Resilience and Rebellion: The Women of Heeramandi Represent Ongoing Struggles of Female Liberation

Bhansali's lens offers a nuanced perspective, celebrating the labour of women in preserving cultural heritage while challenging prevailing narratives of marginalisation.

Image credit: Netflix India – a star-studded cast featuring Manisha Koirala as Malikajaan, Sonakshi Sinha as Rehaana Begum/Fareedanjaan, Aditi Rao Hydari as Bibbojaan, Sanjeeda Sheikh as Waheedajaan, Richa Chadha as Lajjo and Sharmin Segal as Alamzeb

For decades, the saga that is Heeramandi has brewed within the playgrounds of Sanjay Leela Bhansali's mind. A project marked by numerous renditions and cast changes, it stands as a testament to Bhansali's unwavering dedication to craft a narrative that transcends mere storytelling.

Unsurprisingly, it’s also one that navigates and explores the contexts of gender within Indian society and the contexts of cultural preservation and evolution. In delving into the intricacies of womanhood, societal expectations, and the evolution of cultural norms, Heeramandi emerges not just as a tale of the past but as a thoughtful reflection of contemporary struggles and triumphs - including the notion of being subdued and oppressed, even if the fight for physical freedom is one that was conquered by our ancestors long before our time.

Image Credit: Brown History Substack – An image of a young Tawaif in the real Heeramandi as reference to this saga and the visual undercurrents that starkly differ between the series and real history of Lahore’s red light district

The enemy of a woman is not a woman

At the heart of Heeramandi lies a tapestry of relationships, both tender and tumultuous among its many female characters – one that is also a rare sight to see coming out of Indian cinema. Bhansali masterfully juxtaposes camaraderie and enmity, revealing the complexities that underscore women's interactions with each other. Through characters like Rehaana Begum and Malaika Jaan, we witness the dichotomy of sisterhood and betrayal, each action laden with societal implications and devastating personal repercussions that transcend generationally with Malaikajaan’s rivalry with Rehaana Begum’s daughter, Fareedan.

Central to the narrative is the exploration of the confines of womanhood within a patriarchal society. The series is introduced with Rehaana Begum sealing the fate of her sister, Malaikajaan’s son, and her nephew, whom she gives to a nawaab while her sister sleeps shortly after giving birth. Compared to Malaika Jaan's female children whom we are introduced to shortly after, this serves as a stark reminder of the double standards imposed on women. 

Despite both enjoying wealth and privilege, the paths of Malaikajaan’s children diverge dramatically, reflecting the entrenched expectations and limitations placed upon them based on gender. On one hand, her female children are pushed to carry the weight of the Tawaif lineage within their house in Heeramandi, whilst her son, renamed Zoravar, unbeknownst to him, enjoys the lavish life of a Nawab and also ironically frequents his birth mother’s residence. This subplot concludes for the audience to reflect on with Malaikajaan revealing to Nawaab Zoravar at his wedding, in front of all of his guests, about his origins. In response to his abuse against Lajjo, of whom he was a long time patron, she reveals that the same people he disrespects are the same people and environment he was produced from. This subplot sets the stage for further social dynamics that are explored within the series.

Video credit: Netflix India – check out the scene between Malaikajaan and her son, renamed Zorawar, where she dicloses his mysterious origins after he brutalises Lajjo at his wedding

At the end of the saga, it is seen that all rivalries are squashed against a common enemy. Albeit, it is the coloniser that ends up being the enemy, it is also the patriarchal coloniser who deepens the harms and hurts between women. This is a central theme to much of the concepts that the series explores, including the genderisation of freedom movements and resistance.

It’s easier to fight for freedom when it’s not gendered

The character of Taj, the leading man of the series, returning from Britain with preconceived notions about Tawaifs, embodies the clash between tradition and modernity, as well as the overlap of East and West through the ongoing effects of the act of colonisation. His journey towards acceptance mirrors society's struggle to reconcile sensuality and womanhood with societal norms. 

Through this idea, Bhansali skillfully dismantles Orientalist tropes, exposing the destructive impact of external influences on indigenous cultures and identities. 

