advertisement
A few days ago, when I called up the director of The Kerala Story, Sudipto Sen, over an infamous claim that his movie makes – that 32,000 women were kidnapped from Kerala and sold to ISIS – he told me that my question was "cliched."
He then asked me to watch the movie before jumping into any conclusions. So, that's exactly what I did – I watched the movie. And he was right, I did jump to conclusions; the teaser and the trailer of the film did not prepare me enough for the Islamophobic rant that was The Kerala Story.
What could have been a nuanced film on religious extremism became just scenes and scenes of sexual violence and indoctrination, flippantly strung together by a loose thread.
So, as I stepped out of a theatre with barely 50 people in it – shortly after a matter-of-fact 'Jai Shri Ram' slogan – I was left with more "cliched" questions on my mind.
To begin with, what on earth was that accent?
Full disclosure: I am a Malayali born and brought up in Kerala. Yes, Bollywood would have you believe that Kerala is about kathakali, houseboats, and girls with mullappoo (jasmine flowers) in their hair.
And unsurprisingly, Sudipto Sen chose to stick with these stereotypes. When the film brings us to the God's Own Country, Adah Sharma, who plays the role of Shalini Unnikrishnan (I cannot unhear that fake Malayalam accent), is seen walking around a temple with mullappoo in her hair, and chilling with a random kathakali artiste. But why!
Then she returns home to her amma and ammumma (who is probably the only character in the film who speaks Malayalam) – and they have lunch on vazha ela (banana leaf). We do have plates at home, you know.
And when they speak Malayalam, they have a heavy non-Malayali accent. There's really no uniformity in using this fake accent either; it comes and goes as it pleases.
So, what exactly was the point, sir?
I guess it's pretty simple.
Speaking about the film earlier, Kerala Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan had said:
And speaking of communism, it's also difficult to miss the derisive placement of socialist symbols and heroes (Western propagandists, duh) throughout the movie, attempting to show that the ideology isn't helping the "poor, helpless women of Kerala."
For example, one of the 'targeted' women, Geetanjali (played by Siddhi Idnani), tells her 'atheist' father that it's his fault that she fell into a religious trap. "You should have taught me about our culture and religion…" That is, Hinduism.
But that also doesn't mean the film doesn't have an audience in the state. When 24-year-old Hadiya (who was a Hindu woman) converted to Islam on her own accord in 2017, Malayalis were quick to infantalise her and call her a product of brainwashing. In fact, Kerala has been at the centre of alleged 'love-jihad' politics for years now.
And frankly, it's unbelievable that there wasn't a hue and cry when 32,000 women allegedly went missing – as the movie suggests.
When The Quint spoke to a retired senior police official (who did not wish to be named) about this claim, he said:
I call 32,000 the magic number because it has been appearing and disappearing in and out of conversations surrounding the film, as per the makers' convenience. The movie's teaser first said 32,000, and then the trailer said three.
And in the film, when one of the victims, Nimah (played by Yogita Bihani), makes a passionate speech in front of a police officer, she, too, says "over 30,000" women.
She says: "Hamaare ex-chief minister ne bola hai, agle 20 saal mein Kerala Islamic state ban jaayega. (Our ex-chief minister has said that in the next 20 years, Kerala will become an Islamic State.)"
She also quotes – like it was some elocution competition or something – former chief minister Oommen Chandy, who had said in the Assembly that every year, approximately 2,800 to 3,200 girls were converting to Islam in Kerala.
And then, she concludes, "More than 32,000 girls are missing," and even goes on to say the unofficial figure is 50,000.
When the cop asks her for evidence and documents, she conveniently says it's hard to find proof in cases like this, but that doesn't mean it's not true.
Incidentally, director Sudipto Sen had said earlier that 32,000 is an "arbitrary" figure and that it doesn't really matter. Hmm…
If I didn't emphasise this enough, the claim that 32,000 women are missing remains unsubstantiated. At the end of the film, the makers say:
Okay, one, a simple Google search shows that a website called www.niyamasabha.org does exist – but at this juncture, I'll just leave this to The Quint's fact-check team. Two, why would you publicise such a claim if it's not verified in the first place? And finally, the film's claim was not just about the conversions of these women, but that they're missing. None of this adds up.
And now, the makers have told the Kerala High Court, which refused to stay the film's release, that they would remove the teaser containing the said figure from all their social media accounts. Too little, too late?
Director Sudipto Sen, producer Vipul Amrutlal Shah, and actor Adah Sharma have categorically said during the film's promotions that "it doesn't target any religion."
I beg to differ. The storytelling in The Kerala Story is not meant to inform or evoke a nuanced conversation about religious conversions, but only to inorganically arouse sentiments of hate.
Several religious practices central to Islam – like wearing the hijab or celebrating Eid – are blindly demonised in the film. One of the main evil characters is Asifa (Sonia Balani), who supposedly brainwashes Shalini and Geethanjali by telling them about the protection that a hijab offers.
What a far-fetched thing to say when in reality, hijabi girls of Karnataka schools and colleges are not even allowed to wear the headscarf and had to face abuses because of it.
There's even a shot of a girl burning what appears to be a hijab, which is, perhaps, inspired from the women's movements in Syria and Iran. A 'My Body, My Rules' graffiti is also spotted in one of the frames, which unfortunately makes no sense in a movie that campaigns against women's agency and blatantly portrays sexual violence.
As the end credits rolled with visuals of the apparent real-life victims of the story, the woman who sat next to me tells me that they should start screening such movies in schools and colleges. Now that Prime Minister Narendra Modi himself has endorsed The Kerala Story, I can actually see that happening.
(At The Quint, we question everything. Play an active role in shaping our journalism by becoming a member today.)