We will not discuss Parineeta in this review. We will also not mention how the film in its effort to entice the global Bollywood audience projected a sexed- up version of 1962’s Calcutta, which dwelt in huge havelis, Punjabi songs, Elvis, jazz night clubs, guitars and designer clothes instead of the horrible partition and its aftermath, people’s theatre, protest songs and political upheavels.

Yet,it becomes difficult not to allude to Sarkar’s debut film in an assessment of Laaga Chunari Mein Daag (LCMD), his much-touted second venture. For LCMD, like Parineeta, suffers because of the director’s need to establish a world which is so far removed from our reality, that it’s problematic.

How is that possible you may ask. After all, doesn’t LCMD narrate a small-town girl’s struggle to fulfill her family’s needs? It shows an old ramshackle haveli, populated with endearing middle-class people. People who are eternally plagued by wants but still manage to face life with a smile on their faces. It also shows a flustered Rani Mukerji in limp cotton kurtas ( costume designer Sabyasachi Mukherjee, its reported, was strictly asked to design only a few salwar-kameezes for Rani so that her wardrobe looked adequately frugal) commuting in overcrowded Mumbai locals. And to top it all, Sarkar makes his protagonist traverse the murky world of “high-class prostitution.” Isn’t that gritty enough?

Well, no. Not when Sarkar’s documentation of the protagonist’s struggle dwells more in the detailing of the sets than the character’s inner conflict. More so, because Sarkar is governed by this need to gloss up everything he lays his hands upon. Maybe it’s his brilliant advertising background. Maybe it’s the Yash Raj thumb rule— if its not pretty its not going on-screen. It’s high time Bollywood woke up to the fact that style is not about glossing things up. Wong Kar Wai anyone ?

However, on book LCMD works perfectly well. It’s neatly scripted and is adorned by an ensemble cast of talented performers . Brought up by the banks of Ganga in the holy city of Benares, Badki (Rani Mukerji) and Chutki (Konkona Sen Sharma) belong to a middle class family that is finding it difficult to make ends meet. Mom, Jaya Bachchan, paddles her sewing machine all night through and the ill-tempered father, Anupam Kher, seeks solace in the hope that lottery tickets will bring them wealth and prosperity.Unable to deal with the problems in his life, Kher often laments the lack of a “beta” in their lives.

Motivated by a burning desire to be a beta to her father, Badki leaves for Mumbai. In the big bad world of Mumbai, Badki is handicapped by one big drawback, she has no “degree” and is a mere “class10-pass”. So she struggles, and struggles until a big bad wolf in the form of an oily Call Centre executive ( Call centres executives are the chosen baddies of Bollywood nowadays it seems,remember the unscrupulous boss from Life…in a Metro?) makes her succumb to her needs. Thereon, there is no looking back for Badki and her family — as Konkona states —makes a” lottery ticket” out of her. Complications arise when Chutki arrives in Mumbai to pursue her own dreams. And love interests in the form of a lanky Kunal Kapoor and bored Abhishek Bachchan crop up.

There are some insightful moments though, which shows Sarkar’s understanding of the human psychology—in a scene where a disdainful Chutki points out streetwalkers to her sister, Badki retorts by defending them with such empathetic passion that it takes you aback—yet, Sarkar chooses not to dwell on them. Instead, using any possible pretext, he insists on taking us to Swiss Locales, which are as familiar to us as our para park, thanks to Yash Raj films.