It was 2017. The Indian Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) was at war with a movie. They didn't just want cuts; they wanted a total ban. Why? Because the film was, in their words, "lady-oriented." Honestly, that phrase became a badge of honor. Lipstick Under the Burkha isn't just a movie title anymore. It’s a cultural shorthand for the secret lives women lead when nobody is watching.
People often forget how close we came to never seeing this. Pahlaj Nihalani, who headed the censor board at the time, claimed the film contained "contentious sexual scenes" and "abusive words." It felt like a relic of a different era trying to stifle a modern voice. But Alankrita Shrivastava, the director, didn’t back down. She took it to the Film Certification Appellate Tribunal (FCAT), and they cleared it. They saw what the board refused to: a story about humanity, not just "titillation."
The film follows four women in a crowded tenement in Bhopal. You’ve got Usha (Ratna Pathak Shah), a 55-year-old widow who discovers erotica. Then there’s Rehana (Aahana Kumra), a college student who sews burkhas by day and dreams of being Miley Cyrus by night. Shireen (Konkona Sen Sharma) is a mother of three whose husband treats her body like a utility. Finally, Leela (Plabita Borthakur) is a beautician trying to escape a small town with her boyfriend.
What Lipstick Under the Burkha Taught Us About Agency
The genius of this movie isn't the rebellion. It's the smallness of it. We aren't talking about grand political revolutions. We are talking about the right to buy a tube of rosy red lipstick or read a pulpy novel. It’s about the interiority of women.
Most Indian cinema at the time—and even now—relegates women to "the wife," "the mother," or "the item girl." Shrivastava flipped the script. She gave these women fantasies. Real ones. Sometimes messy ones. Rehana shoplifts western clothes because she can't afford the life she sees on Instagram. Is it "moral"? Maybe not. Is it human? Absolutely.
The "burkha" in the title is both literal and metaphorical. While two of the characters are Muslim, the film argues that every woman, regardless of religion, wears a metaphorical veil. It’s the face you show your husband, your father, or your boss while your real self is screaming for air underneath.
The Ratna Pathak Shah Factor
Let’s talk about Usha, or "Buaji" as everyone calls her. This was the performance that truly broke barriers. Watching a woman in her 50s explore her own sexuality was revolutionary for Bollywood. Usually, older women in Indian films are either saintly grandmothers or vengeful mothers-in-law.
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Usha reads Rosy Life, a cheap erotic novel, and starts having phone conversations with a young swimming coach. She pretends to be a girl named Rosy. It’s heartbreaking. You see her vulnerability. You see how society has completely erased her as a sexual being just because she’s a widow. When her secret is eventually outed, the humiliation is visceral. It reminds you that "honor" is almost always a burden carried by women, never men.
The Censor Board Controversy and Why It Backfired
The CBFC tried to kill the film, but they actually gave it the best marketing campaign possible. The "lipstick" rebel pose—middle finger held up with a lipstick tube—became a viral sensation.
The irony is thick. By calling the film "too lady-oriented," the censors admitted they were afraid of the female gaze. They were comfortable with "item numbers" designed for men, but they couldn't handle a woman enjoying her own body. The FCAT's eventual ruling was a landmark. They noted that "the right of a women to express her feelings and her body cannot be curbed."
This wasn't just a win for Alankrita Shrivastava. It was a win for every independent filmmaker in India. It proved that the "moral police" didn't have the final say.
Realism vs. Melodrama in Bhopal
Bhopal is a character itself in this movie. It’s not the shiny, high-tech Mumbai or the historical Delhi. It’s a city of narrow lanes, old buildings, and tradition. The cinematography captures the claustrophobia perfectly.
You feel the heat. You feel the lack of space.
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Shireen’s story is perhaps the most painful to watch. She is a secret saleswoman, incredibly good at her job, but she has to hide her earnings and her talent from her husband. He forces himself on her repeatedly. The film doesn't look away from marital rape, a topic that remains legally and socially complicated in India.
The ending of the film is polarizing. Some people wanted a "happy" ending where the women move out and find freedom. But that’s not what happens. They are caught. They are shamed. And yet, in the final scene, they sit together, sharing a smoke and reading the forbidden book. It’s a quiet, defiant solidarity. They haven't escaped their lives, but they’ve found each other. Sometimes, knowing you aren't alone is the biggest victory you can get.
Breaking Down the Four Narratives
- Rehana: The struggle between traditional upbringing and the globalized world of pop culture.
- Shireen: The quiet tragedy of a woman who is more capable than the man who "owns" her.
- Leela: The desperation to use sexuality as a ticket out of a dead-end life.
- Usha: The rediscovery of the self in the autumn of life.
Each of these threads pulls at the same knot: the right to desire.
The Lasting Impact on Indian Cinema
Since Lipstick Under the Burkha, we’ve seen a slow but steady increase in films that take female desire seriously. Movies like Dolly Kitty Aur Woh Chamakte Sitare (also by Shrivastava) or series like Bombay Begums owe a debt to this film. It broke the seal.
It also challenged the industry's obsession with "likable" characters. None of these women are perfect. They lie, they cheat, they steal. But you root for them because their "sins" are responses to a suffocating environment.
The film also highlighted the economic disparity. Freedom often costs money. Shireen wants to work to have a voice. Rehana steals because she lacks the capital to participate in the fashion world she admires. It’s a grounded look at how patriarchy and capitalism intersect to keep women in their place.
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Practical Insights for Film Lovers and Students
If you’re looking to understand modern Indian feminist cinema, this is your starting point. Don't go in expecting a light comedy. It’s labeled as a "black comedy," but the humor is biting and often uncomfortable.
- Watch for the symbolism: Pay attention to the mirrors. These women are constantly looking at themselves, trying to reconcile who they are with who they are supposed to be.
- Understand the context: Research the 2017 CBFC rulings to see how much the industry has changed (or hasn't) regarding censorship.
- Compare the gaze: Contrast this with mainstream Bollywood films from the same year. Notice how the camera treats the female body differently when a woman is behind the lens.
The movie is currently available on several streaming platforms like Amazon Prime Video. It remains a essential watch for anyone interested in how South Asian women navigate the tension between tradition and modernity.
Instead of looking for a grand resolution, focus on the small moments of rebellion. The way a character applies liner. The way they laugh when they should be crying. That’s where the real story lives.
To truly appreciate the film, look into the works of the cast. Konkona Sen Sharma and Ratna Pathak Shah are veterans who specifically choose roles that challenge the status quo. Their filmographies provide a deeper roadmap into "parallel cinema" in India—movies that prioritize substance over song-and-dance numbers.
Moving forward, the conversation around "lady-oriented" content has shifted from being a taboo to a marketing strength. This film was the catalyst. It proved there is a massive audience hungry for stories that don't sugarcoat the female experience. The "lipstick" is no longer just under the burkha; it's being worn out in the open, and the world is finally having to look.
Actionable Next Steps
- Stream the film on Amazon Prime or your local library's digital service to see the uncut version.
- Read the FCAT's full report on the movie. It’s a fascinating document on the legal definitions of "obscenity" versus "art" in India.
- Follow Alankrita Shrivastava’s later work, particularly Made in Heaven, to see how she continues to weave themes of secret female lives into high-budget productions.
- Support independent Indian cinema by looking for titles that haven't been backed by the major "masala" studios; these are often where the most authentic stories reside.