Why’s Bollywood obsessed with Tawaifs? ‘Heeramandi’ brings back the stereotypes

Why’s Bollywood obsessed with Tawaifs? ‘Heeramandi’ brings back the stereotypes

Bollywood has been obsessed with the courtesan culture for long. The mujra song and the courtesan with a golden heart were a stereotypical staple. She loved the male hero unconditionally, sacrificed and looked more glamorous than the heroine.

When item numbers burst into the movies, the courtesan retreated from the plotlines.

Sanjay Leela Bhansali is back with a new courtesan-centric project called Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar on Netflix—after Devdas (2002) and Gangubai Kathiawadi (2022). As always, he will create an alternative, opulent unreal universe with over-the-top grace, adaa and costumes. Based on the life of the courtesans of Lahore and set in the red-light district, Heeramandi has a star cast including Manisha Koirala, Sonakshi Sinha, Aditi Rao Hydari, Richa Chaddha, Sanjeeda Sheikh, and Sharmin Segal.

Due to drop on 1 May, it’s a return to the courtesan world—as imagined by Bollywood. But Pakistanis are not happy with what they have seen of the movie so far.

“Filmmakers of the subcontinent have created a fantasy chimaera, a celluloid courtesan, which has nothing to do with tawaifs. It has done no service to them. Bhansali is the biggest fantasy maker among them,” Pakistani film critic Omer Adil tells ThePrint.

In India, the movie has been making waves ever since it was announced in 2021 with early reviews calling it “mesmerising” and “opulent”. The premiere of the web series on 24 April, which saw almost all of Bollywood in attendance, has added to the hype. “Just saw two episodes of Heeramandi, and I’m already craving more,” wrote actor Genelia D’Souza on her Instagram story.

The sentiment isn’t quite the same on the other side of the border. While actor Ushna Shah calls it ‘cultural appropriation’, others see it as yet another example of India’s “unhealthy obsession” with Pakistan.

“Real-life tawaifs shaped Bombay cinema. These classically trained female performers were among the first actors, playback singers, choreographers, producers, directors and music directors in Bombay films,” writes Ruth Vanita in her book, Dancing with the Nation: Courtesans in Bombay Cinema (2017).

“The distinctive aesthetics of the Bombay film, centrally shaped by song and dance, owes a great deal to women from courtesan lineages, although their role is still not fully acknowledged,” she writes further.

India’s obsession with tawaifs

From K Asif’s Mughal-e-Azam (1960) to Pakeezah (1972) and Umrao Jaan (1981), the Indian film industry–and the audience—has had a decades-long fascination with courtesan culture. What probably propelled this trend was the casting of stars like Meena Kumari and Rekha. Through these films, an imagined era of indulgence, languor and royalty was being recreated. It was a male gaze of a different kind—often ascribing attributes, dialogues, and songs that the director could not give to the female protagonist who was virtuous and virginal.

“The courtesan on celluloid in both Pakistan and India is almost always Lucknowi, and dressed in a particular way and with her entourage of musicians. But this was not historically accurate,” stresses Adil.

In Bollywood, the genre had been firmly established with Mughal-e-Azam, the iconic love story between Mughal prince Salim (Dilip Kumar) and his favourite courtesan, Anarkali (Madhubala). From then on, almost every Bollywood film had at least one tawaif character or performance. Prominent actors would portray these roles—from Waheeda Rehman in Mujhe Jeene Do (1963), Meena Kumari in Pakeezah (1972) to Shabana Azmi in Shatranj Ke Khiladi (1977) and Rekha in Umrao Jaan (1981).

Pakeezah, which took 15 long years to be made, saw major box office success. The film’s memorable dance numbers—Inhi Logo Ne, Chalte Chalte Yun Hi Koi, Thare Rahiyo O Baanke Yaar and Aaj Hum Apni Duwaon Ka Asar Dekhenge, displayed the unparalleled grace and artistry of courtesans.

Umrao Jaan, which came out almost a decade later and was based on Mirza Mohammad Hadi Ruswa’s 1899 Urdu novel Umrao Jaan Ada, is a story of love and loss.

“Umrao Jaan is probably the last well-researched film [to be] made. Muzzafar Ali actually called in 25 tawaifs who were still alive during that time, and learnt their mannerisms,” said classical dancer and founder of The Courtesan Project, Manjari Chaturvedi. Rekha also performed numerous kathak dances in Umrao Jaan, such as In Ankhon Ki Masti Mein and Dil Kya Cheez Hai.