North India, including Punjab, is no doubt a regional hotbed full of colonisation and heavy militarism through various conquests over thousands of years including the Turkish, the Greeks, the Iranians and the Mughals. Yet, the cultures of so many have blended to develop the artistry of women and blend cultural archetypes into one that is distinct. Even if it does not fully represent Punjabi culture, it does outline how life was like for a specific sect of people within society pre-Partition.

Image Credit: Netflix India – Sharmin Segal as Alamzeb and Taha Shah Badussha as Tajdaar Baloch

Within Taj’s character development, the audience sees how easy it is for him to come on board to the idea of freedom fighting and resistance, yet, the hardest thing for him despite his radicalist, educated and modern views is the idea of where his lover comes from. His own development as a character sees him from being absolutely opposed to the ideas and values that Tawaifs represent.

Although he softens to the idea as he further interacts with his love interest, Alamzeb, Taj still very much embodies this during his interactions with the British police – focussing his defence on his repulsion of Alamzeb’s background and what it represents. Did he need to go this far to defend himself? Probably not. He does so anyway, ensuring that humiliating Alamzeb as a woman, specifically for her background and where she comes from, becomes the focal point of his own defence for the sake of the revolution.

The irony of this weighs heavily on the audience. Revolution and freedom come at the cost of being a woman, and the most taboo idea within the grounds of the series is that of being a Tawaif and what it represents to be one.

Moreover, Heeramandi underscores the intergenerational transmission of culture and resilience. The legacy of Tawaifs as patrons of the arts and custodians of tradition is portrayed through generations, highlighting their enduring impact despite societal ostracisation. Even within the challenges of a starkly changing society at the height of social and cultural tensions and divide, tawaifs harness their subdued and underlying identity of being women, serving their nation, and being stewards of their culture.

Bhansali's lens offers a nuanced perspective, celebrating the labour of women in preserving cultural heritage while challenging prevailing narratives of marginalisation. And even in the context of having many riches, they aren’t much in comparison to the freedom of being a male in a patriarchal society.

Image credit: The Hindu – even within the scope of having material riches, Tawaifs are subject to ample marginalisation and stigmatisation within society

Bibbojaan’s symbology is unique in the realm of celebrating Indian Freedom Fighters in History and Cinema

Bibbojaan emerges as a symbol of unwavering resilience and defiance against oppression. From her beginnings and introduction within the saga, until the very end, she embodies the spirit of a freedom fighter, confronting adversity with unmatched courage that is highlighted by her softness as a woman in her day to day life. However, what lingers hauntingly in the aftermath is the brutal stripping of her womanhood — a visceral portrayal of the sacrifices women make in the fight for freedom, liberation, and equality. 

Image credit: The Hindu – featuring Aditi Rao Hydari as Bibbojaan and Fardeen Khan as Wali Saab, a nawaab and patron of Bibbojaan who often kept her informed of tensions between British colonisers and rebellion fighters.

As the series concludes, within the climax itself, we witness Bibbojaan's journey marked by bloodshed and bruises, the product of torture from colonising British officers, and each inflicted wound becomes a testament to her unyielding determination. Yet, it is the callous severance of her hair that cuts deepest and perhaps becomes the most jarring part of the scene, devoid of any reverence or symbolism of sanctity nor womanliness. This scene is a visual depiction of an attack against the divine feminine – one that is not very different to how the idea of Tawaifs is approached by the British throughout the series as is. 

Further to this, unlike the portrayal of male freedom fighters, who often step into their execution chambers adorned with symbols of strength and valour, Bibbojaan is denied this visual homage and honouring. Instead, she confronts her fate with a rawness that speaks volumes of the injustices endured by women in the shadows of history. Even in her pursuit of freedom, she is not visually depicted as a wild woman in her own terms, rather, it is done to her to strip her of her dignity.

The only courage and valour we get to see as an audience in comparison to all the films about Shaheed Udham Singh and Shaheed Bhagat Singh is the courage in Bibbojaan’s eyes, and within the voices of the women supporting her behind the wall of the chamber.

In portraying the labour of women in freedom movements, Heeramandi confronts the erasure of female contributions to history as a byproduct.

The character of Bibbojaan epitomises this struggle, her sacrifice and resilience — qualities rarely explored with such depth and nuance through a female lens in cinematic settings within the history of Indian cinema until now — are starkly overshadowed by societal indifference to the topic itself.

