The market share of foreign cosmetic products from Revlon, Oriflame, L’Oreal, Maybelline grew by 25% during the late Nineties — a historic feat. Rai may not have had anything to do with this market growth directly, but she was a respectable cog in its wheel, embodying an ideal femininity that conformed to the contemporary demand of idealising Western beauty and celebrated consumerism.

To bludgeon the obvious point across: Rai was not just beautiful — she was gorgeous. Many have resorted to exclaiming, designer Tarun Tahiliani for one, that their logical ability to think is compromised in her presence. The film projects she took on — her most memorable collaborations have arguably been with Mani Ratnam and Sanjay Leela Bhansali — invariably utilised this external truth and purposed it into the narrative.

Tradition as a Contrast

An Iruvar (1997), a Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (1999), a Devdas (2002), a Cannes jury member honour (2003), a Time magazine cover (2003), a few flops — if Aishwarya Rai the model was an unchallenged queen, the actor encountered subtle and impolite resistance. It’s evident from her choices that Rai was intent upon being seen as a serious actor and commercially viable heroine from the very beginning. She chose to work with filmmakers who were known for their artistic grandeur and distinctive choices. Devdas’s Paro as Rai played it was an incandescent contrast to the newer notion of a desirable woman peddled through her advertisements, in her saris and with her Rapunzel-esque long hair. The good girl in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam chose her Indian husband over the temptation of an (Indian) Italian lover. In Taal (1999), she was the modern folk singer, who is willing to go West for professional reasons without losing sight of Indian traditions.

How much of Rai’s appearance would account for the credit she deserves as an actor, given what her beauty could do to celluloid? In 2003, when she would be announced as one of the youngest jury member at Cannes, the raspings about her credibility as an actor would become louder, and her facial features — palatable to a Western audience — would be chalked up to be a significant reason she was being acknowledged to such a degree.

The Tag of ‘Ice Maiden’

These criticisms were mixed with the frustration of another unmet demand: to pull the curtain and offer personal anecdotes that could humanise her. Culture journalists referred to Rai as the “Ice Maiden” for notoriously guarding her private life. (The term, retrospectively, feels sexist.) An ex-colleague, a veteran reporter, would also disclose that even procuring an interview could prove to be an onerous task. Rai would divulge digestible details about her parents’ emphasis on academics (she has a degree in architecture), having a normal upbringing, and being the only one in the family to pursue a career in showbiz. This self-consciousness and obsession with the ‘good girl’ persona would chafe at some. Take this scathing promulgation into account: “She remains a glittering icon, more symbolic than real, defined entirely by how she looks,” wrote Lakshmi Chaudhry in a piece for Business Standard.

Aishwarya Rai Bachchan At Cannes 2015 | #FCinCannes

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