An item number in Indian cinema refers to a song and dance sequence that may be integrated into the film’s narrative but can stand apart as an independent spectacle within the narrative of the film as well. These songs are typically characterised by their crowd-pulling beats and rhythms, crowd-pulling ambience, and raunchy choreography. These songs were initially performed by the ‘vamps’ in the olden days.
Dancing in revealing costumes and suggestive steps, these songs primarily cater to the male gaze. While the dancer occupies an elevated space/stage within the screen where there are accompanying performers to enhance the importance of the item.
The item number evolved over time from traditional, folk, and classical music and dance performances. They often underline an anguish of yearning. This longing eventually turned its tonality into more pleasurable visual aesthetics that often used the emotion of sringara. The sexual allure of these songs intensified with time.
Indian cinema’s song and dance performances initially focused on classical and folk-based performances. Enabling cinema to pave the path for birthing semi-classical and other forms of fusion dances. These song sequences drew heavy influences from Parsi theatre, tamasha, and laavani. The sexualisation of female performers became a defining characteristic of Indian feminine grace. These songs continue to spark debates about gender, agency, emancipation, and representation. Artists like Madame Azurie and Cuckoo Moray are commonly regarded as the first item girls of Indian cinema, along with honourable mentions to Sitara Devi and Vasundara Devi. The Anglo-Indian dancers were influenced by traditional ballroom and jazz beats, along with elements of cabaret, pole, and belly dancing.
Speculated ‘first’ item songs
The item song’s inception was marked by women performing in scanty outfits, often on elevated stages or in settings reminiscent of the “show within a show” tradition from classical Indian plays such as Kalidasa’s Malavikagnimitram. The term item number itself lacks a clear origin, but its function in cinema remains unambiguous: it is an erotic performance, typically detached from the film’s main plot and featuring a female performer singing suggestive lyrics while dancing provocatively.
Over time, these performances evolved from the vamp’s presence on screen to an integral part of the mainstream heroine’s repertoire. By the late 1970s, item numbers began to blur the lines between the heroine and the vamp. This became a standard feature that reflected the changing dynamics of Bollywood’s representation of women and sexuality.
Songs of desire and item songs
The line between songs of desire and item numbers has blurred majorly over the years as films began incorporating erotic undertones into love songs. Classic tracks like “Pyaar kiya to Darna kya” from Mughal-e-Azam (1960) and “Inhi Logon Ne” from Pakeezah (1972) are songs of longing, often mistakenly labelled as item numbers due to the presence of a performing woman within a crowd or on a stage. The confusion arises because songs that were about romantic longing began to be filmed in more overtly sensual ways. This gradually shifted the tone of these songs from subtle desire to more explicit eroticism.
By the 1980s and 1990s, item numbers took a more distinct form. Songs such as “Kaate Nahi Kat te” from Mr. India (1987) and “Dhak Dhak Karne Laga” from Beta (1992) featured suggestive and sensual lyrics and music with performances by the leading heroines of the time. This marked a shift from traditional romantic ballad songs to eroticised spectacles. These are not classic item numbers as they lack the integral element of a performance space—a nightclub or a crowd cheering for the performer. From their inception, these songs provided a safe space for female performers to express their desires and longing.
The late 1980s and 1990s also saw the rise of Bollywood’s MTV influence, especially after the 1990s when the MTV generation began shaping global pop culture. The focus on visually enticing, catchy performances gave item numbers a more contemporary and slick edge. Songs like “Fevicol Se” (2012), “Munni Badnaam Hui” (2010), and “Sheila Ki Jawani” (2010) exemplified the MTV-style choreography and racy imagery that began dominating mainstream cinema. These were often provocative, strengthening the trend of merging western music videos with Bollywood formats. This fusion intensified the commercial nature of item numbers, making them powerful marketing tools for film promotion.
The item number was often relegated to supporting performances by the “vamp” or the other woman. Helen’s numbers from the 1950s, 60s, and 70s—such as “Mera Naam chin chin chu” (1959), “Aa Jaane Jaa” (1969), and “Ye Mera Dil“—embodied the ‘bad girl‘ trope that transitions from her humble beginnings as an outsider to establish herself as an unattainable vamp. Her sultry performances became a symbol of seduction and eroticism detached from the plot. While Helen was a skilled dancer, she was typecast as the seductress.