Image Credit: Netflix India – Bibbojaan moments before her execution: her visual depiction is tattered, bruised, and violated in juxtaposition of many male freedom fighters in the context of Hindi cinema

Heeramandi disrupts conventional narrative and traditionalist ideas on what a freedom fighter looks like, sounds like, and acts like. It shines a glaring light on the erasure of women's contributions whilst celebrating a woman in her pursuit of freedom with the singing echoes of other women – many of whom Bibbojaan had tensions with within the saga – in support of her.

While male counterparts in Indian cinema are lauded for their bravery, Bibbojaan's story remains a silent testament to the countless women whose sacrifices have been overshadowed by patriarchal narratives, and it’s one that still weighs heavy and speaks to the female condition four to five generations later – within India and within the diaspora as well.

As such, then, Bhansali deftly exposes the hypocrisy of heroism, where male freedom fighters are glorified while their female counterparts are marginalised and stripped of their dignity.

Video of Azadi, a juxtaposition of how freedom fighters are traditionally shown in Indian cinema. Video credit goes to Sanjay Leela Bhansali Productions

Not your woman, no matter our class

While undoubtedly entertaining, the growing and long-lasting trend of item songs perpetuate harmful stereotypes, undermining the intrinsic beauty and symbolism of womanhood. Women are the creators of life itself, and whether in the realm of prostitution depicted in films like Gangubai Kathiawadi, or the world of high society artistry embodied by characters like Bibbojaan, women play indispensable roles in shaping our lives and society.

Yet, despite our multifaceted contributions, and despite our positions within social classes themselves, society frequently fails to accord us the respect and recognition we deserve.

Image credit: Netflix India

Thought paradigms in Heeramandi rise in existence today

In essence, Heeramandi transcends the confines of historical drama, offering a profound reflection on the complexities of womanhood and societal expectations. Through Bhansali's artistry, it becomes a poignant reminder of the enduring struggle for equality and the resilience of the human spirit, as well as the female struggle for liberation. The world is modern, it has changed so much since the time period in which Heeramandi is set.

But when you look at headlines in India, crimes against women are still at an all time high. Within the diaspora, a quick look will show an emergence of alarmingly rising movements of conservatism, be it in Hinduvta circles or right-wing Sikh circles, a woman’s value isn’t much beyond her labour for a movement or giving birth to keep a kom (community) alive and well-numbered. We are not welcome in academic settings even if we have the same (or honestly, a lot more) qualifications than our male contemporaries and counterparts. Headlines about gang rapes of women, or the secret filming of women taking a shower or engaging in intimacy with their partners still very much come out of Indian news outlets on the regular.

This is no different than the horrific plot tool of Malaikajaan being gang raped by British officers for the freedom of her daughter, Alamzeb. Women still very much suffer at the hands of men – just this time, it’s not in a colonised setting, it’s a different form of repression and oppression. It’s our own men doing it to us, in a literal sense, because man cannot be born nor borne without woman.

Image Credit: ComingSoon.net – Fareedan, Malaika and Waheeda tearfully and powerfully walk to the jail where Bibbojaan will be executed for rebellion. In this scene, they powerfully fight British officers and croon about the freedom of their country

Closing Thoughts

As the curtains draw on this saga, the echoes of its narrative reverberate, urging us to reevaluate our perceptions of gender, freedom, and cultural heritage. Heeramandi will be, no doubt, subject to its own criticisms by numerous groups of people for different aspects of the narrative, including and not limited to creative, artistic and historical perspectives. But, it also does a lot of good with full intention of juxtaposing against narratives of sensuality, the arts, and generational patronage. Ultimately, this saga speaks to Bhansali’s ongoing message speaking to the masses that you cannot separate a woman from her sensuality, but reducing her to a mere sexual object is a notion that is indeed destroying our world and our microcultures within it.

Image credit: Koimoi

Heeramandi is a saga that is available to watch on Netflix India. What are your thoughts on the series? Let us know!

Roses and Women Are Anything But Delicate

A Critical Commentary on Sanjay Leela Bhansali's Gangubai Kathiawadi

Image Courtesy of Scroll In

Disclaimer: If you haven’t watched Gangubai Kathiawadi, and don’t want the plot of the film to be revealed to you, bookmark this article and don’t come back until you’ve watched it.

