Prostitutes are typically an oppressed bunch, eking out a precarious living by turning tricks day and night -- but in Saawariya-land, Utopian conditions prevail. Probably because there are very few men there (and one of those few men is too busy sneezing to be of much use to a girl), they don't have to burden themselves with customers.
Thus, they spend most of their time lolling around in their beds, probably reading short stories written by Fyodor Dostoevsky, and come out into the open air only to play impromptu games of freestyle soccer with the male lead, or to dance at the birthday party of their reigning diva Gulabji, who, if you excavate beneath the shitload of makeup, bears a passing resemblance to Rani Mukerji.
On such occasions, they are dressed entirely in blue - owing, as an upcoming story in The Economist will point out, to a fiscally-savvy madam who figured out buying saris of identical color by the gross is cost-effective. The two latest recruits, by the way, are dressed in green; the madam is reportedly waiting for 22 more girls to join the gang, so she can buy blues for them in one cheap job lot.
Don't for a moment imagine that their life is all jam. Reminders that life is grim and earnest come from the occasional tears, largely prompted by the male lead's idiocies, and the close-up of one call girl's face sporting a perfectly-placed burn mark.
Video: Rani Mukerji on the Kapoors
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