How Netflix's Masaba Masaba unapologetically represents real women

***SOME SPOILERS***

Earlier this year, the uncertainty of Covid-19’s global impact and subsequent quarantine measures forced people old and young back to the safety of their parents' house. Having only recently moved to America and realising I had gotten myself roped into a tragic health insurance plan with zero funds to cover any potential hospitalisation costs, I packed up my life in bags and boxes. I escaped New York City back to my mother’s house in Bangkok, Thailand, in what is still the cheapest flight I have ever been on. 

I found myself feeling fearful but relieved at the same time, surrounded by boxes containing remnants of my old life, and working from home with little access to the outside world. Back in a city I had lost connection and fondness for, I found myself isolated from other human beings even when lockdown measures were lifted. 

Thankfully, I had my new best friend Netflix to keep me company. 

This story begins on a casual Friday night in quarantine. My discovery of Masaba Masaba occurred, quite frankly, by accident. Sat in the living room, I spotted my mother scrolling through Netflix, stopping momentarily at a trailer in which I briefly glimpsed at clips of a 10-year old mixed-race girl doing very adult things: standing in a therapist’s office, signing a lease, designing new patterns for a fashion collection. I was immediately sold. That night, I stayed up until 2am watching Masaba Masaba from start to finish. 

Directed by Sonam Nair and created by Ashvini Yardi, Masaba Masaba was released on August 28, 2020, starring real-life mother and daughter duo Masaba and Neena Gupta who play versions of themselves. Masaba navigates life as a recently single woman in the midst of Mumbai’s fashion world, while Neena grapples with the challenges of finding acting roles as an older woman. In only 6 episodes, this television show manages to explore the impact of living life in the public eye as a mixed-race woman, how Indian women are affected by ageism in the film industry, the complexities of divorce, and even body positivity all while maintaining our undivided attention. 

According to creator Ashvini Yardi, the choice to cast Masaba and Neena as themselves was a purposeful one: to fill a gap in the television landscape with content that is open, honest, and depicts things as they are. Ashvini also makes sure we see every new milestone and experience through the perspective of Masaba’s childhood self because that’s exactly it - we all feel fifteen again when life doesn’t go as planned. Realising that Masaba’s real-life social media posts, which discussed stretch marks, acne, body positivity, was exactly the content she was looking for, Ashvini pitched the show to Netflix and insisted on the involvement of Sonam Nair, a female-identifying director. 

Masaba Masaba is still the number one show on Netflix India, and for good reason.

We’re not looking for representation on television that superficially features extremely beautiful people who happen to have darker skin tones, we’re looking for representation on television that features real people. The team’s insistence on portraying imperfection is exactly what makes Masaba Masaba radiate off the screen with such beautiful, unapologetic honesty. 

I could fill pages with why this show is so special. But a few key things stood out for me, and one of these things was the show’s exploration of anti-blackness because - and I know all the aunties and uncles out there won’t want to hear this - but India has a problem with dark skin. Indian women are especially no stranger to the fact that society perceives our worth differently depending on whether we’re born with a lighter or darker complexion. 

Since the release of Indian Matchmaker, conversations about race and its intersections with class have erupted among the South Asian community. We were confronted by a reality some of us were perhaps willing to ignore, that the inherently racist, classist caste system still pervades how we see ourselves and how we see other people. India’s lingering and pervasive problem of colourism was laid out for the entire world to see. 

In a heated conversation with her soon-to-be ex-husband in episode one, Masaba points out she has been “surrounded by controversy since the day I was born.” The viewer doesn’t have to do a lengthy Google search to understand that not only has Masaba struggled with her Black Caribbean identity in India, but struggled with the fact that Neena raised her as a single mother in the public eye.

This show tackles colourism in a way that is subtle, because the racism that Masaba goes through is also inherently covert. We see how it impacts her different day-to-day life in comparison with her colleagues, friends, and family members. It’s ignorant comments from fabric sellers that “Masaba” is a country in Africa, it’s feeling like her natural hair is always a “problem.”   

A pivotal moment in the show also comes when Neena’s character makes a post on Instagram revealing to the world that she is struggling to find work. Despite her accumulated fame and vast filmography, she still struggles to find a place for herself in India’s acting world. Nair and Yardi poignantly capture the film industry’s downfall in not choosing to tell authentic stories of older women, as well as the limited opportunities older women have within the storytelling space. In Masaba Masaba, the creators right old wrongs, and use this space to let Neena shine as a woman who is dynamic, who is multidimensional, who has a life outside just being a mother. 

But what resonated with me the most on a personal level was the fact that Masaba had visible, deep acne scars in which she and the production team made no attempt to conceal.

Maybe it’s because I don’t watch enough TV, but I can say with absolute certainty that I’ve never seen a female-identifying protagonist of colour with acne scars on television in my entire 23 years of existence. More than that, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a female protagonist of colour with acne scars as the center of varied and competing romantic attention - by no means because she needs for validation, but because it’s just a part of her life, another reminder that representation of South Asian beauty in the media is still not diverse enough. 

After battling hormonal acne for most of my teenage years, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) at the age of seventeen. My diagnosis, coupled with the fact that I grew up within a tight-knit conservative South Asian community - where women are taught to prioritise beauty above all else - did not help my journey towards self-confidence. My acne scars were commented on by most adults I interacted with, remarking that I should do something about them before it’s the “right time to get married.” All these years later, my skin and I still have a love-hate relationship. 

I needed to see that my imperfections don’t mean that I can’t be sexy, be confident, and be wanted by other people. I’m 100% certain I’m not the only one who felt so inextricably moved by watching Masaba navigate the world in all her confident glory - surrounded by numerous, gorgeous love interests - was the confidence boost I was craving for all this time, but didn’t know I needed, until I saw it. 

Without spoiling anything else, because I do really want you to watch this show, Masaba Masaba is a portrayal of the modern Indian female experience that is, at its core, imperfect. This show has impacted me, and so many people across the world, because I saw parts of myself - my scars, my anxiety, my doubt, my struggles, my fear of failure - in these characters. Pain and joy, mess and passion, is what makes the modern South Asian experience so special. 

By giving us an authentic, three-dimensional look into Masaba’s life and all its ups and downs, Nair and Yardi show us that there is no one way, no right way, to be an Indian woman.