Laapataa Us | Shikhar Shrivastava

As the sun lazily streamed through my window on a Sunday afternoon, I found myself drawn into the captivating world of “Laapataa Ladies” on Netflix, all the while engaged in a casual text conversation with a friend. Amidst the typical Sunday afternoon banter, I casually inquired about his plans for marriage. Knowing he was raised in the rural backdrop of Madhubani, Bihar, but now posted in Delhi, and pursuing a career rooted in nonprofit work, I playfully suggested that I should come to Madhubani for his wedding. His response, however, surprised me. He seemed irritated and promptly stated that he intends to tie the knot in either Paris or Venice. This was a stark reminder of the contrasting worlds we inhabit — the rural simplicity of my upbringing juxtaposed with the cosmopolitan aspirations of the urban elite. As I resumed my Netflix watch, I couldn’t help but reflect on the profound divide that separates our realities.

“Laapata Ladies” is a comedy-drama set in the fictional state of Nirmal Pradesh, situated in the Hindi heartland between Madhya Pradesh and Chhattisgarh.The film tells the story of two young brides lost during a train journey around January 2001. Anticipating an enthralling tale, I eagerly delved into the film, propelled not only by curiosity but also by the social buzz it had generated. My previous cinematic experience, fuelled by the fear of missing out, involved watching “12th Fail,” a biographical drama that chronicles Manoj Sharma’s extraordinary journey. Against the backdrop of the dacoit-infested terrains of Chambal, Madhya Pradesh, and poverty, Sharma embarks on a relentless pursuit to crack the UPSC examination and realize his lifelong dream of becoming an officer.

As the tale of Phool Kumari unfolds in “Laapataa Ladies,” viewers are drawn into the Hindi heartland of India, where societal norms intertwine with individual desires in a complex dance. Phool Kumari’s journey resonates deeply, not just for its portrayal of a specific character, but for the broader narrative it represents — a narrative of resilience, identity, and the pursuit of dreams amidst the constraints of tradition and expectation. Similarly, in “12th Fail,” the audience is transported to the rugged landscapes of the heart of India, where Manoj Sharma’s quest for success against formidable odds serves as a testament to the indomitable human spirit. His story transcends mere biographical details, becoming a universal symbol of determination and perseverance in the face of sheer unrealistic adversity.

In poignant moments, a young Phool stumbles, her face veiled, her vision obscured — a metaphor for the obstacles faced when navigating societal expectations — “Ek baar ghoonghat le liya toh aage nahi, neeche dekh ke chalna seekho” (“Once you’ve donned the veil, learn to walk by looking down, not ahead”), encapsulates the subtle yet profound struggles inherent in their journey.

For some, these narratives offer feminist lessons. However, their significance transcends mere feminist discourse — while feminist lessons undoubtedly find a place, they are just one facet of a much broader narrative. Each reel vividly portrays the daily hustle and bustle of life in rural India.

In both films, my resonance is palpable. Perhaps it is because these narratives offer a glimpse into a world that is simultaneously familiar. I was born and raised in the heart of the Hindi heartland, Chhattisgarh. From the streets of Bhilai to the tranquil villages in Jashpur nestled in the hills, I’ve experienced the tapestry of life in rural India firsthand. As I watched Laapataa Ladies I couldn’t help but feel a deep connection to the stories unfolding on screen. Phool Kumari’s struggles echoed the experiences of countless people I had met in my travels — who grapple with tradition and modernity, duty and desire, in their daily lives. Perhaps it is because of this intimate connection with the rural heartland that these films speak to me so profoundly.

In the hustle of life, these films offer a moment of pause — a chance to reflect on the beauty and complexity of the reality around us. Yet, amidst the acclaim and accolades, there remains a poignant realization that these stories may not always find the same resonance among the urban elites. While urban audiences may find themselves captivated by the universal themes of struggle and triumph depicted in these films, rural viewers may see their own realities reflected back to them in ways that are both comforting and confronting — a comedy in their own tragedy.

Through the lens of Phool Kumari and Manoj Sharma, urban audiences are offered a profound journey into the intricate tapestry that weaves the fabric of rural life in India. What may seem like a mere glimpse of aesthetic cinematic experience is, in fact, a profound exploration of the everyday realities that shape the soul of the heartland. Each scene captured is not a staged spectacle but rather a candid reflection of the daily occurrences that unfold effortlessly.