Before you begin reading, I want you to know that this article on Gangabai Kathiwadi isn’t about how well anyone has acted or how beautiful the sets are. Neither is it a commentary on how the plot line interweaves with the cinematography. 

Rather, this is a reflection of all the ways in which the film positions itself, ditching the evergreen hero and villain archetype format to refreshingly explore its characters as people. Here, all fronts are dropped to show the inner lives of women deemed disgraceful by society. Their constant challenges are ingrained in who they are, and within their every day interactions with each other. 

With this approach, our inner worlds are able to mirror one another’s more deeply.

How do we interact with each other? How do we perceive each other? How do we grieve? How do we use and abuse? How do we stifle and suppress the feminine in every which way in our micro and macro cultures? Why do we do what we do?

For me, it’s most chilling to note that so many of the situations, emotions, and interactions within the film are still relevant today – 60 years after the film was set.

Jhume Re Gori from Gangubai Kathiawadi introduces Gangubai as a dreamy eyed storm of a young woman. She is free, she is happy, and she has big dreams.

Well before the end of the film, you’re quick to realise that the once timid, dreamy-eyed Gangubhai is perhaps the strongest female character to come out of India in a long time. In an age of fast plots and female characters that lack being fleshed out, she is well rounded – her sexuality is realistic against India’s long standing trend of hypersexualising women. 

Gangubai is not villianised or made into an overglorified, sappy and sentimental hero. Rather, she displays astonishing spirit against the media norm for how someone who has been betrayed, and traumatised by someone she dearly trusted, as well as the ways society so easily allows women to be coerced into the flesh trade, would behave. The way she handles being sex trafficked and tortured is defiant to her circumstances. She doesn’t just fight for herself to be in better conditions despite her situation. She also fights for her fellow sisters in the brothel she is trafficked into, branded by, and forced to work in.

How she quickly gets voted in as the Madame to take care of the women who work with her underlines a very important realisation: their everyday agency and lack thereof are blended to put forth a genuine expression of the human condition. These are not just glammed up women doing a job they were forced into. Their flesh being traded also transacted their invalidity in general society. Yet, they defy being outcasts; they’re a community in this together.

Gangubai is not villianised or made into an overglorified, sappy and sentimental hero. Rather, she displays astonishing spirit against the media norm for how someone who has been betrayed, and traumatised by someone she dearly trusted, as well as the ways society so easily allows women to be coerced into the flesh trade, would behave.

Image Courtesy of The Guardian

The film’s plot refreshingly doesn’t pit women and society against one another – but rather, weaves a very apt, accurate narrative that women are a functioning, integral part of our society, no matter the trade we are in.

Instead, the relationships we observe and experience as an audience are unique juxtapositions which explore the many burdens women take on due to patriarchy. Included in this, and perhaps the most critical relationship to note is between Gangubai and Raziabai, the President of the brothel locality, Kamathipura, and a self-identifying eunuch.

Raziabai, not fitting any of society’s gender norms, laments about how she is a hardened woman who uses weapons and bullying as her ways of communicating because she had to defy all odds to even get to where she is. We see a marginalised woman scorned who does not wish to give up her power in risk of being subjected to abuse and violence that she fought so hard to rise above through harnessing political power – and we only experience this glimpse into Raziabai’s inner world and experiences as a woman after she fiercely battles Gangubai in locality politics to ultimately lose.

The film’s relational dynamics between women is a direct mirror of how our relationships with each other as women exist today. Even in the most gruelling, heartbreaking and mind-altering circumstances, the notion of sisterhood can prevail – but it is fragile, it can also crumble easily. Women often still mistaken competition as sisterhood – misidentifying harming one another for abundance and support. Decades after the film’s setting, the film prompts us to explore how we as women continue to pit ourselves against each other.

How do we recycle our traumas onto one another? How do we build relationships only to become against one another and use each other?

We are further consumed past a life cycle stolen from us – as if the only thing that should come from us is solely the benefit and satisfaction of others.

Image Courtesy of Hindustan Times

Now is a time, more than ever, that we must come together.

Dozens of horrific, high profile rape and suicide cases of women have been gouged through the media cycle. In these cases, the perpetrators have often been given the opportunity to publicly share that they have zero remorse for their actions. Even after facing terrifying, torturous death, the existence of women is torn apart, shredded by media news. 

