Shayma S, New Delhi
Since the political ascent of the Bharatiya Janata Party and the accompanying polarisation of public life, few high-profile figures in mainstream industries such as film and television have spoken openly about discrimination or violence. While progressive voices continue to exist, the industry’s most powerful names have largely avoided public critique—particularly on issues such as mob lynching, communal targeting, or state complicity. Unlike in several other countries, even retired sportspersons in India remain hesitant to question governmental bodies or institutional decisions.
This reflexive defensiveness was visible during the recent Yonex Sunrise India Open 2025, when foreign badminton players who criticised playing conditions were met with a swift nationalist backlash. Rather than prompting introspection, criticism was framed as disloyalty—an impulse that increasingly shapes public discourse across industries.
It was against this backdrop that world-renowned composer A. R. Rahman’s candid interview with BBC Asian Network journalist Haroon Rashid marked a notable rupture in this suffocating culture of silence. Rahman spoke frankly about a perceptible shift within the Hindi film industry over the past eight years, attributing it to changing power structures and what he described as “a communal thing.” Reflecting on his long career, he suggested that such dynamics were less visible to him at the time: “Maybe I didn’t get to know all this stuff…maybe God concealed all this stuff.” Rahman is notably one of India’s most high-profile Muslims, having embraced Islam several decades earlier. He continued, “But for me, I never felt any of those [in the 1990s],” he said. “But the past eight years, maybe, because the power shift has happened.”
Importantly, the interview did not exempt Rahman himself from scrutiny. Rashid pressed him on his participation in films such as Chhava, which have been criticised for propagandistic overtones. Rahman acknowledged this discomfort, conceding that the use of Islamic phrases in negative contexts was “cringe.” Such direct questioning remains rare in mainstream Indian media, where public personalities are often protected by public-relations management and tightly controlled interviews.
The backlash was immediate and unsurprising. Right-wing commentators turned on Rahman—who has previously been indirectly targeted due to his daughter’s choice to wear the niqab—but the response from liberal quarters was also notably restrained. Public figures such as Javed Akhtar questioned the accuracy of his claims, while actors like Kangana Ranaut openly criticised him, despite the absence of any named individuals or sweeping indictment of the industry.
This reaction follows a familiar pattern. When Aamir Khan spoke about rising intolerance in 2015, his remarks were met with boycott calls for his subsequent films, public vilification, and sustained trolling, effectively signalling the high professional costs of dissent. Similarly, actors like Swara Bhaskar and Prakash Raj have faced prolonged harassment, threats, and marginalisation for consistently speaking out against lynchings and majoritarian violence. These precedents help explain the caution—and silence—that now characterises much of the industry.
Nevertheless, Rahman’s intervention serves as a necessary reality check for an industry that has steadily tilted towards normalizing overt propaganda. Films premised on gratuitous violence, Islamophobia, and anti-minority sentiment have become commonplace and are frequently rewarded with commercial success. When one of the industry’s most prominent Muslim voices articulates this discomfort, it is his loyalty that is questioned—regardless of decades of cultural contribution or patriotic acclaim.