Heroine becoming the item
Even though stars and famous danseuses of the times, starting with Waheeda Rehman, Vyjayanthimala, Hema Malini, and Meenakshi Seshadri, also performed to songs that could classify this genre, their mainstream roles as heroines dominated further. In contrast, the 1980s and 90s saw a shift as actors like Sridevi and Madhuri Dixit became synonymous with item numbers. These heroines remained central to the narrative and often led their films as well.
Heroines performing to item songs even in guest appearances started blurring more lines between pedestalising the heroines and looking down on the item girl. While these song and dance performances were a showcase of sexual freedom, heroines’ roles were not reduced to mere objectification.
Item numbers are often laden with hypersexualised content and are a byproduct of global capitalism. This facilitates female empowerment by offering economic opportunities through multinational corporations. Even if the performances themselves are rooted in the commodification of women’s bodies, where the imageries of cooking on the female body are common examples to satirise the sexualisation by critics. Yet, the problematic or derogatory angle of these songs arises when the gaze caters and hopes to fulfil only the male gaze, desire, fantasies, and fetishisms, when the only female performer is also in a very vulnerable spot, as we saw in Avinash Das’s spellbinding take on female agency and autonomy over her body through his 2017 film—Anaarkali of Aarah.
The male gaze and female objectification
The concept of the male gaze as theorised by Laura Mulvey helps to understand the dynamics of female objectification in cinema. According to Mulvey, women are often objectified not just through the camera’s lens but also within the narrative and through the eyes of the male characters. This reduction of women to sexualised objects exists both on and off the screen, which positions them as passive and incapable of acting outside the constraints of male desire and control.
The fear of castration in male-dominated societies often translates into the objectification of the female body and actions in popular and mass media. Fetishising women’s bodies by focusing on the female cleavage, navel, genitalia, etc. reduces the perceived threat posed by women’s sexuality. The portrayal of women as either idealised objects or the “other” that must be controlled perpetuates gendered imbalances wherein women’s bodies exist to exclusively fulfil male fantasies and have nothing of their own.
In the early days of Bollywood cinema, songs like “Pyaar Kiya to Darna Kya” (1960) and “Babuji Dheere Chalna” (1954) offered more nuanced portrayals of women with an emphasis on grace, elegance, and emotional expression rather than sexualised objectification. Films centred on courtesans like Pakeezah (1971) and Umrao Jaan (1981) reflect a shift in the portrayal of women’s bodies, which made them more complex and multidimensional. These films explored women’s sexuality, autonomy, and rebellion against norms. They also represented women’s sexual power in ways that were simultaneously empowering and tragic, which allowed for a more nuanced exploration of feminine sexuality. Songs such as “Jhallah” (2012), “Dreamum Wakeupum” (2011), “Fevicol Se” (2012), “Aga Bhai” (2011), and “Ghagra” (2013) are some radical examples where the female protagonist of the song took full charge of her audiences and dance partners.
Male item numbers
While Bollywood item numbers are often criticised for objectifying women, male figures in these performances are rarely subjected to the same kind of sexualised scrutiny. Male actors in item numbers are often portrayed as dominant, powerful, and stoic, with their sexuality rarely being the focal point. From SRK in “Dard-e-Disco” (2007), Aamir in “I hate u like I luv u” (2011), “Aga Bhai” (2012), and the famous “Subah Hone na de” (2011) with male strippers for the first time. Male sexuality in Hindi cinema is frequently portrayed through a lens of aggression, dominance, and control. It is rarely explored in similar depth as female sexuality—linked to themes of submission and availability.
As the discussions continue about whether the sexualised and eroticised objectification of the body, especially of women, in these songs and lyrics can mislead youngsters and nurture more patriarchal and gendered entitlement. Although these songs also provide a space for owning oneself through play and grace in private. While subverting the societal standards of modesty and chastity, many item numbers also become a conduit for not just female emancipation in a patriarchal world but also a conduit of self-expression for those who have grown to dislike their bodies and never had the confidence to wear what they wanted or to be themselves. The Zoya Akhtar directorial Sheila ki Jawaani that was a part of the anthology film—Bombay Talkies (2013) becomes a testament on this front.
