Accused (Netflix): A Promising Queer Romance That Loses Steam

Konkona Sen Sharma and Pratibha Ranta in Accused Image

I knew I would be watching Accused on Netflix the moment I saw the lead pair: Konkona Sen Sharma and Pratibha Ranta. I have always liked both actors, so that alone was reason enough to hit the play button. But what really caught my attention was the theme of queer romance. In Indian cinema, stories about same-sex relationships are still relatively rare, which makes films like this especially interesting.

Over the past few years, India has slowly begun opening up to conversations about LGBTQ+ relationships. What once felt shocking to mainstream audiences is gradually becoming part of everyday discussion. That change did not happen overnight. It is the result of efforts from many sides: legal changes like the decriminalization of homosexuality in India, activists who have spent years spreading awareness, and filmmakers who are willing to tell stories about queer love on screen. Because of that collective push, movies exploring same-sex romance are finding space in Indian cinema.

I still remember when the Malayalam movie Kaathal: The Core was released. It remains one of the Malayalam films I feel proud of. I saw its impact firsthand at a family event we attended around that time. Some of my elderly relatives actually began discussing the theme of the film. It was clear they were still a bit uncomfortable talking about homosexuality, but the conversation itself was a big step. What surprised me most was that a few of them were able to acknowledge that homosexuality is real and not something a person can simply control or change. And the reason they were willing to even consider that perspective was simple: Mammootty was part of the film. Seeing an actor from their own generation portray such a character helped normalize the topic for them.

That moment reminded me of the real impact cinema can have. Movies are not just entertainment. Sometimes, they quietly open the door to conversations that people would otherwise avoid.

Getting back to the movie in question, Accused begins on a fast-paced note. The opening pulls you in immediately, and there is enough intrigue to keep you watching as the story unfolds. For a while, the film manages to hold that tension well. Unfortunately, the narrative loses some of its strength towards the end, and the impact is not quite as powerful as the beginning promised.

That said, the performances are a big highlight. Konkona Sen Sharma and Pratibha Ranta are both wonderful to watch. Pratibha, in particular, looked great throughout the film. I even found myself noticing her earrings more than once. She has mostly been seen in village girl roles so far, so it was refreshing to see her play a modern, city girl in this Netflix film. I am definitely looking forward to seeing more stories featuring her.

Konkona, as expected, delivers a strong performance. Her character is aggressive, ambitious, and very clear about what she wants. She does not soften her words to make others comfortable, and that confidence makes her come across as a true “boss girl” personality. At the same time, the film also shows how women like her often end up being judged or disliked for the same qualities that would be admired in men.

Overall, Accused starts off as a gripping Netflix drama with an interesting queer romance angle and strong performances. Even though the ending feels a bit underwhelming, the film is still worth watching for its lead actors and the way it brings conversations about same-sex relationships in India to a wider audience.

Haq: When a Film About Muslim Women Speaks to All Women

For the most part, Haq is not a story only about Muslim women. It is a story about women in general. Almost all of us know someone, married or unmarried, who has been cheated in love. We have seen that heartbreak up close, and we understand the emotional toll it takes.

When Shazia feels betrayed, we feel it too. When she wants the best for her children, that emotion feels familiar. When she fights for her rights, it resonates deeply. And when her father stands by her without hesitation, it reminds us of our own fathers and the quiet strength that support brings. These are emotions that are universal to women, cutting across religion, culture, and background.

The narrative becomes specifically about Muslim women only when the legal issues come into focus. That is where the real differences emerge, and the film clearly highlights how laws and systems can shape a woman’s fight for justice. It is to be noted that soon after the Triple Talaq ban was implemented in India, many Muslim women began approaching the courts to seek justice. While there was no open praise for the current government for such a ban, there was a quiet acceptance of the relief and protection the law offered them in real life. Many Muslim men, however, continue to view the ban as an insult to their faith rather than as a legal safeguard for women.

Getting back to the movie, Yami’s final monologue is powerful and leaves a strong impact. Emraan feels completely natural throughout and never once seems like he is performing. Sheeba Chaddha is equally convincing and brings depth to her role.

