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‘Cool Ladies Club’ is directed by 10 working-class women. They live up to the title

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‘Cool Ladies Club’ is directed by 10 working-class women. They live up to the title

These ten women from a working-class neighborhood in Mumbai were completely new to film-making. They got smart phones and started filming their lives. Here they pose with filmmaker Shilpi Gulati, who taught them filmmaking basics. Gulati, wearing red, stands at the far right in the second row.

Mangesh Gudekar/School of Media and Cultural Studies, TISS.

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Mangesh Gudekar/School of Media and Cultural Studies, TISS.

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It’s the first scene in a new documentary. A group of women are being taught how to use 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.

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 Mast Mahila Mandali –- that’s Hindi for Cool Ladies Club –- 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.

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“For me, a ‘cool lady’ is someone who is bindaas — 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 and came from Supriya Jan of CORO India, a nonprofit group that teaches leadership skills to marginalized women. 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.

Jan, the executive producer of the film, 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?”

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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 mast [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.

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 sharara set of wide-legged pants, a tunic and stole.

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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.

Rehana Shaikh has her star moment as she dances in her family’s kitchenette while preparing dinner.

NPR screengrab from Cool Ladies Club via Vimeo


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NPR screengrab from Cool Ladies Club via Vimeo

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.

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“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!”

Note: In addition to Shaikh, Navle, Mane and Mayekar, the Mumbai women who served as co-directors are Kavita Ghuge, Rohini Kadam, Kavita Khomne, Gauri Rane, Anjum Shaikh and Nazneen Siddiqui. They were paid $262 each for their work on the film as co-directors; potential income from distribution deals and ticket sales will be shared as they own joint copyright of the film with Shilpi Gulati, who was also a co-director, and CORO India. Since the premiere, there have been additional community screenings of Cool Ladies Club, and the documentary will be submitted to film festivals this summer.

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Neha Bhatt is an award-winning journalist and author based in Delhi, India, reporting on public health, development and culture. Her work has appeared in The Guardian, The British Medical Journal, Stanford Social Innovation Review, The Globe and Mail, Devex and National Geographic. Connect with her on linkedin.com/in/nehabhattwrites

Lifestyle

‘Alice and Steve’ might be a mess — but it’s also too fun to stop watching

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‘Alice and Steve’ might be a mess — but it’s also too fun to stop watching

In Alice and Steve, Jemaine Clement and Nicola Walker play long-time friends who turn on each other after he gets involved with her 26-year-old daughter.

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Lara Cornell/Disney+

I grew up watching episodic shows on network TV, nearly all of them formulaic but some indelibly great. Then, like everyone else, I moved into the days of what my colleague David Bianculli dubbed Platinum TV, where series like The Sopranos and The Wire and Fleabag aspired to something higher. What both these eras had in common was that their shows were carefully crafted — they had an internal logic, and a tone, that held them together.

In recent years, though, there’s been a proliferation of shows that, possibly obeying some algorithm, care less for coherence than sensation. They lurch among tones, from cuteness to sentimentality to meanness, stirring in random plot twists along the way. Bouncing all over the emotional map, these shows depend on compelling actors and a few memorable scenes to make us overlook their loose construction.

A great example is Alice and Steve, an entertaining but sometimes exasperating six-part British comedy on Hulu about two 50-something best friends who turn on each other after he gets involved with her 26-year-old daughter.

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While the premise is juicy, it’s also a tad yucky, and I mainly tuned in because its title characters are played by performers Jemaine Clement from Flight of the Conchords and Nicola Walker, whom I’ve raved up on this show more than once.

The series starts poorly with Steve and Alice going on a cutesy bender after a friend’s funeral. Now, I always hate drunk scenes, which are an invitation to overact. As Clement and Walker bray their lines, we learn that Steve’s a divorced celebrity hair stylist who can’t find a girlfriend while Alice is a clothes designer with a doting younger husband, nicely played by Joel Fry, a sweetie-pie of a teenage son — that’s Tyrese Eaton-Dyce — and, of course, that 26-year-old daughter, Izzy, who has inherited her mother’s willfulness. Played by Yali Topol Margalith, Izzy kickstarts the plot by flirting with Steve. Predictably, he succumbs.

Almost immediately, they think they’re in love. While the weak-willed Steve wants to hide their romance — he knows it’s inappropriate — Izzy just blurts out the facts to her mom. Alice flips. And from hereon out in this series where the women are as alpha as the men are hangdog, Alice drives the action. Betrayed and violently angry, she’ll do whatever it takes to break them up — no matter who gets hurt. Her antics unleash Steve’s own malice. We’re in Beef territory.

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Lifestyle

How to enter your Sporty Spice era : It’s Been a Minute

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How to enter your Sporty Spice era : It’s Been a Minute

How to enter your Sporty Spice era.

Getty Images/quantic69/Olga Kurbatova/Anastasiia Zvonary/Photo Illustration by NPR


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Getty Images/quantic69/Olga Kurbatova/Anastasiia Zvonary/Photo Illustration by NPR

Reality dating and professional sports are not as different as you’d think.

Brittany is in her Sporty Spice era – she watched the NBA playoffs, she’s following World Cup games, and she’s watching the New York Liberty play their WNBA season. These games are daily – and so is the reality dating show Love Island. And she noticed that the two formats are not very different at all. Defector.com staff writer and co-owner Kelsey McKinney came to the same conclusion – so the two of them discuss why these games of athleticism and love can bring us together… and why they get valued differently in our culture.

For more episodes on sports and reality TV, check out:
Get rich or die trying: how sports betting is changing our love of the game
Is this the end of reality TV?
The ugly truth of America’s expensive homes

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Follow Brittany on Instagram: @bmluse

This episode was produced by Liam McBain. It was edited by Neena Pathak. Our Supervising Producer is Cher Vincent. Our Executive Producer is Barton Girdwood. Our VP of Programming is Yolanda Sangweni.

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Luxury Clients Want Meaning More Than Status

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Luxury Clients Want Meaning More Than Status
The era of buying luxury purely for status and visibility is giving way to something more personal, centred on identity, connection and self-expression. While emotion sits at the heart of brand desire across both the US and China, its expression diverges sharply between markets, according to BoF Insights and McKinsey’s report ‘Face to Face With Luxury Clients.’
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