We are further consumed past a life cycle stolen from us – as if the only thing that should come from us is solely the benefit and satisfaction of others.

My settled home of Turtle Island, under the name of Canada is no different. Indigenous women are continuing to go missing, often sex trafficked and horrendously murdered to be met with the apathy of the RCMP and public. Indigenous women’s lives are continually threatened well past the periods of colonisation and genocide in our history textbooks – it’s still occurring today.

How do we come out of the mentality that we own other women? That, even as women, we can attack, spread rumours, gossip about, malign and steal from other women? What makes us think we can have ownership over one another too?

Image Courtesy of FilmiBeat

We don’t have to face the battles in our lives alone. But sometimes, we force each other to.

Gangubai’s outward, public persona of a tireless advocate for her community is starkly different from the loneliness and pain she feels, as well as the trauma and isolation she constantly works through on all fronts. The battles never end for her. And before she can process and grieve all she has lost, she is plunged into a new heartbreaking situation that life throws at her. And yet, she proudly, authentically and responsibly shows face every time she needs to. Even if she does cry alone, behind a veil.

This hasn’t changed. In my own experience of interviewing women about their trials and tribulations, they’ve often had to put on a brave face for the world as they plunged into violence and uncertainty within their own lives – a common theme for women everywhere throughout time.

Ultimately, the film sees Gangubai lobby for the rights of sex workers all the way until she meets the Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru to continue her advocacy work. Well before the time countries such as the Netherlands and Canada adopted an abolitionist approach to sex work, Gangubai fought for the same cause – for buying sex from a sex worker to be illegal, not sex work in and of itself, so women in the flesh trade are not criminalised for their bread and butter.

Nehru doesn’t allow Kamathipura to be run down – because Gangubai doesn’t.

Image Courtesy of Media9 Tollywood

The male characters within the film allow the audience to explore the film in more than just a gender or occupational binary, but rather, based off their own values. Rahim Lal’s role is more than just Gangubhai’s brother – his relationship with her is formed based on his values of justice and equality, even though he himself is a part of the underworld. Afsaan, Gangubai’s companion and friend is a raw, innocent young man exploring the fine lines between love and lust while also caring for and seeing Ganguhai as a person with her own traumas. Mr. Fezi is a stark contrast of a male who mercilessly brutalised Gangubai under the guise of a client, Shaukhat Khan – Fezi is clear headed, fair, just, and provides Gangubai with opportunities to amplify her story through his trade. Indeed — the writing profession is powerful. Just as powerful as access to education.

But, you also see that women are not free of men even after death. Specifically, we see this when Gangubai’s best friend Kamli dies post childbirth, and her body is lovingly taken care of by her housemates in the brothel. Here, we see the women she lived with doting her body with a mother’s caress and a father’s protection while surrounding her body and decorating it. They reminisce while doing so, but are abruptly stopped by Gangubai, who tells them to tie Kamli’s legs tightly together “because there is no telling of the nature of men, they will desecrate a woman’s dead body to fulfill their sexual urges.” This dialogue, and the coldness in Gangubai’s eyes as she says it reminds me of Mukesh Singh, the man who stole the life of Jyoti, internationally known as India’s daughter. “While being raped, they shouldn’t fight back,” he said. Closed legs, a subject of endless discussion to blame women for being sexually assaulted. Today, in this context, they are a symbol of defiance.

As I explore the different personalities of the male characters, in this film, something dawns on me. Values define who we are. No matter our trade, no matter our gender. If our principles do not reflect respecting one another’s bodies, intellect, intelligence, emotions and life experiences, we cannot truly be allies of one another. It always starts with self.

Image Courtesy of Filmi Beat

The main takeaway?

Women are powerful. Despite being censored, policed, undervalued, overworked, overburdened, and subjected to fixing the world’s problems, we are anything but weak or meek. We have been fighting an uphill battle for millenia – with glimpses of light before being plunged back into darkness. But, we have work to do. We cannot claim to be part of a larger sisterhood when we are also hurting one another – yes, patriarchy has hurt us, but if we are unable to be true to ourselves around each other, to harness strength in one another’s vulnerability, respect each other’s boundaries, we cannot truly advocate for each other or ourselves.