I especially want to credit Emraan for choosing to act in a film that openly talks about Muslim women’s rights. It takes conviction to support a story like this, especially as a Muslim, without dismissing it as Islamophobic. The film is clearly not that. Instead, it focuses on real issues and lived experiences, and his decision to back the narrative adds credibility and strength to the message being told.

Overall, I liked the film. The background music could have been better, and Yami is not fully convincing in a few scenes. Still, she more than makes up for it in the final act, which stays with you long after the film ends.

Haq is now streaming on Netflix.

An Ode to Feminichi Fathima

Feminichi Fathima is a Malayalam movie I had been waiting to watch for a long time. The film received strong appreciation at several film festivals. Many critics also spoke highly of it in their reviews. Now that it has finally released on OTT, the wait feels worth it. After watching the film, I can say it truly lives up to the praise it received.

The movie is a bold and thoughtful effort by director Fasil Muhammed to explore feminism from the perspective of a Muslim woman. This is a refreshing shift in Indian cinema, where feminist narratives are often shown through a cultural Hindu lens. Films like The Great Indian Kitchen (Mrs. in Hindi) and Thappad shaped much of that earlier conversation. Against that backdrop, this film feels timely and necessary. It adds a new voice to discussions on gender, faith, and everyday patriarchy.

What’s It About?

Fathima is married into a conservative and deeply religious family in the Malappuram district in Kerala. Her husband is a usthad (a religious leader) who expects his household to follow every rule without question. Life in the home is seen only through a strict, conservative lens.

Trouble begins when their young son wets the mattress. Fathima cleans it and leaves it outside to dry, but a dog later urinates on it. Since dogs are viewed as ritually impure, her husband reacts with anger and disgust. What follows is Fathima’s quiet struggle to fix the situation, facing resistance at every step.

The film makes a strong point that a woman in religious clothing can also be a feminichi (a slur often used by Malayalee misogynists to dismiss feminists).

Thoughts

Shamla Hamza and Kumar Sunil deliver standout performances. Shamla Hamza, in particular, is remarkable throughout the movie. It is hard to believe this is only her second project, after 1001 Nunakal, released in 2022. She performs with the ease and control of a seasoned actor. Her expressions carry much of the film’s emotional weight. Shamla winning the Kerala State Film Award for Best Actress feels well deserved. The storyline is fresh and quietly rebellious, which makes her performance even more powerful.

In many ways, the film feels braver than other feminist movies. Dissent is rarely encouraged in conservative Muslim families, which makes this narrative more powerful. The story shows how questioning norms itself becomes an act of courage. That is what sets this Malayalam feminist film apart. It opens space for conversations that are often silenced. Ideally, it will inspire more Feminichi Fathimas to speak up and stand for their rights.

Even though the subject is heavy, the movie never becomes overwhelming. It avoids melodrama and keeps emotions grounded. Light comedy is woven into the narrative. This balance makes the film feel surprisingly breezy. The pacing is tight and engaging throughout. You can easily watch the full 1.5 hours in one sitting without needing a break.

I would call this movie a must-watch for anyone interested in meaningful Malayalam cinema. Feminichi Fathima is now streaming on Manorama Max. You can also watch it via Amazon Prime with a Manorama Max subscription. English subtitles are available.

I Watched Homebound… and Ended Up Thinking About India Beyond the Film

I waited a while before watching Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound on Netflix. Even with glowing reviews and friends urging me to watch it, I knew it wouldn’t be an easy experience. It’s heavy in more ways than one, because the film doesn’t just explore caste discrimination, it also shines a light on the prejudice faced by Muslims in India. So from the beginning, you know you’re stepping into something intense and uncomfortable.

Neeraj Ghaywan holds an important place in Indian cinema as he’s one of the very few Dalit directors who publicly acknowledge his Dalit identity. As viewers, most of us don’t sit and think about a filmmaker’s caste or religion when watching a movie. But the uncomfortable truth is that opportunities in the film industry still seem to be uneven. If he is the first Dalit filmmaker in decades because of gatekeeping rather than lack of talent, then that says a lot about how deep systemic bias still runs in India, even in an artistic platform like the film industry. This is something the film industries across India need to acknowledge and work on.

