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By:

Shoma A. Chatterji

21 August 2024 at 4:19:40 pm

Childhood for Sale

Khilawadi, a short fiction film directed by the young and sprightly Shobhita Thakur, alumnus of the FTII, Pune, is making news wherever the film is being screened. Why? The subject of the film is shocking in its inhuman brutality. Through a brief but powerful narrative, the film tells the story of the 12-year-old Sapna who is good in studies and dreams of becoming a doctor one day. The term “Khilawadi” is a locally used word associated with the Banchada community in Western Madhya Pradesh,...

Childhood for Sale

Khilawadi, a short fiction film directed by the young and sprightly Shobhita Thakur, alumnus of the FTII, Pune, is making news wherever the film is being screened. Why? The subject of the film is shocking in its inhuman brutality. Through a brief but powerful narrative, the film tells the story of the 12-year-old Sapna who is good in studies and dreams of becoming a doctor one day. The term “Khilawadi” is a locally used word associated with the Banchada community in Western Madhya Pradesh, particularly in the Neemuch-Mandsaur region. The word is believed to have evolved within the local dialects as a descriptive label for women employed in sex work, especially those living along or near major highways. Over time, strangely, the changes in social customs, in media technology, in traditional rituals, have not affected the age-old custom of putting daughters to prostitution the minute they reach puberty. Therefore, the term “khilawadi” has become an informal, locally used word associated with the Banchada community used rather pejoratively to refer to girls or women from the community who engage in highway-based prostitution, a practice historically linked to complex socio-economic and caste-based circumstances within the region. The term carries social stigma and reflects structural inequalities faced by the Banchada community. “We could not shoot in the actual location because we were told that it would be dangerous for the team to shoot there. So, we shot several kilometers away at a different location to keep the rural spirit of the topic intact. As a woman filmmaker and an artist, I feel compelled to tell this story of unimaginable suffering and exploitation of young girls. This film is not just a reflection of their pain, but a call for social change, urging society to recognize and address this persistent injustice,” says the director. The film uses a raw, unembellished cinematic style that highlights the stark realities of their lives. It opens in the classroom of a girls’ school. We are introduced to the 12-year-old Sapna. On her way back, she waits outside the window of the community health centre in the area to watch the lady doctor at work. The lady doctor beckons her inside and asks her why she is waiting at the window. Sapna asks her whether she can become a doctor like her. But when she is asked by the teacher what she wants to become when she grows up, a giggling classmate mocks her saying, “She can only become a dhandhewali - a vulgarized term for one who sells one’s body for money.” Sapna belongs to the Banchada tribe and while her mother, a prostitute herself, plans to sell her to prostitution planning to make some money from the “nath utharna” ritual, a traditional term for the first night, the price for the first night’s customer who gets the right to strip the girl of her virginity. The doctor however, takes the help of a social worker to get a caste certificate for Sapna which will convince her mother to continue her education as she will be entitled to a scholarship for her further education. But all attempts at getting a caste certificate come to naught and while the mother sits in front of the highway for customers in vain as she is ageing, she also prepares for Sapna’s initiation into the profession. Strangely, the males in this community extract huge dowries when they get married though they are practically pimping and their wives are drawn from communities other than the Banchada community and they do not practice prostitution. The entire family then begins to live off the daughter’s earnings. When Sapna fails to get a caste certificate, she is forcibly prepared for the nuptial night and the first customer who pays Rs.10,000 is a middle-aged man. The film closes on the figure of a crying Sapna squatting on the floor after the first night, while the camera pans to focus on the bed and captures the image of an ointment Sapna’s mother gave her to prevent from the first night turning into a torture of pain. The film is aesthetically well-crafted with beautiful cinematography, good music and above everything else, brilliant piece of acting by every single actor. The film is currently on its international festival circuit, having won major awards at the FascinAsian Film Festival (Canada) and been officially selected for the Kazan International Film Festival and Festival du Film de Nancy in France. (The writer is an award-winning film scholar and author of several books.)

Dangerous Departures

Updated: Oct 30, 2024

Dangerous Departures

In yet another shocking incident adding to Mumbai’s infamous tryst with stampedes, chaos erupted at Mumbai’s Bandra Terminus following a weekend stampede that left at least ten persons injured, two critically so. A crowd surged toward the Gorakhpur-bound train with nearly 1,500 people vying for seats in 22 unreserved compartments, leading to the stampede. Several others narrowly avoided tragedy, with some even pushed onto the tracks. This is not a unique episode but rather a recurring theme in Mumbai’s bedevilled crowd management, one that has haunted the city’s public spaces, particularly as festive seasons magnify the crowds.


Mumbai is no stranger to stampedes. A horrifying incident in 2017 at Elphinstone Road Station left 23 people dead and nearly 50 injured. The cause was a familiar one: an overwhelming crowd confined to a narrow footbridge during peak rush hour. The tragedy sparked an outcry, with promises from authorities to upgrade infrastructure and enhance safety protocols. Yet seven years on, crowd-related incidents continue to be a constant danger. Today’s incident reveals a similar lapse—a lack of foresight in managing the thousands who gather on platforms ahead of Diwali, eager to return to family. That the Gorakhpur Express was unreserved and heavily crowded was predictable.


The issue lies beyond simply crowd density; it is emblematic of deeper systemic negligence. The Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC), responsible for local public safety, along with the Railways Ministry, bear responsibility for ensuring order at such high-risk hubs. Although the BMC acknowledged the “festive rush,” it appears little was done to pre-empt it. Swift action could have been taken to either disperse the crowd or reroute passengers. Instead, chaos prevailed.


Political reaction has been swift but uninspiring. Aaditya Thackeray, son of Uddhav Thackeray, launched a scathing attack on the Union Railways Minister, Ashwini Vaishnaw, branding the incident a result of the minister’s “incapable” leadership. This hardly addresses the immediate need: a substantive plan to manage crowds and prevent similar incidents.


Mumbai’s transport infrastructure remains sorely outdated. Platforms are undersized, signalling systems frequently falter, and crowd control mechanisms are grossly inadequate. Despite repeated accidents, there has been little investment in comprehensive crowd management systems or the deployment of personnel trained in emergency response. While railway footbridges were widened after the Elphinstone tragedy, Bandra’s incident demonstrates that such incremental changes are insufficient. Mumbai, which sees a swelling populace during festivals, demands a robust strategy to address its vulnerabilities. This should include technology-driven crowd monitoring, clear communication channels to inform passengers of platform conditions, and additional security and medical staff on high-demand days. It is essential that crowd management training for personnel becomes a priority rather than a reaction to tragedies.

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