In the documentary titled Babasaheb in Bengaluru, filmmaker Mahishaa asks the question "Who is Ambedkar?" The film begins and ends with a song--written by Prashanth Danappa--which at first acts as a question and becomes the answer by the time the films ends. Sung by Bharath Dingri, the song goes,“Ambedkara Yaru Ambedkara? Henga na Bareyalappa ondu Vakya da Uttara?” which translates to, “Ambedkar, who is Ambedkar? How can I write a single sentence answer?”
Bengaluru’s Sci560 Film Festival screened the documentary, presented by Neelavarana, on February 2, 2025, against the social backdrop of discussions on the desecration of Dr Ambedkar's statues after a recent vandalisation incident in Amritsar. This was only the second screening of the film in India with the premiere being held at an anti-caste event titled Disrupting Protected Ignorance at the House of World Cultures (HKW) in Berlin. Amid the discourse and debate on vandalisation, this film holds significant relevance as it presents a study of Ambedkar statues in Bengaluru. It indulges with deep questions such as who Ambedkar is, where he must be situated in contemporary discourse, what people’s everyday relationship with Ambedkar is, and whether erecting his statues amounts to idol worship. The film also probes who are the ones building Ambedkar statues and what identity they are forging for him.
In the 4:41-minute documentary, Mahishaa takes us on a journey through Ambedkar’s presence from streets to hearts. The collage-style visual storytelling captivates viewers diversely, with the narrated words appearing prominently on screen, leaving a lasting impact on the audience. The film takes us through the eyes of Bharath Raj, a student activist and an artist who talks about his childhood memory and his developing bond with Babasaheb, as he grew up listening to his stories and teachings. Now, every day, as he walks past the statue of Babasaheb he stops by, looks up, smiles, and greets him with a simple yet profound, “Hi Boss!”. This imagination of everydayness in a bond is a near impossible prevalence when it comes to other statues and people’s relationship with them, the film says.
For instance, Gandhi does stand in a lot of places, but not many citizens can share a bond with his statues as an Ambedkarite does with Babasaheb’s. One would pass by Gandhi and hardly say “Hi Boss!”, although he has been called Father of the Nation. This narrative of “Hi Boss!” is personal and a Dalit’s social identity. But is this ‘Hi’ as simple as it seems?
This ‘hi-relationship’ is the one that many Ambedkarites share, and it sparks anti-caste work, which is a Dalit’s political assertion. The film is an ode to how such a relationship is both personal and political. Through the inclusion of the everydayness of politics with a strategic simplicity, the filmmaker tries to lay deeply the presence of Babasaheb in the lives of people.
Mahishaa also illustrates the dilemma of whether or not to reveal one’s Dalit identity through a simple yet striking example—Dalits often face housing discrimination if their identity is disclosed through Dalit icons, such as a photo of Babasaheb. Prabuddha Anupama, a poetess and an activist who wishes to create a Babasaheb corner at home, is denied that by her father, as the fear of denial of rental houses by landlords constantly looms. However, Anupama celebrates Ambedkar and credits her existence to the towering statue featuring him in a suit and boots, holding the Constitution.
As the film unfolds, Mahishaa gives us an elaborate look at Babasaheb and also glimpses of the Buddha in Bengaluru. True to its title, Babasaheb in Bengaluru, the visuals capture Ambedkar’s presence across the city— his statues, Ambedkar Nagar, Ambedkar Sanghas, his images on autos, inside homes, on nameplates, house walls, murals, shops, and more
Mahishaa says, “I started off with a simple idea of making a video on Ambedkar Jayanti, and giving homage to the people who have preserved Ambedkar. Additionally, I wanted to contribute through my art. But it expanded and you see it now. I cannot say this project is complete or incomplete or it took a specific time because it has been staying with me for years, I cannot bind it to a timeline. Babasaheb in Bengaluru is not just a film for me, it is an ideology, I’ll keep using it…like I did in Area Bois where the three friends cross the Ambedkar statue when they move into Malleshawaram. It is symbolic of the start of Malleshwaram, a Savarana-dominant space. In this way, it’s going to stay with me and you’ll get to see it in my art journey forever”.
The core of Babasaheb in Bengaluru is to credit the people- the commoners, and Ambedkarites who have kept Ambedkar alive.
