Watching Phule in an Empty Noida Theatre

 Satyajit Ray once remarked in an interview that Indian audiences are still “unsophisticated” and “fairly backward.” Watching the film Phule yesterday, I couldn’t help but be reminded of that observation.

The cinema hall was almost empty. Apart from a handful of people, there was no one else in the evening show. In a way, it felt like a private screening just for me. But the silence in the theatre was less a luxury and more a cause for sadness—sadness for the filmmakers who will likely bear the burden of commercial loss, and sadness for us as a society.

What troubled me more was the deeper question: In 21st-century India, is there truly no audience for a film that tells the story of Mahatma Jyotirao Phule and Savitribai Phule—their vast contributions, struggles, and dreams?

Just a few months ago, a hyper-dramatised, masala-history film about a medieval Hindu king battling a foreign invader shattered box office records. But when a film grounded in real, uncomfortable history releases, why this indifference?

Could it be because Phule doesn’t dramatise religious conflict between Hindus and non-Hindus—but instead, confronts the long-standing oppression within Hindu society itself? Because it portrays the deep-rooted injustice inflicted by the upper castes—especially Brahmins—on those considered “lower” for generations?

If so, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Even before its release, some Brahmin organisations had objected to the film. They claimed it portrayed Brahmins in a negative light. They opposed scenes like the one where a Brahmin boy hurls cow dung at Savitribai Phule. These objections were made, quite clearly, without watching the film. And that’s precisely why I began with Satyajit Ray’s quote.

The question we must ask is: Are we still afraid to face our own history? Back then, the Phule couple were branded “agents of the British.” Today, their story remains silenced or sidelined by those who find it inconvenient.

A short but powerful excerpt in the film, from Mukta Salve’s writing, echoed the spirit of Tagore’s Chandalika—the defiant cry of dignity:

“He who cast me into this darkness of humiliation—

I shall not worship him.

Why offer him flowers?

Why should I offer flowers

To the one who condemned me

To a lifetime of disgrace?”

Not long ago, we marked Mahatma Phule’s birth anniversary. Perhaps it passed unnoticed by many—maybe because there was no holiday attached! But today, when women’s education, Dalit rights, and access to clean water are still burning issues, how can we afford to ignore the Phule’s legacy?

This history may be uncomfortable, but it is far from irrelevant—no matter what our leaders may choose to highlight or omit.

Back in college, I heard a slogan that rings louder in my ears today than ever before:

“On the chest of Brahminism—

BIRSA, PHULE, AMBEDKAR!”