Ordinary persons like you and me may not have the treat of meeting an unwed mother or an illegitimate child in real life… if one were to go by appearances, there are not too many around. But in the tearful world of Hindi films, illegitimacy is a device that transcends all the boundaries of dramatic license. A good old romp in the hay and presto, a solemn doctor checks the pulse of a damsel who has fainted at a party, and declares, 'she is going to be a mother.'

This momentous announcement is how the entire community finds out, the family is dishonored, the clan humiliated and one would think the entire earth would hide its face in sheer shame, with the crossing of such a biological milestone. Now the 'izzat' factor comes into play and it is not only her body that is disgraced, it is the bodies, minds and souls of her mother, father, brother, sisters, uncles, aunts, grandparents, grand aunts, neighbors, compatriots… an unending list of violated morals.

So what can a girl do after she's had (presumably) just a little bit of fun? She can then either face the consequences of her deed and kill herself, starting a clan enmity that will ultimately wipe out all the Thakurs (as in QSQT), till another young couple repeats the mistake and fights for justice. Or she could cringe in shame and retreat into her life, emerging only after the child is born and discarded (duly declared stillborn) as in Humraaz. She can, in the meantime, hide in the firelit drawing rooms of a city far away from home, live her life in disgrace and sing songs, remembering that magical moment that brought this shame on her. As Julie did in Julie, or how Mala Sinha thought of the magic with Rehman, in Dhool Ka Phool. But even though Mala Sinha did marry Rehman finally in Dhool Ka Phool, the damage had been done. Their child had been brought up by a Hindu family and was a Hindu fanatic. You see, these are minor problems that occur in the face of blatant lying.

She could also work as a maid in someone's house and bring up her baby from a safe distance till one day the child returns to scratch at all her old wounds, looking exactly like the man she loved. She could call her penance an Aradhana. At a much later day and date, she could abandon the child and try to induct the child later into her normal family after marriage, as Waheeda Rehman did in Kabhi Kabhi. Or a Lawaris could be abandoned like a piece of trash from a rich man's overflowing plate, bred and born to live in the gutter, as Amitabh Bachchan said through gnashed teeth to his father, Amjad Khan. Better still, he could have been the son of a poor girl, loved, bedded and abandoned by a reluctant Sanjeev Kumar in favour of the richer girl his mother chose for him. So, growing up alone, seeing his mother struggle against odds, here would be a really angry angry young man, hell bent upon destroying his father's every happiness, as in Trishul.

For a radically different scenario, there could be a young unwed girl with an unwanted pregnancy who grew to love her child. After all, a Preity Zinta reasons, it is not her child's fault that he is born, is it? So, head held high, rounded belly ensconced safely in denim dungarees, she confidently attends college till the day of delivery, braving all the sneers and jeers, that finally fall silent in the face of such unshakable faith in oneself (Kya Kehna).

But how many girls would be able to shake off the more familiar martyrdom, more importantly, how many would have their parents and families behind them, friends to stand by them, irresponsible lovers to come to their senses? How many Mala Sinhas would have the good fortune of being able to say no to the father of their illegitimate child when he comes back cringing to them, sorry for the irreversible damage he's caused. And how many Preity Zintas would have the courage to walk away from him, into the loving arms of a man who cared for her, baby or no baby?