Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has claimed that he is counting on the alleged support of 1.4 billion Indians for its killing of Palestinians, recognised as genocide by the June 23 report of the Justice S. Muralidhar-led United Nations Independent International Commission of Inquiry on the Occupied Palestinian Territory, including East Jerusalem and Israel.

“India has 1.4 billion people, and boy, do we have tremendous support there,” Netanyahu said last week on Fox News, responding to a statement made by United States Vice President J.D. Vance at a White House press briefing on June 18. Vance had cautioned Netanyahu against antagonising the US, its “only powerful ally” in the world. Amused to hear this, Netanyahu said that his Facebook account is flooded with messages from Indians who stand with Israel.

Given India’s deepening military and economic ties with Israel, the abundance of pro-Israel sentiment is undeniable. However, there are voices of dissent too, both online and offline.

Among these is 28-year-old filmmaker Anuparna Roy, who grew up in the Purulia district of West Bengal and now lives in Mumbai. Songs of Forgotten Trees, the 71-minute feature film that she wrote and directed, was screened at the third edition of Parda Faash, a festival of South Asian films, hosted by the Asia Society India Centre at The Pavilion, Mumbai, on July 4.

It revolves around the relationship between Thooya (Naaz Shaikh), an aspiring actor who makes her living from sex work, and her housemate Shweta (Sumi Baghel), who is a sales executive. Their grief and search for love, their friendship and differences, form the substance of the film.

Roy made history last year when she became the first Indian to have won the Best Director award in the Orizzonti section of the 82nd Venice International Film Festival for Songs of Forgotten Trees. Her acceptance speech went viral because she used the international platform not merely to promote her film or advance her career but to affirm that filmmakers can make a difference through the politics they espouse, and not only through the stories they tell on screen.

Struggling to hold back her tears at the award ceremony, Roy said, “Every child deserves peace, freedom, liberation; and Palestine is no exception. It's a responsibility to think for a moment, and to stand beside Palestine. I might upset my country but it doesn't matter to me any more.”

In this interview, she talks about the film, why she spoke up, the backlash, and her determination to continue making people uncomfortable through her cinema and her political convictions.

Shweta dislikes the fact that Thooya is involved in sex work but Thooya points out that marriage can feel similar when a wife is expected to have sex as a duty. This might seem startling at first but it makes sense because marital rape is not considered a crime under Indian law. What was your thought process behind comparing marriage to sex work?

The whole film talks about the sexual detachment that women develop out of exhaustion or the lack of response from men who want physical intimacy but are emotionally absent. I have experienced this in my relationship with a man, and I know that this is the reality for a lot of other women too. For any creative person, their own life is a source of stories.

People find my film relatable because it comes from a place of truth. In the case of a married woman, there is no way out unless she has the guts to end her marriage and leave her husband. For many heterosexual women, sex is an obligation that they have to fulfil. It is sad and painful but they do it because society expects it. This is something we really need to talk more about.

In your film, Nitin’s unnamed wife, played by Lovely Singh, finds an unusual way out. She is eager to outsource the so-called duty to have sex, so she is in search of a woman she can hire to sleep with Nitin and satisfy him. How did you end up creating this sub-plot?

I thought this would be something new because there are so many films where men hire somebody to sleep with them. I also wanted to show another layer of patriarchy. This woman wants to get rid of her husband but she does not mind putting another woman in that position.

Is this an extension of hiring someone to cook and clean so that one is free to pursue professional aspirations, and not get tied down to traditional expectations made of wives?

Yes, you could see it that way. Nitin’s wife acknowledges that sex work is work, and she is willing to pay for it. If she can find someone to do what is expected of her, she can be free.

Shweta equates sex work with therapy, recognising both as services that people offer and get paid for. She pushes viewers to think about what Thooya’s bedroom – where clients reveal their hidden desires – has in common with a therapeutic setting where a mental health professional gets clients to talk about their inner lives. I cannot think of any other Indian film where a sex worker goes to a therapist. What made you write this?

I love your questions. Yes, Thooya is a sex worker, and she is also a wannabe actress with a lot of daddy issues. Even after she moves from her village to a big city, she keeps thinking about how badly her father treated her mother. The loss of her childhood friend, Jhuma, refuses to leave her, and that separation again is something that her father was responsible for. Showing Thooya as someone who speaks to a therapist was not unusual for me because she is a modern, educated woman with a lot of sugar daddies. She feels dry from within, so she needs a therapist.

