Rich in colour and context, the rustic dramedy on invisibilisation of women is fuelled by keenly observed writing and heartfelt performances

behind the mess is not at all simplistic. That, in this satire, irony is militant. Like a Brechtian device, a retired security guard lying in a vegetative state chants jaagte raho (stay awake) at crucial moments in the film.

Based on the story of Biplab Goswami and carefully nurtured by Sneha Desai and Divyanidhi, the novelistic writing peels the layers off the bucolic scenery as Anusha Rizvi attempted in Peepli

Live where Kiran was a coproducer.

Though it is a period piece set in 2001 when ‘beti bachao, beti padhao’ was yet to be coined, one could relate to the milieu and metaphors where a politician promises to take the electorate from ‘vikas se vijay ki or’ (from development to victory) but girls still struggle to get higher education; where lack of jobs means migration and an endless wait for the spouse is normal.

In this scenario, when a resolute Jaya (Pratibha Ranta) finds an opening in the iron curtain, she escapes like a sheaf of grass from a crevice in the rock of tradition. In a parallel space, there is this naive Phool (Nitanshi Goel) who also gets lost, but is wedded to a patriarchal structure in the name of culture. No wonder, when she is left behind on the railway platform she hides behind a huge dustbin that has ‘use me’ written in bold letters. They are juxtaposed with two kinds of men who seem to be cut from the same cloth but have acquired different social shapes. While Deepak (Sparsh Shrivastava) is progressive in thought and action, Pradeep (Bhaskar Jha) is rooted in medieval values. When the paths of these four characters cross, we see an intriguing search for identity and dignity of women.

The relatively unexposed but talented cast ensures that the surprise element remains intact. While Pratibha and Nitanshi deliver an unpretentious performance, seasoned actor Chhaya Kadam plays a single woman who runs a stall on the platform and provides space for Phool to plant herself. She emerges like a theatrical device, the director’s voice of reason, but gradually the conversation between Manju and Phool becomes a healthy exchange between the creator and the creation where both inform each other.

The scene stealer, however, is Ravi Kishan as he aces the role of a greasy police officer whose conscience has not completely been corrupted. Essentially a singlescreen actor, Kishan knows how to walk the thin wall that separates the gallery from the balcony. He brings the colour and texture of the region without letting Shyam Manohar spoil the tonality of the film.

The only hitch is that after a point an experienced eye can see a pattern in the meticulously crafted algorithm that ticks a social cause after every five to seven minutes. It threatens to give the film a Panchayat kind of feel. Although the detailing is remarkable, there are minor oversights like instead of nirikshak, the plate on the police inspector’s desk describes him as adheekshak (superintendent). But, overall, a welcome departure from the rut that deserves a family outing.

Laapataa Ladies is currently running in theatres