TIFF Laapataa Ladies Review: Women Talking and Women Bonding

Somewhere at the outset in Kiran Rao’s Laaptaa Ladies (Lost Ladies) the young groom Deepak (Sparsh Shrivastava) tells his bride Phool (Nitanshi Goel) to hand over all her jewellery to him for safe keeping just as the two embark on a long, rough journey to his home in Soorajmukhi after their wedding at her place in Gangapur. As they ride triples on a mobike, travel on a boat, on the top of a bus and then aboard a packed Belpur Katariya Express train, he explains his fear of theft through folk wisdom: “Jevar chori doi dukh paana; chhota dukh chori, bada dukh thana (stolen jewellery leads to twice the misery, that of the theft itself and the bigger one of having to go through the police inquiry). A saying that doesn’t just capture the ironical fear of the lawmaker over the lawbreaker in the interiors of North India—something that the film itself later goes on to underscore as well as overturn—but it’s an example of the effortless play with words, the smooth use of the local dialect and homespun humour that inform the precise and polished writing in Rao’s sophomore film.

Laapataa Ladies comes 12 long years after Rao’s debut Dhobi Ghat and is entirely well worth the wait. Her deft direction builds on a strong foundation—an uncommon original story by Biplab Goswami, razor-sharp screenplay and dialogue by Sneha Desai and additional dialogue by Divyanidhi Sharma. It is rooted in Indian reality but can talk to the world, amply evident in the love it has garnered since its world premiere in the Centrepiece segment of the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF).

Shot in Madhya Pradesh and set in the year 2001 in a fictional Nirmal Pradesh, the film is about two new brides—Phool and Jaya (Pratibha Ranta) who get swapped on the very first, post-wedding journey from their maika (mother’s place) to the sasural (husband’s home). All because of their similar build, identical marital saris but most so because of the tent like veil (“tamboo jaisa ghoonghat”) that hides their face and identity and limits their vision of the world, literally as well as metaphorically. While Jaya mistakenly gets steered by Deepak to his joint family, his own wife Phool finds herself stranded in the small railway station Pateela with a bunch of residents of the station, including a stern but sensitive tea kiosk owner Manju Mai (Chhaya Kadam), for company.

Women getting lost in the boondocks of North India is the stuff of the darkest of nightmares. Laapataa Ladies subverts the premise and, instead, turns it into a positive, hopeful story of women being able to find themselves and their true potential. A series of encounters with goofy characters and unforeseen situations bring them, and, in turn, the audience, face to face with societal truths and ways of life. An entirely appropriate rite of passage that is also rollicking good fun of a ride through the Hindi heartland where, as a character in the film puts it, the names of villages keep changing with the change of government—from Indirapur to Atal Nagar to Mayaganj. The film is also a delightful, nostalgic evocation of the romance of railways—not just the trains and stations but also the kiosks and the ubiquitous samosa and chai.

Laapataa Ladies is a whimsical, fable-like film. Its premise might seem more fanciful than realistic but is not unbelievable or preposterous either. The spaces it plays out in—villages, copstations, markets and railway stations—might be eminently quaint but throb with authenticity. The characters can be conveniently described as quirky but have enough hidden depths to not seem caricaturized. The turn of events in their lives might feel bizarre but in the Indian context they are entirely probable.

Throwaway details—like a stranger on the train checking out the material and texture of Deepak’s wedding suit—add to the spot-on creation of a world where there’s no notion of individual space and very little that separates private from public.

Rao might herself be an outsider to this reality as opposed to that of Dhobi Ghat, but her gaze is never alienating or patronizing. Instead, it’s one of empathy, warmth, and involvement. There are several issues that the film takes up—gender, marriage, dowry, education, agriculture, scientific temper—but doesn’t get shrill. It doesn’t make light of the serious concerns either. In the engaging, popular narrative of Laapataa Ladies, subversion is not overwhelmingly sanctimonious. The biggest strength of the film is its blithe spirit, playful and upbeat tone, and the ability to be lighthearted about its own self. Cinema that is aware and intelligent but not contrived, cinema that is spontaneous rather than stuffy.

Ram Sampath’s music is as much an essential part of it. The fresh and stylish experiment with folk songs, rhythms and instruments adds to the vibrancy of the narrative while also echoing and emphasizing the authenticity and rootedness of the world.

In these overly cynical times, Laapataa Ladies strikes a fresh, optimistic note by keeping faith in people. Save an odd toxic bloke like Jaya’s husband Pradeep, the rest of the characters have enough slivers of goodness and decency in them to pay off for their little transgressions. Even the compromised, corrupt cop Shyam Manohar of the Murti thana (Ravi Kishan quite clearly having a ball) has more to him than avarice.

Long after the film is over, even the most minor of characters stay on your mind, be it the cop’s lackey Dubeyji or the customer perennially asking for chutney at Manju Mai’s kiosk or the random lady crooning “rangi sari gulaabi chunariya re” in the cop station. Much of the credit for it goes to a brilliant ensemble of little-known talent (save a few like Ravi Kishan and Chhaya Kadam) breathing life into the fictitious characters and staying perfectly in tune with each other.

The most endearing, of course, is the band of women and their heartwarming conversations with each other. They might belong to an orthodox, conventional world, some of them might have even become conditioned to patriarchy. But there is hope in those who question and rebel. A Manju Mai who had driven away her abusive husband to seek the solitude of her own company will spark a light of independence in the innocent, docile Phool. A confident and worldly-wise Jaya who resists getting lost in the crowd and domestic chores will also bring to light the hidden artistic talent of a Poonam—the sketches that lie hidden, away from the world’s eye, under the mattress. It’s about women going beyond the defined demarcations of their roles and responsibilities to build sororities and strike friendships, among themselves. Laapataa Ladies is at its best about women talking and women bonding.