“It’s not really the well-off Dalits, but the labour class, who sometimes live on daily wages, have installed most of the statues in their colonies, colony corners, etc. and celebrated Ambedkar. It is through them we’re able to take Ambedkar’s ideology forward,” Mahishaa adds.
He clearly makes a point that Ambedkar statues are installed by people and not by the government. This observation holds true for many cities, reflecting a deeper reality – Babasaheb never truly belonged to the government, despite the irony that the very system operates on the Constitution he architected. Regardless of the government's level of involvement, it is the people, the commoners living in colonies, and Ambedkarite associations and Sanghas formed by them, that have preserved Ambedkar’s spirit by installing statues of him using their hard-earned money.
“A lot of big and beautiful Ambedkar statues were in the interior of Dalit colonies. Nobody goes there, nobody sees them. People living in those colonies have installed them for themselves,” Mahishaa explains. This is enough evidence to testify the personal bond people share with Babasaheb, because for them, his presence matters.
This film further raises important questions about the active relationship that Dalit and Bahujan communities share with Ambedkar. Seeing his photos on house walls and auto-rickshaws may seem like a personal choice, but it is inherently political—an everyday assertion of Dalit identity by ordinary people. One can hardly find similar evidence of such deep, ongoing relationships between the masses and other leaders who are placed alongside Ambedkar.
The reason behind this unique connection is that for Dalits, Ambedkar’s statue signifies his very presence. He is not an idol, he is life itself. Dalit visibility is intertwined with his visibility, and Ambedkarites do not merely build and admire his statues; they embody his ideas and spirit. However, for Savarnas, this presence is often perceived as a threat, making desecration a tool to render both Ambedkar and Dalits as the ‘absent other.’
Yet, Ambedkarites like Mahishaa resist these erasures. They create the counter-narratives of Ambedkar’s presence against the absentifying attempts of the Savaranas. They celebrate, embody, and uphold Ambedkar’s legacy. Through his film, Mahishaa delivers a powerful message: Ambedkar’s presence extends beyond statues—it thrives from the streets to the hearts of the people.
Neelavarana, which has produced the film, also deserves special mention. Neelavarana has collaborated with different filmmakers, exploring their creativity with a Dalit and Bahujan lens. Mahishaa is the founder of Neelavarana, with dedicated members like MK Abhilash, Shrungar Haralahalli, and Naveen Tejaswi, among others, and the collective drives the creation of films, documentaries, musicals, and more. Mahishaa’s Area Bois; Surya Saathi’s Olabarale; and MK Abhilas’s Kuuk Ah? are a few to name. Alongside making films, Neelavarana also hosts an annual film festival called ‘Neeli Parade’ (Blue Screen) dedicated to showcasing and celebrating the work/films of Dalit and Bahujan artists, and filmmakers who work in Kannada.
Films like Area Bois and Kadamba Geleyara Balaga explore the everyday lives of three young boys, capturing their friendship and bromance while weaving in themes of caste, religion, and love. Mahishaa’s films have consistently upheld the Dalit and Bahujan gaze. The title Area Bois itself carries significance, as it challenges the stereotype associated with the term—often used to describe boys of the so-called lower castes assumed to be engaged in notorious activities in certain areas of Bengaluru.
Additionally, the focus of Neelavarana is on building a community to create a cultural revolution through art. “For us building social capital matters, through which we’ll bring our cultural expressions to life,” Mahishaa says. Stressing on community-building, he adds, “It’s not me alone, but we at Neelavarana are a community trying to create and build the anti-caste art together. For Babasaheb in Bengaluru, we shot together, Abhilash gave the music, and Anupama’s experiential narrative is present in the film… we worked and built together… for me, the process matters more than the product. The togetherness in working, the collaborations matter and I believe in building with the community, for the community.”
To truly grasp the depth of the documentary’s opening question – Who is Ambedkar?-- one must watch Babasaheb in Bengaluru, pause, reflect, and look within to find answers.
Apeksha Singegol is a research scholar in Sociology at the Centre for Research, Christ University, Bangalore. Her interest areas include caste and Dalit studies, sociology of media, and popular culture. She is currently working in the field of caste and cinema.
Views expressed are the author’s own.