The word laapataa has a special place within the Hindi lexicon. Google would tell you that it translates to "missing" or "lost." However, any seasoned Hindi speaker would say laapataa is better understood as the specific type of loss that comes from being overlooked, from being "forgotten." It invokes a sense of carelessness. In this context, Kiran Rao's feel-good, punchy Bollywood dramedy "Laapataa Ladies" develops into a story not of losing but of forgetting.
Set in the age before the telecommunications boom in India, "Laapataa Ladies" follows the comical and cliche swap of identities between two veiled brides, Phool Kumari (Nitanshi Goel) and Jaya (Pratibha Ranta), who coincidentally share a night train carriage during prime arranged marriage season in rural India. It is a story that tangles itself into the railways and farms of villages across Indian states, unraveling into a tale not just of two characters but of every Indian woman.
Whilst the sheltered and docile Phool is taken in by a rag-tag crew of railway workers and stragglers, brash and bold Jaya ends up with Phool's sweetheart, Deepak Kumar (Sparsh Shrivastava), who is inconsolably distraught after realizing his mistake. Through a film that somehow employs every Bollywood trope only to subvert it later, the two women are "returned" to their rightful places yet irrevocably changed from their journeys.
Much can be said about "Laapataa Ladies," from its upbeat, emotive score to the snappy vivacity of its cinematography. However, what shines in the film is screenwriter Sneha Desai's dialogue, underscored by a brilliantly talented cast. Both visually and symbolically, the ghunghat (veil) of the two women is used as a recurring symbol to comment on the loss of identity and autonomy arranged marriage places on the Indian woman, as it blinds both the women themselves and others. This is highlighted in one of the most memorable quotes from the film, spoken by Deepak's mother (Geeta Sharma): "Ek baar ghunghat le liye toh aage nahi neeche dekh ke chalna seekho." "Once you don the veil, learn to walk looking down, not forward."
However, the most striking dialogue is not spoken by the main characters. Underscored by its subversive minor characters, the film's refusal to shy away from the facts of Indian misogyny -- such as the ghunghat -- makes it stand out amid a sea of pink-washing in Bollywood films. Manju Maai (Chhaya Kadam), a battle-worn and bitter old woman who blackmailed her abusive husband and son into freedom and who takes in Phool, delivers the most significant monologue in the film. She opines on the "fraud" done to Indian women, the box of rules and stereotypes that fool them into submission and obedience. Maai terms this "fraud" as the ghar ki bahu-beti (the daughter-in-law of the house), delivering an arresting autopsy of India's arranged marriage culture to call for structural change.
Exemplifying this archetype of the meek daughter-in-law and housewife is Deepak's mother. Yet, she is liberated from her dramatized, damsel-in-distress portrayals in the Indian daytime soaps when she arrives at the same conclusions, particularly in her interaction with Deepak's grandmother and her mother-in-law. Through this deconstruction of the social dynamics in an Indian household, Rao presents characters that come from a spectrum of womanhood, highlighting feminism that departs from traditional portrayals, showcasing the inherent strength present in the life of every Indian woman.
The film subverts the savior trope in "feminist" Bollywood films by placing the reins of the story in the hands of women. Empowered by the united realization of the patriarchal reality they live in, the laapataa ladies center every storyline, hence creating a narrative that does not treat them as forgotten objects but as people capable of controlling the fate of their own lives.
Unfortunately, the reception of Rao's courageous, staunchly feminist film proves that it is not just Indian society that forgets its women -- America is also guilty.
While the film was given its laurels in India, international award shows have controversially overlooked the film. Particularly, the recent discourse surrounding the exclusion of "Laapataa Ladies" from the Oscar shortlist was prominent across South Asian digital platforms, especially because the film was India's official entry for "Best International Picture."
This has spotlighted the discrepancy of Western media, which is the hegemonic standard of approval for most performing arts; in 2008, "Slumdog Millionaire," won eight Oscars, despite stereotypically racist portrayals of India and being directed by Danny Boyle, who is not Indian. More recently, the film awards season was embroiled in contention when "Emilia Perez," the story of a Mexican and transgender drug-lord cartel directed by a Frenchman who has never been to Mexico and is not transgender, won four Golden Globes and is currently on the same Oscar shortlist that "Laapataa Ladies" failed to make.
These examples showcase that despite the constant emphasis on authentic representation, Western media continues to laud cinema that perpetuates harmful stereotypes of race and gender under the guise of inclusion. This can only be rectified by the recognition of media that honors stories created by minorities, for minorities. Stories like "Laapataa Ladies," can be lost and found but should never be forgotten.