The popularity of the two films and their accompanying songs and dances made them an inseparable part of popular culture. They featured either as subplots or hit dance numbers in films like Muqaddar Ka Sikandar (1978), Do Anjaane (1976) and Ram Teri Ganga Maili (1985). These films contributed to the development of a distinct tawaif character that was perfected over time by actors like Rekha.

There was also Shyam Benegal’s Mandi (1983), which focused on how sexual relationships between courtesans and rich married men led to the birth of children who perpetuated the tawaif culture due to a lack of other options. It delved into the life of ageing courtesans, whose only hope for survival was continued patronage from the royals and the rich. It showed how, in the absence of such patronage, they were forced to take up sex work or prepare their daughters to continue as tawaifs in a new world. The movie was nominated for three Filmfare awards in the Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor and Best Supporting Actress categories, and bagged the National Film Award for Best Art Direction.

“Women’ s stories have been written with affection or from hearsay,” said Pakistani educationist and Urdu language expert Arfa Sayeda Zehra. And this rings especially true for courtesans.

Glamour over substance

The opulent world of courtesans began to disappear from films between the 1990s and 2000s. And the few films that were made later—like the new Umrao Jaan (2006) with Aishwarya Rai Bachchan and Abhishek Bachchan, Begum Jaan (2017) with Vidya Balan, and Kalank (2019) with Alia Bhatt, Madhuri Dixit, and Varun Dhawan, tanked at the box office.

But there is a resurgence of interest in tawaifs’ stories today—on OTT platforms. In Mira Nair’s A Suitable Boy (2020) series, Tabu plays the role of a courtesan Saeeda Bai, who becomes the object of affection for a young Maan Singh (Ishaan Khatter). In Vikramaditya Motwane’s Jubilee (2023), Wamiqa Gabbi plays Niloufer, a Lucknow courtesan who becomes an actor in Bombay post-Partition. But Bhansali’s Heeramandi is, perhaps, the grandest of them all, is releasing 14 years after writer Moin Baig pitched him the story.

“The courtesans in films like Bhansali’s Devdas, Gangubai and now Heeramandi [first look] appear dreamy with gorgeous costumes and opulent kothas [brothels]. This is a distinctive Bollywood sketch that is far away from the real life of the courtesans,” writes film commentator and historian Yasser Usman in a column.

Bhansali seems to have sacrificed authenticity and historical accuracy of every kind to accommodate grandeur. Even pain and torture are stylised, and it’s evident that, according to him, courtesans never really dressed down. Heera Mandi was a space for entertaining Mughal royals— in the 15th and 16th centuries. By the 1940s, it was a regular grain market, which soon transformed into a zone for sex work.

“If Bhansali had actually visited Heera Mandi, he would have seen how it only has dingy houses and very narrow streets. The women standing in front of kothas and on the streets are destitute,” said Adil.

Ultimately though, the tawaif culture was a victim of the male gaze—the artistes were reduced to mere dancers in real life and cinema.  “Think like a patriot, and not like one who performs mujra,” says Bibbo Jaan (Aditi Rao Hydari) in the trailer, reinforcing the stereotypical image that Bollywood has built up.

The industry never took pains to distinguish tawaifs from glorified sex workers, and instead conflated the two.

“There are many paintings of courtesans, and they never show cleavage. But in nearly all Hindi cinema there will be a hole in their clothes for cleavage, and unfortunately, this is what stays in public memory—the tight outfits and heaving bosom with titillating dance,” said Chaturvedi. This is also visible in some of the scenes in Heermandi’s trailer.

Chaturvedi does not fault Bollywood for opting to depict what sells; she is concerned that audiences often perceive such films as an accurate representation of historical events. “Heeramandi’s trailer has a statement about recreating history. It should not give such statements,” said Chaturvedi.

In a scene from Heeramandi’s trailer, a glamorous Fareedan (Sonakshi Sinha) provocatively guides Nawab Wali Mohammad’s (Fardeen Khan) hand over her bosom, cracking a sly joke about “the arrow hitting the right spot”. Amid the allure and intrigue of Bhansali’s ornate sets, designer costumes and flowery Urdu dialogues, his courtesans find themselves confined to singular emotions —rage, revenge, longing. Their quest for ‘agency’ seems to make them the very archetype they hope to transcend.

Views are personal.

This article is part of a series called Beyond the Reel. You can read all the articles here.