The Young Lady Dancing at the End of “Mississippi Masala”
Sometimes the best actors are those who don’t pretend that their acting...
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In the final scene of Mira Nair’s 1991 film Mississippi Masala, the patriarch, Jay, has returned to his native Uganda after years of exile during the regime of Idi Amin. As he walks through an open market, he passes a female vendor next to a radio selling handwoven baskets. The shot captures a background image of a young and newly appointed Yoweri Museveni – the autocratic president of Uganda. Jay edges towards a gathering of Ugandans who are transfixed on a young lady dancing to the female vendor’s music playing Afrigo Band’s Mundeke.
Jay stops to admire the dance, as other bystanders are doing, and the camera focuses directly on the young lady’s movements caught in a time that perfectly captures the carefree and joyfulness many Ugandans are known for. What stands out to me most is the intimacy of the moment. It’s comparable to how we as writers use the second person in writing to effectively bring the reader into our writing world.
Nair does a brilliant job of making one feel like one of the spectators. She uses the visual unsaid to provoke a sense of universal ayin tova – viewing the world around us in a positive light despite the negativity surrounding ourselves - and lissome – the description of a person’s movements that are flexible and elegant.
That’s a profound connection considering the historical context of the scene. An Indian Ugandan returns to his native land after the forced expulsion of nearly fifty-thousand Indians by Amin in the early 70s while Ugandans prepare for the leadership of a president who will rule the Pearl of Africa for the next thirty-eight years. Given this nostalgia, my thoughts wander into deeper considerations. What compelled the young lady to dance in public so elegantly and with such confidence? It’s not uncommon to hear music blasting out loud in the streets of Kampala. Or even to see a few people gyrating to the latest Ugandan hits. But to stumble upon someone capturing the attention of an entire crowd in the time of such rebirth is something remarkable. Nair effectively provokes an open ending where the viewer gets to choose what they think happens to all of the characters, the young lady dancing at the end included.
Especially the young lady dancing at the end. Who is she? Was the ending improvised or rehearsed? Was she paid for being an extra? Is she even mentioned in the movie credits? What was her story in and out of the movie? Is she still alive? Why does she remind me so much of a younger version of my mother-in-law? So many questions, not enough answers.
We live in a world where the rich and famous are oddly placed under the microscope of fascination while the real excitement can be found in the hearts and minds of average people. I’m reminded of a quote from Irish writer, Michael Scott, “My mom always used to say that average people are the most special people in the world. And that’s why God made so many.” A part of me wants to find the young lady dancing at the end of Mississippi Masala and dance with her. As we move back and forth lost in the beauty of the saxophones and guitar strums, I’d lean over, give her a big hug, and say, “Thank you, Madam. Thank you.”