‘Heeramandi’: Here’s the Regal History of Lahore’s Oldest Red Light District

Filmmaker Sanjay Leela Bhansali, who is known for his larger-than-life films, is all set to make his OTT debut with the upcoming web series, Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar.

The first look of the multi-starrer show, which was unveiled on 1 February, has set social media ablaze with praise. The series is set in pre-Independence India and is based on the lives of courtesans in the oldest red light district of Lahore’s Heera Mandi.

But are you aware of the royal past of the once-infamous area? The Quint explains:

The Origins of Heera Mandi

Heera Mandi, initially known as the Shahi Mohalla, has a rich cultural history dating back to the Mughal era. Located in the Walled City of Lahore, the area served as a vibrant cultural centre in the 15th and 16th centuries, entertaining the nobility with its refined courtesans and performers.

Heera Mandi was originally developed as a residential neighbourhood for the Emperor and the attendants and servants of the royal court. Since the area was close to the Lahore Fort, people started referring to it as the ‘Shahi Mohalla’ (Royal Neighbourhood).

The courtesans of Lahore’s Heera Mandi.

Soon, Shahi Mohalla became home to tawaifs, professional entertainers who were associated with the royal court. According to reports:

  • The tawaif culture flourished in India during the Mughal era.

  • Skilled women were reportedly ‘brought’ by the Mughals from mainly Afghanistan and Uzbekistan to perform Mujra and sensual royal dance forms of the mediaeval Indian court to entertain the visitors.

  • The tawaifs were well-trained in music, etiquette, and dance by the best ustaads of the time.

  • They made a significant contribution to the classical form of music and theatre.

In yesteryear, tawaifs were not sex workers but instead a statement of sophistication and class for the elite. Royals would send their children to learn etiquette and worldly ways from these women.

  • Interestingly, the tawaifs of Lahore were also featured in fiction and several popular narratives.

  • The tale of Anarkali, a tawaif of the Mughal court who had an illicit relationship with prince Salim, son of Emperor Akbar, is one among the many.

  • It is believed that upon learning about his son’s relationship with a tawaif, who were considered to be women of low class and status, furious Akbar ordered her to be enclosed in a wall of the Lahore Fort.

When Sikhs Occupied Shahi Mohalla

A painting of Maharaja Ranjit Singh on horseback with his attendants.

In the first half of the 18th century, invasions by Nader Shah and Ahmad Shah Abdali weakened Mughal rule in Punjab. As per a report by Peepul Tree:

  • The royal patronage of tawaifs ended, leading many to migrate to other cities.

  • Brothels first appeared during the Afghan attacks in Lahore.

  • Two brothels were established by Abdali’s troops, one in Lahore’s present-day Dhobi Mandi and the other in Mohalla Dara Shikoh.

  • In 1762, the demolition of the holy shrine of Sikhs, Sri Harmandir Sahib, by Afghan forces united the Sikh community.

  • Soon, Afghan forces were routed out of Punjab, creating a power vacuum that was filled with various Sikh principalities.

  • The brothels set up by the Afghans were also shut down.

How ‘Shahi Mohalla’ Became ‘Heera Mandi’

A tawaif performs in the royal courtroom for attendants.

In 1799, a 22-year-old Misldar named Ranjit Singh captured Lahore from the Bhangi Misl and proclaimed himself Maharaja of Punjab in 1801. He reintroduced Mughal royal customs, including the culture of tawaifs and their court performances.

  • Once again, the tawaifs of Shahi Mohalla found patronage from the royal court.

  • In 1802, Singh fell in love with a Muslim tawaif named Moran, leading to a separate mansion in present-day Papad Mandi, near Shahi Mohalla.

  • After Singh’s death in 1839, General-turned-Prime Minister Hira Singh Dogra used Shahi Mohalla as an economic centre, constructing a food grain market in the area.

Ever since, Shahi Mohalla became ‘Hira Singh di Mandi’ (Market of Hira Singh) or ‘Heera Mandi’.

The term ‘Heera Mandi’ is an Urdu word for ‘diamond market.’ According to reports, it is believed that the word ‘heers’ referred to the courtesans of Shahi Mohalla, who looked as beautiful as the diamonds.

Why Tawaifs Turned Into Sex Workers

Many tawaifs, who lost their livelihoods, became sex workers in Heera Mandi.