As expected, the story in Homebound was heartwrenching. It’s based on a real incident, which sadly doesn’t come as a surprise. The film also draws inspiration from the Bhim-Meem idea, a political expression that promotes Dalit-Muslim unity, adding another layer of depth and context to its narrative.

For me, the most heartbreaking scene was when Ishaan’s character, a young Muslim boy, is accused of being Pakistani after an India vs Pakistan cricket match. That moment was infuriating and hard to sit through.

At the same time, I feel Indian films need to move beyond the usual “General Category vs Dalit” and “Hindu vs Muslim” framework when addressing oppression. Recent incidents, including the honour killing of a Dalit man by an OBC family because he dared to love their girl, show that reality is much more complex in India, and discrimination doesn’t come from one direction. It exists across castes and religions. Dalit Christians, Pasmanda Muslims, and many others face layered forms of exclusion, yet these conversations rarely enter mainstream media or pop culture.

I recently spoke to someone from the Yadav community who felt that Yadavs should be getting more opportunities than others in Bihar. It surprised me, because it shows how deeply caste identity shapes expectations, even among groups that aren’t “upper caste.” It’s even sadder to see communities that once faced discrimination now repeating the same mindset toward those they see as lower in the hierarchy. Many people assume caste hierarchy is a simple top-to-bottom structure, but in reality, it behaves more like overlapping layers of status, power, and regional identity.

I also think about the discrimination that exists within minority communities. My neighbour, a very liberal Muslim woman in Kerala, once told me that some of her extended family members won’t eat food cooked by non-Muslims. So who addresses that side of prejudice?

If we want a more equal and united India, we need to acknowledge and call out all forms of discrimination. But if someone tries to make a film exploring other angles, it often gets labelled propaganda or agenda-driven. That makes honest conversation difficult.

We’ve seen similar themes in films like Dhadak 2 this year, and even the first Dhadak explored the same kind of social divide. Something that stood out to me across movies in this space was the prominent placement of Ambedkar’s photograph. It’s a small detail, but it says a lot. Ambedkar himself is a layered and complex figure. His critique was not limited to Hinduism, and he questioned multiple belief systems with the same sharpness. But that side of him rarely enters public discussion, because even many of his admirers seem hesitant or defensive about acknowledging it.

Many of us are ready to recognise discrimination against Muslims and Dalits, and those conversations are important. But there should also be space to talk about other traumatic histories like the Kashmiri Pandit exodus without being dismissed or judged. Empathy and understanding shouldn’t stop at one group. If injustice matters, it should matter universally.

This isn’t a rant. Just a hope that our films, stories, and discussions grow braver and more layered. Because India isn’t simple. It’s diverse, complicated, emotional, and full of uncomfortable truths. And storytelling feels meaningful when it reflects that reality rather than just one slice of it.

Rohit Saraf Feels Like Old-School Romance and I Love It

I often find myself missing the old Bollywood romance era. Films by Yash Chopra or early Karan Johar had a kind of magic that is hard to find today. The lead pairs had real chemistry, the kind that made you feel every emotion with them. When they looked at each other with misty eyes, you felt like you were falling in love too.

But in many new-generation films, that spark seems lost. I don’t know whether it’s the acting, the writing, or the shift in filmmaking trends. Modern romance feels rushed, predictable, too dark, melancholic, or sometimes just flat. The warmth, passion, and emotional storytelling that defined classic Hindi cinema is fading, and I genuinely miss it.

In today’s film landscape, Rohit Saraf feels like a breath of fresh air. He brings back that soft, believable romance many of us grew up loving. One thing that stands out about him is his effortless chemistry with his co-stars.

