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As I sat by myself watching Kiran Rao’s sophomore film Laapataa Ladies, I chuckled at the well-written jokes and smiled like a wise old woman at the nuggets of wisdom that albeit a tad on the nose, resonate strongly. I also wept at the conclusion when a man says to a woman, that one should never apologise for having a dream. This line struck me particularly hard because if there’s one thing that women excel in, it’s feeling guilty. Guilt for not doing enough as a mother, a wife, a daughter, or a working professional. We can feel inadequate or guilty about every aspect of our lives, but we seldom feel guilty about denying ourselves what we truly want.
While the film is primarily about the mix-up between two brides in identical red veils, Laapataa Ladies, or missing women could well mean the women we lose each year to the oppressive constructs of morality, virtue and honour that develop organically within a patriarchal society. Constructs that are symbolised in the film by the ‘ghoonghat’ or veil which erases the individuality of the woman behind it.
To me, it also symbolised women whose identities go missing because they are never allowed to choose their path. In millions of Indian homes even today, from the time a girl is born, every parenting decision is made with the intention of creating an eligible bride and a good wife. So, she has basic education so she can make polite conversation but isn’t encouraged to be ambitious. She is quiet, obedient, respectful, maternal, domesticated, pious, and eternally ‘understanding’. Like Phool and Jaya, the film’s female protagonists, women board a train that their parents and husbands ask them to. In doing so, they embark on a journey without any agency or consideration about whether it will take them to a destination of their choice. It is only when the two ladies in the movie get off the train, do they get a chance to decide which way they want to go.
Women have been made synonymous with sacrifice and selflessness for so long, that putting everyone and everything else before oneself is almost second nature to us. As a wise but bitter elderly woman says to Phool, the biggest fraud in our country is the concept of ‘bhale ghar ki beti’ or a girl from a good home and how she must conduct herself. But sadly, patriarchy not just victimises the woman, it also forces the man to assume the dual role of provider and oppressor. By dividing instead of sharing responsibilities in a heterosexual relationship, we deny millions of women the right to education, income and self-expression.
As Rao empathetically demonstrates, success or self-expression doesn’t always have to mean becoming a CEO or a business leader. Phool feels empowered when she works at a snack stall, makes kalakand and earns her first income. Jaya wants to complete her education and be a pioneer in organic farming. One loves her husband, while for another, marriage is the roadblock to her dreams. They each take their path eventually, and as the film draws to an end, they board modes of transport again. But this time they are all by themselves, unafraid and in control of their destiny.
Underestimating and overprotecting women are crimes that have gone unpunished for generations. But the biggest crime is to be constantly judgmental of her no matter what she chooses to do. As I sat by myself watching Laapataa Ladies, it struck me that those who are laapata or missing can be found. There is still hope of the situation changing. Rao’s film asks us to lift our veils and confront the injustice and discrimination that we have normalised over generations. Before another generation of women goes missing.
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