There is a powerful scene in Gangubai Kathiawadi directed by Sanjay Leela Bhansali, where Alia Bhatt (Gangubai) goes to enroll a girl raised in a brothel into school. The school demands the “father’s name,” and Gangubai fiercely attacks the patriarchal mindset of society by asking, “Isn’t the mother’s name enough?”
Carrying almost the same emotion and essence, the Nepali film Lalibazar hits the screen. Centered around the story of western Nepal’s Badi community and the “Natthi” tradition they have suffered under, the film attempts to show how the geography of pain between Mumbai’s Kamathipura and Nepal’s Lalibazar is essentially the same. Both films deal with the “swamp of prostitution,” the “double standards of patriarchal society,” and the struggle surrounding the requirement of a father’s name for a child’s education.
The film sparked controversy and legal challenges well before its release. While the provocative marketing of its 'first look' may have been a deliberate production strategy, the resulting suspicion from the community was entirely predictable. This is a community that has always been protesting, always on the streets. Spanning 48 days, the 2007 Badi movement stood as a sustained campaign for social justice. Badi women staged semi-nude protests to answer this society. On January 6, 2009, the government signed an agreement with the Badi community and declared them free from sexual exploitation. Yet, more than a decade and a half later, the community is still fighting for dignity and self-respect.
The reason is this very society. A society is measured by the way it looks at marginalized women. Nepali society has a dark side, where an entire community has been forced for generations to become a source of entertainment for others.
The settlements of the Badi community and the dark stories hidden within them are a part of Nepali society that we have either refused to see or continued to ignore even after seeing it. Through Lalibazar, director Yam Thapa brings to screen the story of “a mother searching for light” within that dark settlement. This film is not just a story; it is also an attempt to portray the painful history woven by decades of discrimination imposed upon the Badi community by both the Nepali state and society, along with the cruel “Natthi” practice.
Historically, the Badi community was known for entertaining royal families and feudal lords through singing and dancing. But with changing times, they were never given the proper value for their art, and eventually the community was pushed into the swamp of prostitution. The film’s central narrative revolves around the “Natthi” tradition. In the past, feudal lords and landlords would be the first to sexually exploit young Badi girls in exchange for money. This practice is one of the greatest stains on modern civilization.
Lalibazar tells the story of Madhubala (Swastima Khadka), a woman carrying the burden of that stain while trying to save her daughter from the same abyss. Director Yam Thapa begins the film as a beautiful love story before gradually turning it into a serious social rebellion. In the beginning, the romance between Madhubala (Swastima Khadka) and the postman Narayan (Bishal Devkota) takes viewers into a hopeful world. Anonymous letters and tender conversations reveal that the women of this community, too, have dreams.
But when Madhubala elopes with Narayan and enters the outside world - the home of his relatives , the film’s cruel reality unfolds. Once Narayan’s family discovers Madhubala’s identity, their hatred and rejection force her back into the same Lalibazar she had tried to escape from.
Just like in Gangubai, society here is willing to consume these women in the darkness of night but never willing to accept them openly as part of family or society. This hypocrisy of the so-called “civilized” society forms the film’s central conflict.
In the second half, when Madhubala’s daughter Maharani is born, the film directly echoes the famous school admission conflict from Gangubai Kathiawadi. Just as Gangubai fought society and religious leaders to secure education for the children of Kamathipura, Madhubala must fight a similar battle in Lalibazar.
When the school asks for the father’s name, Madhubala becomes helpless. She approaches regular customers of Lalibazar and influential men in the village, asking to borrow a “father’s name,” but none agree. This scene attacks the rigidity of our laws and society, which still sees a mother’s identity as incomplete without a father’s name. The meaning behind Alia Bhatt’s dialogues in Gangubai and the silent tears of Swastima Khadka in Lalibazar is the same - isn’t a mother’s blood and sacrifice enough for her child’s future?
The “Natthi” tradition within the Badi community - the first auctioning of a young girl’s virginity - is the film’s most painful aspect. It is portrayed through Raja Saheb, played by Rabindra Singh Baniya. Rabindra speaks very few dialogues throughout the film, yet his presence itself feels terrifying. Just like in Gangubai, there is a “system” here that views women as objects. The gun always in Raja Saheb’s hands and the recurring sound of birds screeching during his entrance establish him as a violent predator.
Director Thapa uses several powerful and symbolic scenes in the film. One such moment is when Madhubala learns to fire a gun from Raja Saheb himself. Symbolically, it is a scene where the oppressor unknowingly teaches the oppressed how to fight back. In the climax, Madhubala uses that very gun to protect her daughter and her own existence — an excellent metaphor for female empowerment.
The film’s greatest strength lies in raising a deep social issue. The suffering of the Badi community is not shown merely for spectacle but as a struggle for existence and dignity.
This can easily be considered Swastima Khadka’s most mature performance of her career. After Bulbul, she completely transforms herself in Lalibazar into a far more difficult and layered character. From a helpless woman to a mother willing to pick up a gun for her daughter, her character arc is deeply impactful. Especially in the scenes where she struggles to protect her daughter from Raja Saheb, she balances fear and courage beautifully through her eyes alone.
Bishal Devkota also does complete justice to the role of Narayan. At first, he appears as a lover willing to do anything for love, but later becomes a man helpless before social structures.
Child actor Samaira Thapa, who plays Maharani, delivers a remarkable performance. Her innocent eyes and natural acting convey the discrimination faced by an innocent child straight into the hearts of the audience. She serves as the emotional anchor of the film.
However, Lalibazar is not without flaws. There are areas where the film could have been improved. In several places, the dialogues and scenes feel stretched, causing the audience’s emotional connection to weaken. For instance, after Madhubala is thrown out from the outside world and returns to Lalibazar, the long emotional exchanges and crying scenes with Narayan slightly distance viewers from the film’s main flow. Characters may be crying on screen, but the audience does not always feel the same pain.
The screenplay could have been tighter. Many scenes are so predictable that the audience rarely feels suspense about what will happen next. From beginning to end, viewers can often easily guess the next scene.
Another issue is that the pain of the Badi community is so deep and tragic that attempts to make the film more “commercial” at times compromise its seriousness. Certain songs and scenes appear inserted mainly to make the film more commercially appealing, which somewhat glamorizes the harsh reality of the Badi community. Narayan’s character and parts of his ending also could have been made more impactful.
There also remains a subtle gap between the real experiences of Badi activists and what the film portrays. The brutal reality of protests led by figures like Uma Badi - such as semi-nude demonstrations outside parliament or struggles for citizenship rights - was far more painful and horrifying than what the film fully captures. In trying to make the film cinematic and glamorous, it occasionally misses the rawness of the community’s reality. Once filmmakers decide to tell the story of a community, they carry the responsibility of ensuring that community feels represented authentically. Listening to the real-life stories of activists like Uma Badi hurts more deeply than some of the film’s scenes manage to.
Still, choosing to make a film on such a sensitive and challenging social issue is itself an act of courage by the production team. In an industry dominated by safe commercial entertainers, choosing a subject like Lalibazar is commendable. Films like this create social discourse and preserve painful chapters of history as cultural documents.
Lalibazar is the kind of film that does not merely entertain you when you walk out of the theater. It forces you to leave carrying a heavy heart and uncomfortable questions. This is not just the story of one community; it is also a question directed at our patriarchal society that continues to demand a “father’s name.” If you admired the courage of a woman after watching Gangubai Kathiawadi, then Lalibazar may resonate with you as well. The spark of rebellion that Gangubai ignited in Mumbai’s Kamathipura is the same fire Madhubala attempts to light in Nepal’s Lalibazar.
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