When the lights came on, the filmmaker who’d created an immersive experience around courtesans of a bygone era stood up and applauded, “Munnu, it’s your day today.” Many wondered who that was but a look at the credit titles said it all. Even before his own name, Sanjay Leela Bhansali had given topmost billing to “Original concept by Moin Baig”, a rare gesture of due credit to the source of a major dramatic project.

Indeed, Heeramandi would never have been made if the former journalist, popularly called Munnu, had not shared his dream story with close friend Sanjay.

Growing up in a Muslim family in erstwhile Bombay, where actresses were derogatorily labelled “women from Heeramandi”, the disrepute attached to the name had piqued Moin from a very young age. On a visit across the border, he was introduced to Heeramandi, then on its way to irrelevance along with its vanishing patrons. But the journalist returned with a vivid picture of the lost grandeur of the tawaifs of Lahore and an abundance of stories.

That was nearly two decades ago. But while it brewed at the back of his mind, Bhansali had announced a slew of films, sometimes leading to unplanned humour. When he decided to make Bajirao Mastani (2015), a frustrated Moin had demanded his script back. “I’ll go make it with someone else,” he’d said peevishly to Bhansali, who asked him unfazed, “And who will you take it to?” Moin, who was only throwing a tantrum and had no idea, had spluttered the first name that came to his mind. “I’ll make it with... with David Dhawan.”

“David Dhawan can make only Randi No. 1,” Bhansali had guffawed. “Nobody else can make Heeramandi.”

It was not a misplaced boast. Having had the privilege of watching the first two episodes on the big screen, it is a spectacular new world he has created, an ambience unseen on OTT, courtesans with their own splendour, pride, hierarchy and raw, emotional cruelty.

It was an equally old-world premiere that Netflix and Bhansali hosted on Wednesday night, a 7pm event taking off with nawabi indulgence after 9.30pm, more stars glittering on the red carpet than up in the sky. Shabana Azmi (who’d turned down a role by quoting a fat figure) took her seat early, patiently watching others troop in. The very pregnant Richa Chadha got much applause, loudest from husband Ali Fazal, when she sashayed into the frame in the second episode, her heart in splinters. Partnering her was Adhyayan Suman — for parents Shekhar Suman and Alka it was an extraordinary moment. Adhyayan not only fetched much applause but the first episode also introduced Shekhar in a scene that draws a chuckle. Heeramandi is thus a double whammy for the family.

Rekha told me in Tamil how astounded she was with the world Bhansali had created. Few know that when the concept was conceived decades ago, the main role of Mallikajaan had been written with her in mind. Pak actors Mahira Khan and Imran Abbas were to play young lovers. Time elapsed. Manisha Koirala became the majestic Mallikajaan. Bhansali turned the spotlight on his own niece Sharmin Segal and young Indian actor Taha Shah Badussha, who finally gets his chance to charm in Heeramandi.

Sonakshi Sinha has her father’s scene-stealing presence as Fareedan — her face-off with Manisha driving the drama. Swaying to Tilasmi bahein, a hummable Bhansali composition, Ms Sinha will join a small knot of actresses who’ve effectively exuded sensuality in a sari.

Sridevi had done it in Shekhar Kapur’s Kaate nahi katte (Mr India, 1987) following her sensuousness in Feroz Khan’s Har kisiko nahi milta (Janbaaz, 1986). Rekha had matched it years later in her Moulin Rouge performance, Kaisi paheli zindagani (Parineeta, 2005). Now it’s Sona.