Ultimately, the power of Lapataa Ladies” and 12th Fail lies not just in their ability to entertain, but in their capacity to provoke thought, stir emotion, and spark dialogue. They serve as a reminder that the most captivating narratives are not fictional creations but rather reflections of reality.

One particular poignant scene occurs when the newly-wedded Phool embarks on her journey to her new home. Her husband Deepak, with a mix of concern and caution, advises her to remove her gold jewellery for safety. “Jevar chori, do dukh paana. Chhota dukh chori, bada dukh thaana,” (“Being robbed of jewelry brings sorrow, but facing the police station brings greater misery,”) he declares. In these few words, the realities of rural life are laid bare — the fear of theft pales in comparison to the dread of encountering the babus.

As they nervously ponder the thought of visiting the thana, one of Deepak’s friends mentions that the MLA knows him, injecting a glimmer of hope into their seemingly desperate situation. Thus,Deepak and his companions, muster the courage to enter into the local police station to report Phool’s disappearance.

Enter Ravi Kishan, portraying the Thana Incharge, his demeanor casual as he chews on a betel leaf. Upon hearing about the lost bride, he quips, “kaise be, humari toh sasuri ab tak nahi khoyi” (How? I can’t lose my wife yet), a wry remark that initially elicits only silence from the room, save for Dubey Ji, the subordinate, who breaks into laughter. “Sir mazaak like karte hai” (Sir likes humour), he explains, acknowledging the unexpected wit of his superior.

In today’s Hindi heartland, such scenes witness not just a change of stimulant — tobacco (Khaini) replacing betel leaf in government offices — but also a cultural evolution marked by the seamless integration of English into rural vernacular. However, amidst these shifts, one thing remains steadfast: the power of humour, whether innocent or mischievous, to forge connections and elicit shared laughter, even in the most mundane of circumstances.

As the final reel of the movie played out, and Phool, our protagonist, was reunited with Deepak, her husband, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of emotion. It was a stark contrast to the beginning when she hesitated to utter his name when asked. At that moment, as Phool’s voice echoed through the bustling railway station, calling out for Deepak amidst the crowd — I paused. It was then that I realized the profound impact that films like 12th Fail and Laapataa Ladies can have. They aren’t just stories on a screen; they’re mirrors reflecting our society’s realities.

As Phool found her voice and her identity amidst the chaos, I found myself affirming the belief that these films are more than just entertainment — they’re cinematic treasures. They warrant not only repeated viewing but also recreation, as they hold within them the power to stir emotions, provoke thoughts, mirror realities and inspire us to pause and think. As these films capture the nuances of rural life with unflinching honesty, they spark a natural social buzz that reverberates with awe and admiration. Yet, amidst the spectacle and glamour of the aesthetic cinematic experience, it’s a sobering reminder of how easily we forget the stories unfolding in the ground beneath our feet, lost in the whirlwind of our fast-paced world.

For those urban elites left awestruck and stunned by the story of Laapata Ladies — it’s a poignant reminder to reconnect with the roots where the true essence of India resides. For those who are moved by the stirring cinematic narrative, I urge you to do more than just watch. Take a pause, step out of the comfort of urban cinemas and plunge into the raw, unfiltered reality of the Hindi heartland. It’s there, amidst the fields and villages, that the true essence of these stories resides. Cinema may provide a window, but it’s only through firsthand experiences that we can truly grasp the depth of these experiences. In immersing ourselves in their world, we not only gain a profound understanding of their struggles but also discover a renewed sense of empathy and connection, bridging the profound divide that separates our stark realities. Their stories become our stories, and their triumphs become our triumphs.

Perhaps you choose to heed this call, taking a moment to pause, venture into the heartland, and reconnect. Or maybe you await the release of the forthcoming “Panchayat” season 3, allowing yourself to delve deeper into the narratives before re-contemplating.

Whichever path you choose, I hope you continue to contemplate the tales of Bharat — stories that stir your soul.

For my urban elite friend planning a wedding in Venice, “Laapataa Ladies” is more than just a movie — it’s a reflection of the laapataa within us all.

(Disclaimer: Views expressed are personal. The author, Shikhar Shrivastava, is a lawyer by education and a cinephile by passion. While law and cinema may not seem to coincide, he smirks at the realization that both require a bit of drama to thrive!)