'I still get groped': Ranjini Haridas on sexism, silence and #MeToo crisis in Kerala film industry

Yes. In the modelling world, in advertising, and especially during inaugurations. I’ve been asked outright if I’m willing to “compromise,” with promises of five times the usual pay. It’s said casually, even professionally. They name famous actresses who supposedly do this. But I love what I do. I’m not in this for the money—I do it because I enjoy the work.

I was shocked. This was someone who knew me—knew I’m vocal, feminist, not someone to mess with. Yet he had the audacity to send me that and ask for my picture. It started as a friendly chat after a flight. Then came the selfie, then the ask. I ignored it. And eventually, I just said, “Wrong window, bro.” But it hit me—if someone like me, known to speak up, is approached like this, imagine the situation for those who can't say no.

Absolutely. Consent is a grey area. You might say yes because you want something—security, work, approval. But that doesn’t make it real consent. The power dynamics make it murky. A yes under pressure isn't a real yes. And this is where the industry will struggle—to separate coercion from consent.

Exactly. People ask why only junior artists are coming forward. But shouldn’t we be asking why the seniors aren’t? A woman being harassed is wrong, no matter her status. The media and public often invalidate survivors by questioning their timing or intent. That’s not just unfair—it’s dangerous.

Sadly, it’s common. I still get groped at public events or inaugurations. It’s disgusting, and it happens to every woman—regardless of status. I remember being around ten or eleven when I was first touched inappropriately by a family friend. I didn’t even talk about it until years later. That trauma never goes away.

Deeply disappointed. Especially because Mammootty is seen as a leader. He could’ve taken a strong stand. Instead, it felt like they were saying: “Don’t tarnish our industry.” But acknowledging problems isn’t tarnishing—it’s healing. They didn’t have to accuse anyone. Just say, “We’re sorry this is happening. Let’s try to fix it.”

Systemic change. Simple things—basic safeguards, better grievance redressals, workplace policies. During COVID, the industry adapted overnight. So why not now? The change has to come from the top—government mandates, followed by real enforcement in the industry. Individuals can’t fix a broken system alone.

Immensely. They’ve shown strength and solidarity. So many of them have lost work because of their activism. But they’ve stood together. That’s what’s powerful—this collective voice. Earlier, you were alone. Now, you have others beside you. That changes everything.

To be honest, like most Malayali women, I’ve been following the Hema Committee report since the beginning. When it was first submitted, I kept wondering—will it even come out? That was the first big question. Because they sat on it for four and a half years. And no one’s asking why. Why not six months ago? Why not when it was submitted? That delay caused more trauma—for the same women, and new victims too. Abuse, discrimination, human rights violations—all of it continued while the report was being ignored. And now, everyone’s suddenly shocked by what’s in it? I don’t get it. This has been the biggest open secret. Anyone in the industry knows. So why the performance? That’s what I found really strange.

I do. Especially seeing younger people today—they’re more aware, more sensitive, more open. Patriarchal attitudes are being challenged. We may not see a full transformation overnight, but the needle is moving. And that gives me