The fortune of Heera Mandi began to decline as colonial rule emerged in Lahore. Following the Anglo-Sikh Wars (1845–1849), the Sikh Empire came to an end, and the British East India Company seized control of the region.

Despite the changing identity of the area, tawaifs still enjoyed royal patronage in Heera Mandi. However, the British weren’t interested in patronising the tawaif culture, and soon the art of Mujras became associated with prostitution.

Many tawaifs, who lost their livelihoods, became sex workers for English soldiers stationed in the cantonment of Lahore’s Anarkali area.

  • In the early 1850s, a plague led the local British administration to move their cantonment to Dharampura.

  • The British tried to shift the sex workers too, but many stayed back.

  • Despite the cult of prostitution, Heera Mandi remained a centre of the performing arts, raising notable artists like Noor Jahan, Khurshid Begum, Mumtaz Shanti, and Sir Ganga Ram.

  • It later earned the moniker ‘Bazaar-e-Husn’ (Market of Beauty).

Present-Day Heera Mandi

The vibrant havelis of Lahore’s Heera Mandi.

Even after India’s independence, the dual culture of Heera Mandi continued, with tawaifs from several communities moving to the area due to poverty or illegal trafficking. According to a report by The AZB:

  • Women from impoverished backgrounds face abuse, social ostracization, and are prone to sexually transmitted diseases.

  • Efforts to end the culture of Mujras and prostitution were unsuccessful, leading to the relocation of brothels to other parts of Lahore.

  • In the age of social media, sex workers started offering online ‘escort services’.

In the present day, Heera Mandi is the busiest eating hub, with vibrant street food stalls, vintage restaurants, and sweetmeat shops during the day. However, prostitution in the region continues as night falls.

(With inputs from The AZB, Peepul Tree Stories and Dawn)

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10 Years of Lootera: 5 Moments of Pakhi & Varun Bonding Over Art & Literature

It has been a decade since the release of one of my favourite romantic period dramas — Lootera. What has truly set it apart for me is its director Vikramaditya Motwane’s exceptional ability to defamiliarize the well-worn themes of love, inner conflicts, betrayal, loneliness, and redemption — all of which are masterfully braided in the film.

The plot of the film it is pretty simple. An orphaned lover is torn between their newly found love and their guardian’s restrictions. They resort to deception, only to seek redemption for their blunders later. It is Motwane’s unique approach that offers this straightforward storyline in one of the most aesthetically stunning and emotionally engaging ways.

Amongst all the things I admire about Lootera, what I seem to love most is how Motwane devises art and literature as the medium through which love brews between Pakhi (Sonakshi Sinha) and Varun (Ranveer Singh).

Here are five moments where Pakhi and Varun’s artistic inclinations brought the two closer.

Pakhi Reciting Vaidyanath Mishra’s ‘Akaal Aur Uske Baad’

Sonakshi Sinha in a still from Lootera.

The first scene where we witness love blossoming between the couple is when Pakhi recites Vaidyanath Mishra’s ‘Akaal Aur Uske Baad,’ and is soon joined by Varun in the second paragraph. This marks the first instance when both discover their shared passion for literature and poetry.

Ranveer Singh in Lootera.

The beauty of this moment lies in the mutual infatuation captured through their gazes. Neither of them blinks, finishing the verse with a twinkle in their eyes as they lock eyes. The dramatic backdrop of the library, the antiquities, and the dim yellow lighting add to the warm ambiance, creating an ideal romantic and poetic setting. 

A still from Lootera.

All the while, Pakhi’s father, Zamindar Babu, adds his own sweet presence by being a spectator to the recitation.

‘Tadbeer Se Bigadi Huyee’ Playing In The Background

Vikrant Massey in Lootera.

The second scene on my list is when Deb (Vikrant Massey) and Varun are getting ready for the day, and ‘Tadbeer Se Bigadi Huyee Taqdeer’ from Baazi plays on the radio. It goes on to be the background song as we move to subsequent scenes.

Sonakshi in a still from Lootera.

Pakhi, observing the interaction between them, switches on the radio to the same frequency. Her gaze reveals her hidden desires and yearning for a closer bond with Varun. By playing the same song in her room, she creates a synchronized moment where their lives align for a brief moment through the shared experience of listening to the same music, even if Varun remains unaware of it. Isn’t this a beautifully executed scene?

As she giggles while watching Deb and Varun vibing to the same song the next day, it reveals her growing infatuation with Varun.

Lakeside Confessions

A still from Lootera.

