The ideologically-motivated outrage over The Kerala Story is misplaced. The film deserves to be panned, not for its perfectly valid plot, but its shoddy production values, sub-par performances, preachy dialogues and, above all, its appalling infantilization of women.
Consider the 2020 hit TV series, Caliphate, on the radicalisation and abduction of Muslim girls in Stockholm by undercover ISIL (Islamic State) operatives. It premiered on SVT, the publicly-funded Swedish national broadcaster, became a massive hit, and was later broadcast to global audiences on Netflix.
Interest in Caliphate has revived with the release of The Kerala Story. Social media users are wondering aloud whether the Swedish series inspired the Malayalam film. The similarities are striking, to say the least.
The plot of Caliphate was inspired by real-life events, namely the Bethnal Green trio — three Muslim girls from London who were lured into becoming ‘brides of ISIL’ and ended up being married to Islamic State terrorists. The Kerala Story broadly follows the same plot. Three students at a Kerala nursing college — two Hindus and one Christian — are honey-trapped by a Muslim woman into converting to Islam. One is impregnated, married off to a jihadi and taken to Afghanistan where she is raped, intimidated and transported to the Syrian border.
The contrasting reception accorded to Caliphate and The Kerala Story is prima facie mystifying. Both the TV series and the film are about ‘love jihad’. Both portray the jihadis as amoral, brutal and murderous psychopaths/sociopaths. Both show the radicalisation of angst-ridden adolescents who defy their parents and take to the hijab.
When Caliphate was streamed in India on Netflix, not a peep of protest was heard. One newspaper strongly recommended it to viewers. However, from the moment the trailer of The Kerala Story was released, it has been dubbed ‘vile propaganda’.
Theatres have been picketed and critics have panned the film, in stark contrast to Caliphate, which met with universal acclaim. The Spectator called it ‘frighteningly plausible’. The AU review said there was definitely enough ‘critical praise’ to justify a second season. Our thin-skinned version of multi-culturalism and hyper-sensitivity to all things religious is partly to blame. MF Husain was panned for depicting naked Hindu gods and goddesses and Satanic Verses banned for cocking a snook at the Prophet. Censorship has become reflexive to the point of absurdity — the Kamasutra is publicly torched and a plea made for a ban on good old Sardar jokes.
Even the government treads on eggshells. Can we imagine Doordarshan, our own public broadcaster, screening Caliphate or something even vaguely similar?
The plot of The Kerala Story could have been reasonable, even well-grounded. After all, it is inspired by real-life events, notably the case of four Kerala girls who converted to Islam, married ISIL operatives, and then surrendered to the Afghan authorities. And like it or not, the Church has made ‘love jihad’ a talking point in Kerala.
The difference between Caliphate and The Kerala Story is the latter’s ham-handed handling of the subject, in stark contrast to the layered approach of the former. In his unseemly hurry to take the protagonist, Shalini/Fatima, from point A (innocent) to point B (brainwashed), the director fails to build up a credible narrative of radicalisation.
Shalini and her friends are not social misfits. Unlike the protagonists of Caliphate, they do not face discrimination or come from dysfunctional families, nor are they going through a phase of adolescent rebellion. They are portrayed as intelligent, poised and emotionally secure adults. However, from the moment Asifa enters the scene, they degenerate into moronic mush. No explanation is offered for their vulnerability to her Islamic supremacist rants.
An ugly encounter with eve-teasers serves as a feeble justification for their embrace of the hijab — a sop offered to the viewer. So convinced is the director of the rightness of his ‘love jihad’ theme that he doesn’t bother to be convincing. A lifetime of social conditioning is shed in the blink of an eye and replaced by a whole new worldview. Filial affection turns to sharp hostility for no apparent reason.
One can’t help but redflag the silent misogyny of the woman-as-victim narrative. An apparently bright and independent-minded woman is reduced to crawling submission through a faux romance and another is driven to suicide. The subtext is that women — all women — are incapable of protecting themselves or making sensible life choices.
Added to this is the film’s implausible and unverifiable claim that tens of thousands of women have fallen prey to ‘love jihad’, which implies a gendered vulnerability. Lastly, the date-rape victim’s anguished plea to the police officer comes dangerously close to inviting state intervention in cross-faith relationships. Unfortunately, we are so caught up with being angry about communal slights, real or imagined, that we forget to be angry about sexism. That’s the India story.
Bhavdeep Kang is a senior journalist with 35 years of experience in working with major newspapers and magazines. She is now an independent writer and author.
