It’s the first scene in a new documentary. A group of women are being taught how to use their phone cameras so they can make a documentary about their lives as domestic workers, community health workers, toilet operators and home caregivers. The voice of their instructor is heard talking about the things they need to think about: composing a frame, lighting, holding the camera still.
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One woman raises her hand and asks: “Where is the record button?”
The room erupts in laughter.
Inexperience didn’t keep them from fulfilling their dream. These 10 working class women from Mumbai are the co-directors of the new movie –- that’s Hindi for which had its premiere this spring in Mumbai’s iconic, 1930s art-deco style Regal theater for an audience of 1,200 that included families and neighbors of the novice directors as well as cinephiles and media professionals.
The title came from Shilpi Gulati, the filmmaker they worked with and who taught them filmmaking basics. She suggested it at a meeting of the ten women. They deliberated over it and thought it fit the spirit of the film, pushing back against the idea that they are helpless women from the slums.
“For me, a ‘cool lady’ is someone who is relaxed, fearless and does whatever comes to her heart,” says Rehana Shaikh, 32, a home caregiver and one of the ten selected to take part in this project.
The idea was to show what their lives are like — and also to show how cool they are by giving them a chance to express their creativity and just goof around on camera and have fun.
The idea for the film took root in 2024, when Supriya Jan, who works in grassroots knowledge building at CORO India, a nonprofit group that focuses on teaching leadership skills to marginalized women to give them a better life. Her initial idea was to focus on the group’s Right to Pee campaign, which advocates for safe, clean and free public toilets. And she wanted women from the impoverished M-east ward to make the film rather than hiring an outsider.
She reached out to Shilpi Gulati, a filmmaker who teaches at the School of Media and Cultural Studies at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences in Mumbai, to work on the project.
At first, Gulati was puzzled by the idea. The women did not know anything about filmmaking, so how could they co-direct a film? She sprang into action: “It was a wild experiment. I put together a lesson plan so the women could learn the basics of filmmaking, from lighting to composition. We met every Saturday from about 1:30 to 6:30 p.m.,” says Gulati. With only five smartphones available, the ten women worked in pairs.
“I would give them a production exercise for the week — like shooting the Mumbai monsoon or interviewing each other about who you were in the past and who you are today?”
As the women talked and filmed, the scope of the documentary expanded. Instead of making a five-minute film about sanitation, they wanted to document the unseen lives of ordinary women like themselves, sharing intimate moments, telling their stories. It became a 70-minute documentary that took six months to film and a year-and-a-half to edit.
The driving theme, says Gulati, is that even in their busy lives, these women could take time for themselves, build friendships and show that “having fun is not frivolous. That being [carefree] and claiming joy is cool. It is a radical act of resistance against oppressive structures.”
Darshana Mayekar, a toilet operator and a slum sanitation program leader, says the experience made her feel young again. “For 20 years, I have been busy raising a family and working. While making the film, I was able to live a little for myself. I am 50, but I feel 20,” she says.
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Vaishali Mane, 35, a community worker who helps women access property rights, says being in front of the camera gave her the confidence to speak up — for herself and other women.
Then there’s the exhilarating story of Rehana Shaikh.During the months of filming, Shaikh was between jobs so instead earned money by doing tailoring – gluing tiny round mirrors to a dazzling yellow, silver and white colored set of wide-legged pants, a tunic and stole.
When it was time to take a break, Sheetal Navle, a community health worker, filmed Shaikh going up a narrow set of stairs in her two-story home to her kitchenette, where she would prepare dinner for her husband and three children.
In the scene filmed, as she cooks, she plays a rambunctious Bollywood number on her phone and begins to dance.
“I had always dreamed of being a dancer on screen or on stage,” she says. “Growing up, I was not allowed to step out of the house even for dance classes.
“When the opportunity to learn filmmaking came, I said yes because I wanted to learn something new. My husband said no. He didn’t want me on screen.” She says he was uncomfortable about women speaking openly on camera.
“I convinced him by saying I will only be behind the camera,” she says, deciding to hold back on the details and negotiate with him over time.
Shaikh went back and forth on keeping the dance scene in the film, given her husband’s concerns. “The other women encouraged me, saying ‘don’t hide your passion.’ It became a way to inspire others to relieve their stress and dance.”
At the premiere, her husband and three children cheered and hooted.
She was thrilled. “They were telling others in the audience, ‘She is my wife, that’s my mother!”
Cool Ladies Club,
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