My next favourite scene is when they sit on the lakeside after their canvas finally comes alive with a landscape. They talk about what they really want to do in their lives and interestingly enough, both have simple artistic pursuits.

For Pakhi, it is writing books — a lot of books. And when the soft-spoken hero is quizzed, “Agar tumhe kabhi mauka mile kuch aur karne ka, toh kya karna chaahoge? Batao.”, we witness Varun opening up to Pakhi about his deepest desires and goals in life.

Sonakshi as Pakhi in Lootera.

Sitting beside the shore of a lake, he expresses his wish to visit another one before he dies — Chandra Taal near Manali, which in his words is located deep in the Himalayas: “Himalayon ke bilkul beech o beech; neela hara paani. Aur zara si bhi awaaz nahi.” As Pakhi whispers asking, “Bilkul bhi nahi?”, their exchanges take the form of whispering to each other until the end of the conversation, when Varun expresses his desire to paint a masterpiece that the world would remember.

A still from Lootera.

This conversation, full of whispers, alludes to the strengthening of their love and trust. It is as if the world around them fades away and it’s just the two of them.

Varun ‘Revealing’ His Feelings For Pakhi

A still from Lootera.

Another beautiful scene subtly reveals Pakhi and Varun’s shared passion for stories and the art of storytelling. The nature of this scene remains unclear, making it challenging to discern whether it was a figment of Pakhi’s imagination or a genuine flashback.

It begins with Pakhi being found with her pen, writing a story about which Varun is curious. Their conversation in no time transcends mere curiosity and becomes a reflection of their feelings for each other.

By discussing the characters and their love within the story, Varun indirectly reveals his feelings for Pakhi.

When Varun questions whether the boy and the girl love each other, Pakhi’s response of “I do not know” suggests she is unsure or hesitant to acknowledge their love.

As they draw closer, the mosquito net is removed from the frame, signifying the breaking of barriers and the intimacy that develops between them.  

The ‘Last Leaf’ in The Climax

A still from Lootera.

Last but not least, the climax is one of the most poignant and moving scenes I have come across.

To me, the final leaf represents the culmination of their shared bond, which was formed through a mutual love of art and literature. Their relationship’s trajectory, delicately intertwined with their shared artistic pursuits, with the highlight being the painting sessions, gets a perfect, enduring closure with a ‘masterpiece’ that goes beyond the boundaries of their ordinary human connection.

A still from Lootera.

From ‘modern art mein pattiyan aise hi banti hain’ to producing a piece strikingly akin to the genuine leaf, Varun’s artistic journey finally reaches its apex in the film’s dramatic conclusion. 

The ‘last’ leaf, in its truest essence, emerges as a masterpiece, saving Pakhi from submitting to hopelessness and breathing life back into her existence.

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Dahaad Review: Sonakshi Sinha Shines In Thriller That Soars Without Having To Roar

Sonakshi Sinha shared this image. (courtesy: aslisona)

Cast: Sonakshi Sinha, Vijay Varma, Gulshan Devaiah, Sohum Shah

Director: Reema Kagti

Rating: Four stars (out of 5)

A policewoman still in the process of learning the ropes of a high-pressure job is the protagonist of Dahaad, a slow-drilling, distinctive crime drama set in a rugged terrain where poverty, oppression and the lure of matrimony drive women to desperate measures that end in disaster.

The eight-part show, created by Zoya Akhtar and Reema Kagti and produced by Excel Media and Tiger Baby, is devoid of the visceral and the explosive. It has no major action scenes, no chase sequences and no playing to the gallery by the law enforcers on the trail of a psychopath. What the series does have is the spark to make the most of a classic crime-and-punishment tale rendered as piercing, rooted social chronicle.

Resident of a small town in Rajasthan’s Jhunjhunu district, the policewoman at the heart of the dark, disturbing story has to contend with caste discrimination, gender prejudice, cases of women gone missing without a trace, threats of honour killings, a nagging mother intent on finding her a suitable boy and a wily, weathered serial killer who leaves no clues.

The Amazon Prime Video series revolves around the committed cop, her colleagues and a deceptively taciturn killer. It does not, however, go looking for the sort of thrills and action tics that are integral to conventional police procedurals.

Dahaad spotlights the grind of police work, the human side of law enforcement, the emotions and family responsibilities that weigh down men/women in uniform, the tyranny of unyielding processes and the burden of debilitating social and political pressures.

