'Laapataa Ladies' shows us what home-grown feminism looks like

In several interviews, Indian actor Aamir Khan emphasises “entertainment” as the primary goal of cinematic storytelling. Laapataa Ladies — an astutely written satire on gender inequality and India’s official entry in the International Film Category at the 2025 Academy Awards — appears to have been directed by Kiran Rao with this mantra in mind. Not clunky, not didactic, the film, however, manages to serve its audiences more than just the entertainment quotient. It offers a subtle and nuanced commentary on the invisibility of women, the male gaze, unexpected allyship and how the biggest fraud in society is the notion of a respectable girl, who is conditioned to never challenge patriarchal norms. In a memorable scene from the film, Manju Mai, an older woman who runs a food stall at the often dark and desolate train station says, “It’s not shameful to be a fool but what’s shameful is to be proud of one’s ignorance.”

The cinematic lens has long been attracted to exploring feminist themes across the globe. Indian films, too, have sought to question the status quo when it comes to women’s empowerment, albeit achieving different degrees of success. Rao’s storytelling, however, sets itself apart from many of its predecessors and contemporaries by doing one thing: Laapataa Ladies compels us to critically examine what we might be seeing on the surface and taking for granted; for example, the timidity and brevity of women and instantly assuming they are non-agentic, or deciding that an empowered woman must look and speak in a certain way. Instead, the film becomes an invitation to experience a much more versatile range of feminisms that are thriving in different parts of India—not just among its elite, urban cliques. The underlying message is clear — there is no one version of a “strong” woman; resilience, not just rebellion indicates agency; and quietly fierce women can be equally effective feminists as compared to their louder, shriller counterparts.

The role of Manju Mai, in particular, opens up a new window into variegated women’s voices — she’s blunt, witty and profound. However, some might argue that she doesn’t appear to fit the part of the “feminist” we are so accustomed to recognising—and exactly therein lies the problem. Laapataa Ladies shows us why a cookie-cutter approach to feminism is ineffective and in fact misleading; Manju Mai’s life-story, despite not hailing from a privileged background, bears testimony to how different types of women seek to reclaim their life, dignity and dreams. When her husband and son are drunk and get physically violent with her — claiming that a man who loves you has the right to hit you—she doesn’t back down. Like a warrior, she exercises her own right, resists their attacks and decides to live alone. She is a classic example of anti-caste feminism and as one article aptly put it, “Anti-caste feminism is not interested in who gets to be featured on fancy Vogue magazines or Forbes thirty-under-thirty list but it is essentially an exploration of the journey(s) of reclaiming personhood.”

Laapataa Ladies also reminds us that feminism is a spectrum, a dynamic process that unfolds over a life-span, rather than a destination that one arrives at and statically occupies. The path to self-discovery that the other two female protagonists, Jaya and Phool, undertake, also debunk the “saving” narrative that we have heard for far too long— the notion that women from the global South require “saving” by their western counterparts or that feminism must be copy-pasted from the West in order to succeed. In this story, women from the same culture become allies, rather than awaiting redemption from some external force. As Phool tells Jaya in the end, “Aap nehin hoti toh hum kabhi na milte” (If it hadn't been for you, I would never have been found). To which Jaya replies: “Agar tum nehin hoti na, toh humko hum nehin milte” (If it hadn't been for you, I would never have found myself).

The irony of two women getting “lost” on a train, soon after their marriage, only to “find” much greater freedom (and themselves) in that process, packs the real punch in Laapataa Ladies. Is it sometimes useful — in fact, necessary — to lose one’s “normal” way, to step outside one’s comfort zone, in order to discover other possibilities? But Rao’s task was far from simple; a cast comprising new and seasoned actors, topics around feminism that have far too often been sensationalised or glossed over in films, and the risk of adopting a voyeuristic lens to tell the story of rural India, were all potential traps. However, as is evident from the many interviews Rao has given, she is no run-off-the-mill storyteller or for that matter, human being. It is a combination of her conviction and values, a constant acknowledgement of cinematic sensitivities and a fearlessness to tread the road less taken, that make Laapataa Ladies a formidable force in global cinema, despite no longer being in the Oscar running.

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