Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar – his debut as a web series creator – made me miss Vishal Bhardwaj’s Rangoon (2016). Bhardwaj’s film might have been faulty on a few fronts, but it was the last time a mainstream Indian filmmaker was having fun with a British character in a Hindi film. In Bhansali’s eight-episode series – we have two British characters, both high-ranking police officials called Cartwright and Henderson. Their presence is so cursory [their first names barely matter] that they are given no room except to showcase their dastardliness, inflicting violence on the ‘rebels’ or the Urdu language. Unlike in Bhardwaj’s film – where Richard McCabe’s character is seen playing a harmonium in one scene, or how he cheekily says “I’m white, I’m always right!” near the climax. Foreign actors usually get a raw deal in most Indian films/shows. How they’re treated, I’ve realised, is a good metric to assess how introspective the writers’ room is. For Bhansali, whose frames keep drawing attention to what a ‘renaissance man’ he is, it’s a telling detail for how sketchy his writing has been lately.
If his last two projects are to be believed, Bhansali is operating on ideas and outlines. Which might explain that abrupt, simplistic climax for a character as fascinating as Gangubai Kathiawadi, to whom Bhansali does a great disservice by eulogising her with a smug, self-serving dialogue “Gangu came to Mumbai to become a filmstar, but ended up becoming cinema herself.” Even in Heeramandi, the climax witnesses a protest march that never feels convincing despite an allowance made of Bhansali-esque proportions. It’s a beautiful but also conveniently cross-stitched final sequence for a show that never fulfils the promises it makes. Unsurprisingly, most of the faults here have to do with Bhansali’s self-love for his own craft.
I could sense the opportunity Netflix saw in Bhansali’s vision – to bankroll this as one of their prestige TV projects along the lines of The Crown or Downton Abbey. Unfortunately, Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar feels like Bhansali’s ode to Pakistani soap operas. Or that’s what we glean from the show’s central romance between Tajdar (Taha Shah Badussha) and Alamzeb (Sharmin Segal). A lot of the show’s brisk pacing is lost each time Bhansali cuts to this “doomed” love track. Both these actors feel like generic faces one might find in a Mumbai coffee shop, who have been locked up in an Urdu workshop for six weeks before the series went on floors. There’s very little to them personality wise, except for the ‘good looks’.
A still from ‘Heeramandi’.
It’s clear Bhansali prioritises himself as an aesthete over a storyteller these days. The painstaking embroidery on a dupatta, the congruent drapes of the curtains, or even the sheer number of candles in scenes to bounce light off his actors’ perfect jawlines, we could go on. It’s about the moment for Bhansali, rather than having a grip on the bigger picture. I would’ve preferred it if the show had the frothy texture of The Gilded Age – a benevolent, catty and supremely watchable show of the obscenely rich. The problem with Heermandi: The Diamond Bazaar thinks of itself as a ‘higher being’ and ends up neither here nor there.
There are three tracks running simultaneously in Heeramandi: the rivalry between the courtesans, fighting for the attention (and the riches) of the noblemen of Lahore in pre-Independence India, the tragic love story between Taj (a high-born, London-returned lawyer) falling in love with Alamzeb (daughter of Heeramandi’s most famous tawaif, Mallikajaan – played by Manisha Koirala), and the ongoing independence struggle that has a fleeting connection to the brothels of Lahore. There’s definite potential here – how the caged figures of Heeramandi played a significant but unacknowledged part in the freedom struggle, and how rebellion of love is similar to rebellion to break the status-quo – which is probably what makes the elders oppose most love stories. Bhansali also asks his characters to choose between mohabbat (love) and watan (nation) – it’s an impossible choice. However, neither of these plots are explored with curiosity.
A still from ‘Heeramandi’.
Koirala – playing the madam (‘huzoor’) of the town’s Shahi Mahal, the most exclusive brothel, hisses her dialogues like the poisonous snake she thinks she is. It’s not a particularly bad performance, but one where the ‘acting’ is visible at most times. She fares better than Sonakshi Sinha, playing Fareedan – a rival courtesan, who comes to get her revenge on Mallikajaan – but midway forgets about it, and joins the freedom struggle. I would’ve liked the show to focus more on this rivalry, and for it to reach a hard-earned conclusion. There’s the character of Sanjeeda Sheikh as Waheeda, and Richa Chadha as Lajjo – both tragic figures, pining for their ‘rightful’ place in the world, and always being denied. Chadha is good in her brief role, but exits the show unceremoniously. Sheikh’s Waheeda, on the other hand, keeps swinging between playing the ‘evil’ turncoat, and the remorseful, pliant relative – which becomes almost funny after a point.
It’s the gaze with which Bhansali sees these characters, is what feels troubling. They’re either the tragic figures with a heart of gold in Bhansali’s eyes, or the ruthless, scheming “bossgirls”. The gaze is either riddled with pity, or feels patronising. The women of Heeramandi are never seen as human beings – they don’t wake up with messy hair or when they do, even their breath apparently smells of ittar. Divya Nidhi and Vibhu Puri’s dialogues have the old-school effect which is typical for Bhansali – which works during certain moments (like a character saying “jo mard apni biwi ka na ho paya, woh tawaif ka kaise hoga?” about her ‘noble’ husband). But the lack of economy with a ‘dialogue’ being hurled at us every minute, also means that it feels laborious after a point.
Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Netflix debut is not terrible, but it is one of the more frustrating shows to sit through. One can sense the wealth of stellar conflicts Bhansali is sitting on, which he buries with his (mostly) unnecessary extravagance. I wish Bhansali would invest a bit more into the interiority of his characters and the specificity of his settings. But, oh look at the tasteful embroidery on the dupatta, the perfectly congruent drapes and the stunning jewellery on display.
