Heeramandi review: Some of what glitters is gold in Manisha, Sonakshi and Aditi’s show

Heeramandi review: The vision of an inconsolable Paro running towards a dying Devdas, the train of her white saree flowing behind as she runs across her mansion, is peak Sanjay Leela Bhansali. Heeramandi is not all that. Heeramandi is older, darker, bitterer, sadder, and more oppressed. Through all the resplendence and opulence, Bhansali’s Heeramandi is the story of a bunch of women, who run the Heeramandi empire, and particularly Shahi Mahal. 

A lot of Heeramandi is inspired from Bhansali’s earlier works (re: Devdas, Gangubai Kathiawadi). But if Devdas was about two star-crossed lovers and Gangubai was the rise of a young woman in the power corridors, the focus has now shifted entirely on the lives of the women in this story of Heeramandi. 

WOMEN IN HEERAMANDI

The women in Heeramandi are each other’s fiercest supporters and also their worst enemies. They are family to each other, they are confidantes, they are well-wishers, they are rivals, they are enemies, they are khalas and apas, and huzoors. The refer to themselves as the queens of Lahore, but perhaps that’s the delusion of grandeur talking. Men, meanwhile, have mostly one transactional value in this strange world of women. Men are not lovers here, and definitely not partners and husbands, they are sahabs at best. Men do not occupy the same strata as women in Heeramandi because they simply are not on the same level. 

But when it comes to oppressing, the most come from the men. The only one who holds a worse fate than a tawaif in Heeramandi is the effeminate Ustaadji, the facilitator of alliances, whose life, like the tawaifs, revolve around the rooms of Heeramandi, but unlike the tawaifs, is not the object of desire. 

The women of Heeramandi talk in the most soulful dialogues and lament about the prison they have been caged in. Like most of Bhansali’s works, Heeramandi would score high in the Bechdel test. But what do they talk about? What do a bunch of women, decked up in their finest clothes, and roaming the most opulent corridors, talk about? Their misery. 

Most of the conversations in Heeramandi revolve around the women’s misfortunes, the abuse and cruelty they have faced, the humiliation they experience on a daily basis in the society, the loss of freedom – even as the country itself is yet to be free – the pettiness of rivalry, and so on. No one is happy in this market, and even if they have a chance at happiness, it comes at an exorbitant price and is laced with, again, misery. It is this unending saga of misery that takes the biggest toll on the show, but more about that later. 

HEERAMANDI CAST 

Manisha Koirala as Mallikajaan, the matriarch of the establishment, the chief courtesan, who demands to be referred to as Huzoor, runs a tight ship. She is feared, envied, loathed in equal measure. But there is no absolute power in Heeramandi, one can only be the first among equals. Koirala, who has graced the screen after a long time, rules the screen. Her voice is now slightly thicker, her lines a little finer and her eyes still expressive. An unsual but brilliant choice by Bhansali. 

Aditi Rao Hydari as Bibbojaan, Mallikajaan’s daughter is the belle of the ball and a rebel with a heavy cause, all wrapped in one. Watching Hydari perform her mujra – the best Heeramandi has to offer – would make one wonder if she is our generation’s Meena Kumari. Hydari is a vision as Bibbo. 

Sonakshi Sinha as Rehana and her daughter Fareedan, is very commanding too. In a scene with Manisha Koirala, one would wonder whom to watch. Sinha’s prowess as an actor – as in Dahaad – is on full display. She is equal parts daring, scheming, petty, powerful, jealous, graceful and flamboyant. 

Sanjeeda Sheikh as Waheeda, Mallikajaan’s younger sister, is another character one would root for and loathe equally. She is always hysterical, sometimes delusional, mostly greedy, and many times aspirational. 

Richa Chadha as the heartbroken and humiliated Lajjo, has this one scene that would stay with the observant viewer long after the show is over. When her patron Zoravar (Adhyayan Suman) humiliates her in front of a room full of guests at his own wedding and Mallikajaan comes to her support, rebuking the nawab instead, a shattered, and weeping Lajjo lets out a giggle. And you would realise only Richa Chadha can do it so well. 

Sharmin Segal as Alamzeb, Mallikajaan’s daughter who dreams of becoming a poetess instead of a tawaif, is sadly the weakest link. She appears one-dimensional, devoid of much character, and sadly, much expression.  

Farida Jalal, Fardeen Khan, Shekhar Suman, Taha Shah Badussha, Jayati Bhatia, Indresh Malik form a sound supporting cast.  

WEALTH IN HEERAMANDI

Sure, the women dress in all their finery all the time, but really how much of the money do they own? They squabble over heirloom jewellery and passed-on properties. There must be no mistake made – the money they have and the property they own all belong to the men. The men might mostly be invisible on screen but they are the puppeteers and they rule the world outside Heeramandi. 

For Heeramandi to survive, they need the patronage of the nawabs – young and old. When Fareedan’s debut flops due to an unexpected competition, her prospects appear dim. When Bibbo hangs up her boots, her agency and wealth and patronage seems curbed.  

Mallikajaan, again resplendent in all her finery all the time, keeps count of every paisa that’s making its way in and out of her mahal. She will sell girls away for a good deal, even before they can question what’s happening to them. 

Their wealth, in short, is fluff – not meant to last long and can be taken away at any point. Their properties can easily be given away to another tawaif if she pleases the nawab more one fine day. Nothing is permanent here. The men know it too and often remind them. 

LIFE IN HEERAMANDI

But as you continue to watch eight episodes of 45 minutes or so each, all the razzle dazzle weighing on your tired eyes, you wonder if Heeramandi is all too perfect and…all so weepy (we get the gist, it is all misery everywhere). The clothes are too perfect, the jewellery all too perfect, the dialogues are all too perfect… and it might make you uneasy with its manicure. 

But once the camera moves out of Heeramandi to the normal world, Bhansali’s vision begins to falter. For instance, the independence struggle — it does namedrop Gandhi and Nehru — seems like a college protest. The scheming British officers want to play the game of “divide and rule” but they are also not the brightest. The sets outside appear like a step-down as if all of his fondness is only reserved for Heeramandi. The world outside Shahi Mahal and Heeramandi is drab and brown-tinged. It appears to be an Englishman’s idea of what India would be. 

All included, the viewers would possibly start wondering when and where will the tragedies end. You would start wondering when will the atrocities on the women’s bodies end — spoiler, it will go on till the end. The endless series of tragedy after tragedy and cruelty after cruelty is Heeramandi’s weakest spot and its most grating aspect. It is all just too much. 

After a point you just want the tawaifs from Heeramandi to take a sip of a cool drink, bask in the sun in their sprawling lawn and just enjoy each other’s company. 

Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Heeramandi is now streaming on Netflix.