Heeramandi review: Part history, part myth, full-on Sanjay Leela Bhansali

Traditionally, a ‘tawaif’ and her ‘kotha’ was several notches above a prostitute and her brothel: callow young nawaabs being sent to tawaifs to learn the art of love, lavishing their affection and worldly goods on their object of affection, was an accepted part of their coming of age. How acceptable this ‘tradition’ was to the ‘respectable’ wives forced to make peace with their men sharing their bed and their wealth with these other women, and how it created a curdled atmosphere of barely-concealed envy and shame, has been the focus of many scholarly works.

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Bhansali’s eight-part series is based on a concept by Moin Beg. Awash with his trademark shine and glitter, it sets out to tell us the story of these ‘other’ women, once such an integral part of Indian popular culture. In ‘Dancing With The Nation, Courtesans of Bombay Cinema’, author Ruth Vanita writes, “the ‘tawaif’ derives from ‘tauf’ (to go around and circumabulate), suggesting the courtesan’s mobility, which distinguishes her from the homebound wife”.

There’s a great deal of circumabulation in Heeramandi, both in terms of the literal dancing that takes place during the ‘mehfils and the mujras’– ghaghras twirling and swirling : in terms of sheer gorgeousness Bhansali is next to no one– and amongst the in-fighting that takes place between the tawaifs as they struggle for control over their domain, and their coming together for the greater ‘azaadi’ of their ‘mulk’ being fought on the outside. ‘Mujrewali nahin Mulkwali bann kar dekho’, is a war cry which feels like a flowery dialogue but is also reflective of its times, in its attempt to forge a connection between the freedom of the nation, and the tawaifs fighting to break their shackles.

This is fashioned through the legendary rivalry between Mallikajaan and Fareedan (Sonakshi Sinha), who returns from faraway Benaras to stake her claim to the place she (Fareedan) was banished from as a child. Surrounding these divas, as they drown in their languorous boudoirs and their suitors, is their ‘hujoom’, daughters, sisters, neices, ‘naukranis’ and other minions, whose relationship to each other is bound by blood but over-ridden by hard-headed transactionality. As yet another illegitimate male child is given away in the dead of night, the giver-away tells the distraught young mother that she has done so to prevent him from becoming yet another ‘dalaal, afeemchi ya khusra’.

It is when ‘Heeramandi’ gives us glimpses into these harsh realities of these lives, when the faces of those delivering their lines draw attention to their pain despite the theatrical lines, that the series comes to life. Koirala, using a raddled beauty and iron will to beat her flock into submission, clashes head-on with Sinha, who is excellent as the woman bent upon taking revenge and whose heart hasn’t yet entirely calcified. Then there is Aditi Rao Hydari, as the ‘lado ya maro’ Bibbojaan, who finally takes on a part and makes us believe. Richa Chadha brings a ‘thaska’ to the proceedings, but is confined to a brief part. The actors playing the women who serve, the aptly named Satto-Phatto, and Saima (Shruti Sharma), the low-born girl who sings better than them all, are all spot on, as are many in the supporting cast as the freedom fighters.

The men, all second fiddle, all playing decadent nawaabs, do their jobs reasonably well, especially Shekhar Suman who owns a hilarious drunken bit: more of that tone, in which you can see the bravado of these men, desperately clinging on to their identity, while being emasculated by the British overlords, would have really lifted the series, but it doesn’t go down that path enough, taking refuge in the nostalgia-doused now-forgotten Muslim social aesthetic (most memorably depicted in such Hindi cinema classics as Sahib Bibi aur Ghulam, Pakeezah and Umrao Jaan), rather than a sharp, insightful look at the tumultuous period.

Where the series falters most is in its writing of young love, between the reluctant tawaif Alamzeb ( Segal) and Tajdar ( Taha Shah) , the ‘vilayat-se-lauta- bigda hua shehzada’ with money but no ‘tehzeeb’. Its familiar devices – the khoya hua rumaal, the sher-o-shayari — play out with all the beats in place, but stays bloodless. Segal’s much-too contemporary body language and an inability to inhabit her part, manages to blunt Taha Shah’s kohl-lined eyes. In the scenes they have together, the sparkly Sharma effortlessly emphasises Segal’s weaknesses, which make the latter’s romance with Tajdar even more unconvincing. Sanjeeda Shaikh’s perennially-wounded tawaif lifts off the screen, but is saddled with an arc that goes on for too long, and an embarrassingly heavy-breathing scene with a British officer, which comes out of nowhere. Farida Jalal, as Tajdar’s lively grandmother, does a solid rescue act, but then Jalal is always reliable. The other act that I really liked was Indresh Malik as the Ustad, whose access to the nawaabs and the tawaifs makes him a valuable go-between, and Malik is terrific as the laced-with-spite gender-fluid informant: a scene he shares with Sonakshi, featuring a ‘nath’ and its ‘uttarai’, is amongst the best in the show.

Speaking of contemporary, a British officer says, about the distance between Amritsar and Lahore: ‘it took us, like, two hours to get here”. Like, really? This is when he and his compatriots are not cracking their whips and torturing innocents in prisons, coming off as heavy-handed stereotypes.

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It’s when ‘Heeramandi’ turns its eyes on the faded grandeur of its ‘Lahore ki ranis’ in their gilded cages, grime peeking out from behind their finery, that the show is most effective. ‘Ab toota hai dil, ab bani ho asli tawaif’, declaims Mallikajaan to a heartbroken young character. Bhansali and his brand of youthful heartbreak has always been a strong point of his narratives, but here, it’s when the older women are in full flow, opening up their hard-won chest of wiles and wanton-ness, that it earns its histrionics, and makes you stay.

Heeramandi The Diamond Bazaar movie cast: Manisha Koirala, Sonakshi Sinha, Aditi Rao Hydari, Richa Chadha, Sanjeeda Sheikh, Sharmeen Saigal, Shruti Sharma, Indresh Malik, Taha Shah Badussha, Shekhar Suman, Fardeen Khan, Adhyayan Suman, Farida Jalal
Heeramandi The Diamond Bazaar director: Sanjay Leela Bhansali
Heeramandi The Diamond Bazaar rating: 2.5 stars