Directed by Reema Kagti and Ruchika Oberoi and written by the duo with Ritesh Shah and others, Dahaad probes the psyches of the cops engaged in a battle of attrition with a dangerous criminal.

A series of women are found dead in public toilets in towns and villages across the state in what appear to be cases of suicide. Sub-inspector Anjali Bhaati (Sonakshi Sinha in her streaming debut), posted in Mandawa police station and assigned the case, believes that there is more to the deaths than meets the eye.

She detects a clear pattern in the incidents and works on the hunch that the girls have been killed by a lone wolf although the local superintendent of police insists that a whole gang is involved.

With the steady support of her boss, SHO Devi Lal Singh (Gulshan Devaiah), and with grudging and sporadic help from SI Kailash Parghi (Sohum Shah), whose motivation levels fluctuate wildly as the investigation unfolds, Anjali sets out to get to the bottom of the truth.

She finds herself on a murky trail with distracting detours and deterrents. The first two episodes of Dahaad drop clear hints about who is responsible for the string of deaths before the series proceeds to completely blow the lid off the culprit’s identity.

The audience is in the know. The police are in the dark. The challenge before the cops is to gather evidence, figure out the modus operandi and nail the killer. The mission to ascertain how and why the women have ended up dead constitutes the largest part of the Dahaad plot.

But that isn’t all there is to Dahaad. It tells the story of a woman who has defied all odds to don a cop’s uniform in a caste-conscious, male-dominated world. The show also delves into the mind of a maniac who hides behind a firm façade of sociability.

Anand Swarnakar (Vijay Verma) is a professor of Hindi literature. When he isn’t reciting poetry in the classroom, Anand, elder son of a jeweller whose thriving business is now run by his younger son, drives around in a van full of books and reads out stories to disadvantaged village children.

Anand is the prime suspect. But the police have absolutely no proof against him. Nothing in the man’s demeanour or personality suggests that he could be a serial killer. But SI Anjali Bhaati thinks otherwise and sticks her neck out.

Anand lives with his wife Vandana (Zoa Morani), who leads the banquets team at a heritage hotel, and a school-going son. His amiability never deserts him. When an emotional crisis hits or when bleak facets of his past emerge, the man does not lose his calm.

As the death toll rises and the cops struggle to make a breakthrough, Dahaad leads us into the discomfiting realities of a conservative society where women are believed to be incomplete unless they marry, the dowry system makes a daughter’s wedding prohibitively expensive for impoverished families, and girls at the bottom of the caste hierarchy are easy prey for the predator that Anjali and her team must stop before he claims his next victim.

Given the family she comes from – her deceased father, a Public Works Department employee, changed her surname to make life easier for her – Anjali’s battles are manifold. She tries to enter a mansion in the line of duty. The owner stops her. This is our ancestral house and no backward caste person has ever been allowed in, he says. Anjali shoots back: this is not the time of your ancestors; it is the time of the Constitution; you cannot stop me.

The cops in Dahaad are as ordinary as they come. Their heroism manifests itself in little acts of bravery that are a vindication of their humanity. They are at the same time prone to impulsive acts that spark domestic strife. With regard to what happens to the cops as well as to the suspect within the four walls of their homes and in their negotiations with their spouses, the series delivers many surprises and dramatic moments.

Anand’s wife sparks a crime that pushes the investigation in a new direction. Devi Singh’s wife, Shivangi (Shruti Vyas) raises hell when her husband makes a decision without taking her into confidence. And Parghi’s wife Neelam (Swati Semwal) conceives her first child and that triggers a clash between the two.

What these supporting characters say and do not only impact how things pan out for the men, they help the audience understand their shifting thought processes. The top-notch writing and the sure-footed direction help Dahaad derive value from situations that may not be central to the plot but contribute to turning the principal characters into rounded, believable individuals.

The performances are marked by restraint and impressive acuity, with Sonakshi Sinha shining in a role that gives he room to convey a gamut of emotions. Vijay Verma stands out as the seemingly meek Hindi professor. Gulshan Devaiah is terrific as the incorruptible police officer. Sohum Shah delivers a flawless performance as the conflicted cop.

On the technical front, too, Dahaad is noteworthy. The background score (Gaurav Raina and Tarana Marwah), the cinematography (Tanay Satam) and the editing (Anand Subaya) augment the all-round sharpness of the show.

A refreshingly clear-eyed, multi-layered thriller that pushes genre boundaries, Dahaad soars without having to roar in predictable ways.



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