Heeramandi is a missed opportunity

You watch a Sanjay Leela Bhansali film for the visual feast, the music, the drama. You don’t watch it expecting a history lesson. But maybe you should. Maybe that’s exactly what Bhansali owed us this time.

Bhansali’s new series, Heeramandi, has the grandeur and opulence he’s renowned for. But beneath the shimmering surface lies a glaring misstep. What could have been an illuminating narrative about the tawaif culture and the first feminists in India instead falls into the tired trope of equating tawaifs solely with prostitution.

Tawaifs were more than just courtesans. They were accomplished artists, poets, dancers, and musicians. They were educators in an era when education for women was a distant dream. Their salons were the hubs of culture and intellect, where poetry and music flowed as freely as wine in a sultan’s court. They were feminists before feminism had a name. They wielded power in a patriarchal society, often dictating the terms of their interactions with men of power and influence.

A narrow lens

However, Heeramandi reduces them to mere shadows of their true selves. It paints them with the broad brush of prostitution, ignoring the subtleties and complexities of their lives. It’s as if Bhansali and his writers dipped their pens in sensationalism and forgot to refill with research. It could have been a series where we see the tawaifs as they were: fiercely independent, educated, and influential. Imagine seeing a young tawaif learning the intricacies of classical dance and poetry, mastering the arts to charm not just with her beauty but with her intellect. Imagine a story where a tawaif uses her wit and wisdom to navigate the treacherous waters of political intrigue and societal expectations.

Heeramandi could have been a powerful commentary on early feminism in India. The tawaifs, with their autonomy and influence, were essentially the first feminists. They broke societal norms and created spaces where women could be more than just wives or mothers. They were breadwinners and patrons of the arts. But in Heeramandi, their legacy is overshadowed by a narrative that reduces their entire existence to the transactional.

Bhansali’s hallmark is his meticulous attention to detail. His sets, costumes, and music are often painstakingly researched and crafted. Yet, when it came to the story, this dedication was glaringly absent in the Netflix series. A little digging into historical records, memoirs, and literature would have revealed a number of important stories waiting to be told. Instead, we get a rehash of Bollywood’s age-old portrayal of courtesans: tragic figures doomed by their profession.

What are the consequences?

Simplifying the tawaifs to mere sex workers does more than just insult their memory. It perpetuates a damaging narrative. It tells viewers that women in such roles were victims rather than agents of their destiny. It erases their contributions to art, culture, and even politics. It denies them their rightful place in history as pioneers of women’s empowerment.

Bhansali had the chance to give us a series that was not just visually stunning but intellectually stimulating. He could have peeled back the layers of history. He could have sparked conversations about the role of women in history, about the intersection of art and power, about the complexities of gender and societal expectations.

The researchers and script writer of Heeramandi share in the blame. Their laziness shows in the lack of depth and nuance in the characters. A well-researched script could have brought the erstwhile culture to life. Instead, we get one-dimensional characters that do little more than serve the plot’s need for drama and tragedy. Filmmakers need to do their homework. They need to respect their subjects enough to tell their stories with honesty and depth.

Heeramandi could have been a groundbreaking series that shone a light on an overlooked chapter of Indian history. Instead, it settled for mediocrity. Bhansali and his writers owed us more than just a visual spectacle. They owed us a story that respected its subjects and their legacy. Until Bollywood learns to value depth over sensationalism, we’ll continue to see our rich history being reduced to mere backdrop for shallow narratives. In the end, we’re left with the same old story: complexity traded for convenience. And somewhere in the glitter and glamour, the true essence of the tawaifs is lost.