musician and thus honour the last wishes of his father.
Our interest here is with the minor character Gupta, and how his personality is fleshed out. Initially, Gupta Rajan (the second name is pronounced hopelessly incorrectly, with the ‘j’ becoming the European ‘y’) is painted as glum, heartless and petty. He is also inanely bureaucratic (Tom Hanks has lost his food coupons in Gupta’s garbage
pile; Gupta asks Hanks whether he has an appointment to inspect his pile!).
The tiresome bureaucratic type fits the Gupta character well.
Indians are generally known to be officious, lacking in a sense of humour, readily touched to the quick and very defensive about themselves and their ways. Honestly speaking, we know much of this to be true of ourselves, right?
What also fits is the story behind Gupta’s sojourn to the States. He has run away from India because the little corner shop he ran had to be abandoned some 27-odd years back. Why? Because, harassed by the local cop who demanded his weekly cut (we are familiar with this scenario, are we not?), Gupta stabs the uniformed man to death.
Interestingly, Gupta’s pronunciation is just correct (by correct is meant appropriate), quite unlike the exaggerations we have had to often contend with — with excessive emphasis on the ‘d’ sounds, with sing song intonations rendered popular by Peter Sellers’ rambunctious and somewhat patronising imitation of an Indian in The Party.
What makes Gupta’s speech come alive is his inappropriate emphasis on the definite article (‘the’) in all the wrong places, the inevitable gaffe from an
Indian language trained speaker of the English language. It is in the denouement of the narrative that Gupta becomes much more than the type.
He is willing to show the finger (metaphorically) to the American authorities to help his stranded friend set foot in NYC. He walks onto the tarmac and holds up an aeroplane just so that Hanks cannot be deported. For his indiscretion, Gupta is arrested and (assumedly) deported to face the law back home.
Today, India is a brand. Every brand begs appropriate representation. Terminal marked the beginning of a different Indian in Hollywood consciousness.