By Kai Curry
NORTHWEST ASIAN WEEKLY
There once was a place in modern-day Lahore, Pakistan called the Diamond Bazaar, or Heeramandi (it’s still there). In this place, you could buy anything and everything, including women (you still can). Women for sale varied from the lowliest of the lowest prostitute to the most vaulted courtesan, called a “tawaif.” Sanjay Leela Bhansali, one of India’s most famous filmmakers, tries his hand at the story of these tawaif in the new Netflix series, which started May 1, called “Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar.”
First, I must express that I do not condone sexual slavery of any kind at any time. I don’t care how exotic, beautiful, or culturally interesting the life of a courtesan can be made to seem by both men and women, in Japan, India, Arabia, everywhere it happens. I will always view them as people with vast potential who are slaves and prisoners, albeit in a pretty cage.
I get that some do this as a choice, more now than before, and definitely not in “Heeramandi.” I don’t call being sold into slavery by your parents at 3 years old “a choice.” What I do call a choice is how you deal with it. Sadly, the primary avenue for a tawaif to deal with it is to make the most of her feminine charms to entice a rich man to support her. For this, Heeramandi is described by its makers as a place where “courtesans reign as queens.” No, they do not. They are prisoners making the best of a bad circumstance. Yes, they amass wealth (to do what with?). Yes, they may find a man to stave off a greater evil of being tossed amongst many—but they will still be his side woman. Some say that’s “freedom” compared to being a wife. I say it’s servitude.
I also get that it wouldn’t behoove the makers to create a show with nothing but misery. Those exist of course. Instead, here we have the glory and pageantry of Bollywood spectacle. Although described as best seen on a big screen, I enjoyed watching “Heeramandi” on my phone, which transformed it into a tiny, jeweled box. It’s a production, no doubt. Was the actual complex of the tawaif this glorious? Did they even have a complex? I don’t know. I do know Pakistan is upset about this portrayal as they feel that it should have been made by a Pakistani, not an Indian. They feel it’s their story to tell, although Lahore was India at the time portrayed, under British control.
“Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar” has all the pageantry we’ve come to expect from a romantic Indian production. (Courtesy of Netflix © 2024)
“It is authentic, but it is my understanding and version of it,” said Bhansali in a press interview. “Thematically, stories about love, and rebellion, striving for freedom and empowerment, war and deceit, have always been and will always remain relevant to audiences across time.” The “rebellion” portion of “Heeramandi” comes in two forms. One is in the form of the tawaif themselves, who in various ways buck at their plight and try to “win” in some way. The other comes in the form of rebellion against the British, something the tawaif are somewhat embroiled in due to the fact that, while in bed, men tend to reveal secrets.
“The show provides a one of a kind experience, one everyone should experience regardless of where they live,” said Bhansali in the same interview. “The lives and stories in this show, despite their cultural specificity, work because of how vital they are on a human level. My hope is that “Heeramandi” enlightens audiences of all cultural backgrounds on the unique journeys of the great women like those featured in the show.” It will. It definitely will.
The concept comes from Indian writer Moin Beg. Eight one-hour episodes follow a triangle of women who battle for preeminence amongst themselves, and within the shifting sands of Indian and British politics. Of course, the British see everyone in India as little more than slaves, while the women of the Diamond Bazaar, particularly it’s matron, Mallika (called “Mallikajaan” and portrayed by Manisha Koirala), does her best to keep control of her part of the world. Nothing is as it seems, but everything is exactly as you would expect, if you expected reality, not fantasy.
Manisha Koirala as Mallikajaan in Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar. (Courtesy of Netflix © 2024)
Mallika started the same as the rest, and was done wrong by the prior “queen” tawaif. She ended up in charge. Mallika is challenged, not only by outside forces, but also by a scheming successor, Faradeen (played by Sonakshi Sinha). In the middle of this are various courtesans falling into “love” with various patrons, hoping said patrons will take them away from Heeramandi forever. Most of the men see Heeramandi as a cultural (and sexual) establishment, and Mallika promotes it as a place where both sexes are honed from “in the rough” to diamond. They teach etiquette. Because you can’t learn that anywhere else but in an expensive “men’s club.”
Among the women is Alamzeb, or Alam (Sharmin Segal), the only one who strenuously objects to being a tawaif. Somehow, Alam has managed to grow up inside Heeramandi until what looks like the age of 35 (the actress is 29) without having had to become a tawaif and was allowed to indulge in the pastimes of poetry and reading. She’s Belle. Alam is Belle. When Mallikajaan decides it’s time for Alam’s “initiation” (mysteriously said multiple times), Alam protests that it’s not the life for her. She wants to write and, of course, fall in love. Lo and behold, while traipsing about outside Heeramandi without permission, Alam meets Tadjar (Taha Shah Badussha). They moon over each other instantly, lovestruck, except one is a rich guy with a British education who claims that Heeramandi is maybe not quite on the up and up, and the other is a slave.
Sharmin Segal (left) as Alam and Taha Shah Badussha as Tajdar (Courtesy of Netflix © 2024)
My question is, if Tadjar is doubtful about Heeramandi, which might imply some respect for women as people, why is he instantly in Alam’s face—touching her boob!—assuming she will fall madly in love with him? It’s a formula, I know. A way to show that they have fallen deeply in love from first sight. It’s also super cheesy and cringe. Alam is beautiful. Tadjar is beautiful. Every tawaif is achingly beautiful. But when Alam insists she will find love and the camera immediately swaps to handsome Tadjar swaggering down a hallway = cringe, eye roll.
“Dreams are a woman’s worst enemy,” Alam is told. At Heeramandi, dreams are not really jewels or property or the part-time love of a man. Dreams are freedom, and that rarely happens.
Kai can be reached at info@nwasianweekly.com.