My favorite project of his isn’t even a Hindi film. It’s the Tamil romance Kamali From Nadukkaveri, where his performance and chemistry with the lead actress, Anandhi, is genuine and sweet. I would also suggest watching his earlier series on Zee5 titled Woh Bhi Din The. He filmed it when he was much younger. The emotional connection between the characters feels very real. Also, let’s not forget his impeccable chemistry with Pearle Maaney in Ludo, which remains one of my favourites.

In Sunny Sanskari Ki Tulsi Kumari, Rohit Saraf continues that image of the ideal romantic partner. His chemistry with Janhvi Kapoor feels natural and much stronger compared to the chemistry between the main lead pair. Honestly, their scenes had more warmth and emotional pull. I found myself wishing the makers had focused on that storyline instead of pushing the romance between Janhvi and Varun Dhawan. It felt like the more organic love story was sitting right there, but never fully explored.

Personnally, I feel Rohit Saraf deserves more recognition for keeping that old-school romantic charm alive.

Maybe it’s time filmmakers start looking for the right lead pair for Rohit Saraf. If they get that pairing right, many of us women could finally relive the era of Kajol and Shah Rukh Khan or Aamir Khan and Juhi Chawla. Those iconic pairs made romance feel real, soft, and unforgettable.

A couple with that kind of natural chemistry is missing in today’s Hindi films, and audiences like me are definitely craving it.

Short Film Spotlight: Anuja

I was craving to watch a slice-of-life drama. Something simple, not too heavy or filled with dread. I honestly thought Anuja would be intense, given how the synopsis sounded. Plus, it’s a Hindi short film that was an Academy Award nominee.

Now, why would I mention the Academy Award nomination like it’s a bad thing? I have my reasons.

To be honest, Oscar nominees have rarely worked for me. In Malayalam, we call such films “award padam.” The kind that feels too abstract or complex for ordinary viewers (like yours truly). There was a time in my life, long ago, when I pretended to enjoy such films just to seem intellectual in front of my then-partner. But I couldn’t keep up the act, and that image fell apart the moment that relationship ended. Now, it seems I’m making up for that lost time. All I want to watch are feel-good films.

So when I saw that Anuja was an Oscar nominee, it didn’t excite me enough to hit play right away. It actually made me hesitate. After all, the Oscars have a reputation for picking Indian films that focus on pain and poverty, what many call “poverty porn,” which does not fully represent what India is today.

Still, I decided to give it a chance.

What’s It About?

A 9-year-old girl works with her sister in a garment factory in India. Despite being naturally bright and curious, she doesn’t attend school because of financial struggles. And, truthfully, she doesn’t want to either. Her elder sister, however, recognizes her potential and dreams of giving her the education she deserves.

Thoughts

The film was a pleasant surprise. I loved it. It was just 22 minutes, but packed with emotions.

It tells the story of child labourers. They are presented not as helpless victims, but as resilient children who find joy even in hardship. The truth is, we often see others through our own lens and may view them as “helpless.” But for them, this is simply life. They know no other kind of life, and they’re doing their best with what they have. That’s what the movie captures so beautifully — life as they see it, not as we do.

It’s a social hierarchy. Someone wealthier might be looking at me with pity, thinking I’m suffering. Yet I’m making the most of what I have, because that’s the life I know. We suffer mostly when we lose something we once had, when we can compare the before and after, and we truly miss the before.

I’ve often felt that those not well-off often make the best of what little they have, which is why they find happiness in the smallest things, like a bag of jalebi, for instance. Anuja captures that spirit beautifully: “The present may not be bright, but we can strive for a better tomorrow.”

The film avoids moral preaching or lecturing. It’s simply about two sisters supporting each other in a harsh world.

The most moving part of the film is that Sajda Pathan, who plays Anuja, was once a child labourer in Delhi before being rescued by the Salaam Baalak Trust (SBT). She now lives at the NGO’s Day Care Center, founded in 1988 by filmmaker Mira Nair, who, interestingly, is also the mother of New York’s new Mayor, Zohran Mamdani.

Ananya Shanbhag also delivers an excellent performance as the elder sister, Palak.

I would definitely recommend the short film. Anuja is streaming on Netflix.