In the bustling bylanes of Old Delhi, where the call to prayer mingled with the honking of rickshaws, a young woman named Alankrita Shrivastava was wrestling with a question that rarely made it past the chai stalls: What do women really want? Not in a political manifesto, but in the quiet, cluttered corners of their own minds. Her answer, when it came, was a film. She called it Lipstick Under My Burkha .
And finally, —or "Rose" as she called herself—was the film's secret heart. She was a 55-year-old widow, a landlady and mother of three grown sons. She volunteered at the local tailor shop, but her real life was in her bedroom, where she read cheap, steamy romance novels like The Dark Desire of a Secretary . She lusted after her young, muscular swimming coach. Her rebellion was the most heartbreaking: to be seen not as a grandmother, but as a woman with a pulse.
The title itself was a provocation. For some, the burkha was a symbol of piety or oppression. For Shrivastava, it was a metaphor—the heavy cloak of expectation, tradition, and silence that women are asked to wear. And the lipstick ? That was the secret, glittering rebellion of desire. movie lipstick under burkha
In a stunning victory, FCAT overturned the ban, giving the film an adult certification (A) with minimal cuts. It released in theaters in July 2017.
First, there was , a young college student and a burkha -clad beautician. By day, she was the pious daughter her conservative Muslim family expected. But by night, she shed the black robe, donned tight jeans and red lipstick, and sneaked into cinemas, swam in crowded pools, and dated a Hindu boy. She wasn't rejecting her faith; she was rejecting the suffocating version of it that left no room for her own skin. In the bustling bylanes of Old Delhi, where
The irony was electric. A film about women's hidden lives had been censored because it revealed them. The board hadn't rejected bad filmmaking; they had rejected the very idea that women could own their erotic selves. The burkha of Indian censorship had been thrown over the film.
What happened next became a landmark battle for Indian cinema. Shrivastava appealed to the Film Certification Appellate Tribunal (FCAT). Women’s rights groups, filmmakers, and critics erupted. The hashtag #LipstickUnderMyBurkha trended globally. The central question was no longer about a single film: Who gets to decide what a "proper" woman desires? She called it Lipstick Under My Burkha
The impact was immediate and deep. Young women in small towns wrote to Shrivastava, saying, "You filmed my diary." Critics who had called it "porn" were shamed by the film’s tenderness. More importantly, it broke a dam. In the years that followed, Indian cinema saw a surge of female-led stories about desire— Veere Di Wedding , Manto , Parched —all indebted to the path Lipstick had chiseled.