And to those who work against us

You can try to censor us while you worship us. You can try to control us while we nurture you. You can try to take control of our bodies through unjust abortion law overturns (I’m looking at your mistakes overturning Roe v. Wade, America – and your recent decision to disqualify sexual assault under the influence of alcohol, Canada). You can do all you can to dim our voices.

We will roar louder. We will survive against all of the ways in which you try to box us in. Somewhere, we may be crying or laughing behind veils. One day, I pray we will be laughing and crying in meadows together – as sisters walking this life. But, today – everyday and always – we will not let ourselves exist in the shadows of society.

If you haven’t caught Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Gangubai Kathiawadi yet, you can stream it on Netflix. If you don’t understand Hindi, there is an English dub option, as well as subtitles in English. It stars Alia Bhatt, Shantanu Maheshwari, Vijay Raaz, Jim Sarbh, Varun Kapoor, Seema Pahwa, Indira Tiwari, Ajay Devgn and Huma Qureshi.

Himmat Interview Excerpts: Meet Seemi Ghazi

Meet Seemi Ghazi, one of the incredible women we interviewed for the Himmat: Celebrating the Women Around Us Exhibit

[As womxn,] “we code switch a lot. We have a certain way we dress and the way we move our body, the way we use our voice, what language we’re speaking literally. And if we’re speaking english are we speaking it differently in our mosque or our desi functions and maybe we go to school and its totally different.

Meet Seemi Ghazi

I'm 54 years old, I was born in London, England. My Dad was studying Political Science doing his Masters at the London School of Economics. When I was 3 1/2, we moved to Cambridge Mass. When he was doing his PhD, we lived in an amazing place called the Centre of Study of World Religions which was at Harvard and was founded by my Dad’s mentor William Campbell Smith, who was a great scholar of religion.

Seemi Ghazi pictured with her parents, published with permission.

On challenges

“I’ve had 3 or 4 miscarriages before and after my daughter and son were born. Some of them were early, some of them were late. So that was definitely a big challenge. I really love children, I grew up being the eldest of five, also with so many cousins around. I’ve already helped raise so many kids, so it was very difficult for me to think about not having children. It seemed like I couldn’t give birth to a sibling for my daughter.” 

On healing

“I think a thing I learned between each of those experiences is that I was able to own the process and was able to be there and give birth to that child and hold it. Sometimes it was so small, like a seahorse. And the last one before I had my son was a perfectly formed little baby boy. They’re so tiny. It’s incredible. Because first they’re perfectly formed and then they grow. But, I feel so whole and healed about it and I think it’s because I really took my time and I honoured this process. I held them in my hands and I prayed over them and I wrapped them in white cloth which is what we do as Muslims. There’s a place where I buried them all out in nature, a place that is special to me that I can go visit. And I really feel their presence and I feel their protection and guardianship. Sometimes I dream about them and see them as teenagers or as they’re older and they have different personalities. For many women, I know that they can’t even talk about it. There’s no space for grief. I feel incredibly blessed that I have this ongoing relationship.” 

“Each of those times was a time when people would say, “you’re being so strong.” I didn’t feel like I was being strong, I just felt carried in those moments and I felt that the veil between this world and all the other worlds that are unseen became so thin and so fine. I’ve never felt the presence of the beyond so palpably.” 

“It really increased my faith, not in a cerebral experiential way but really experiencing the world that they had gone to and the world that I was in and us being very connected. That was an immense gift that they gave me. I felt that they were there –  that I was on this side and then they were on that side.” 

Seemi Ghazi, published with permission

On triumph from resilience

“In 2006 they told me that I would never get pregnant again and if I did, I would never carry a baby to term so they told me to stop trying. And then in 2010 when I’m not trying nothing, I have this beautiful miracle boy at 45. That was a very unexpected happy moment.” 

What does Himmat mean to you? 

In Arabic, Himmat grammatically is a feminine word. My image of Himmat is definitely my mother. She always has high aspirations for herself and everyone around her and she knows how to make everything, whether it be a plant or a pet or a child or a student, she knows how to make people thrive and to give them what they need to thrive. She has foresight and courage and diligence and dedication to bring that about. For me, Himmat is those things, it’s to have a high vision and high aspirations and to have strength, courage and wisdom and dedication to bring that aspiration into a reality.

Childhood photo of Seemi Ghazi, published with permission