The film approaches this dryness in a literal sense and as a metaphor. The therapist is concerned, and wants Thooya to get a medical diagnosis. But Thooya denies her the sense of scientific certainty that comes from a diagnostic label. The viewer is never told if the dryness is related to anxiety, vaginitis, fibroids, lupus, endometriosis, cancer, or anything else. Thooya seems to have accepted this dryness as an existential condition. Any thoughts?

(Laughs) The dryness is from patriarchy. Water, for me, is a metaphor for connection, memory and freedom. Even in my short film Run to the River (2023), water plays an important role. It is about a girl’s lifelong desire to see a river. I made it because my maternal grandmother, my nani, who was a privileged woman in other ways, never had the privilege to see a river.

Also read: Love, Longing and the City: Songs of Forgotten Trees

There is a memorable scene in Songs of Forgotten Trees, where Shweta takes on the role of Jhuma, and this creates an opportunity for Thooya to talk about her deepest feelings. Thooya says that, if she had been a boy, she would have liked to marry Jhuma. Water is an important presence in this scene. Thooya is washing clothes while speaking to Shweta, who is impersonating Jhuma. Were you poking fun at the cliche of washing one’s dirty linen?

When I was making this film, a lot of people wanted me to show some skin. I didn’t think that was important. I wanted to show awkwardness. When people love each other, their relationship is not only about lovemaking. I wanted to show care, difference of opinion, and vulnerability. My films come from what I have experienced. I cannot write what I don’t know.

Your film has been widely read as a lesbian romance though your publicity material does not pitch it using that lens. What do you make of how viewers are interpreting it?

Yes, I wanted to show women who love each other but I wanted my characters to breathe. I was not in a hurry to give them either a happy or a sad ending. I hope that comes through. I wanted to show complexity and confusion, and questioning, and a sense of wonder. I could not show what I had not experienced. If there is a sequel, Thooya and Shweta’s relationship might take a different turn. What I experience will reflect in my films. But you can be sure that I will never make a horror film because I have not seen a ghost. (laughs)

In another scene, Shweta helps Thooya shoot an audition video for a role. The character that Thooya is playing says, “When fields, homes and hungry bellies are burning, your poems seem so meaningless.” Is this your critique of people who make art for art’s sake?

Once, my friend, who is an actress, was auditioning for a role. And I was helping her with that. The scene you are talking about is based on that experience. I was reading historian Joya Chatterji’s books Bengal Divided and The Spoils of Partition, and Shadows at Noon, so I thought that Thooya could play a character who is a sex worker during the Indian freedom struggle. When a man comes to her, and starts reciting poetry to get her in the mood, she says, “When fields, homes and hungry bellies are burning, your poems seem so meaningless.”

Bengalis love talking about Rabindranath Tagore, so they might hate me for saying this but I was a bit offended when I realised that he was writing romantic poetry when people were fighting against colonial rule. Perhaps my reading and understanding of Tagore is limited but this is my opinion. Art cannot be about vanity. It has to be real. It has to tell the truth about the present.

That line reminds me of Marwan Makhoul’s poem. He is half-Palestinian and half-Lebanese. This is Raphael Cohen’s English translation of the Arabic original: “In order for me to write poetry that isn’t political/ I must listen to the birds/ and in order to hear the birds/ the warplanes must be silent.” How does this resonate with you?

Wow, this is powerful! It reminds us that artists cannot be silent when there is injustice. We have a responsibility to speak, and to make people see what they are trying to avoid or look away from. Of course, it is nice to look at things that are beautiful but we must also dare to see what is unpleasant and horrible. I never went to a film school but my mentors have taught me that films are not only for entertainment. We have to talk about the world that we live in.

What gave you the courage to speak about Palestine at the Venice International Film Festival? Susan Sarandon was dropped by her talent agency, and from major projects, while Javier Bardem was blacklisted by studios and lost roles for being articulate about their solidarity with Palestine. Were you afraid of professional repercussions?

I spoke about Palestine even when I was in Russia back in 2023. When I got the opportunity to speak at Venice in 2025, I did it again. Some people thought I was cool. Others thought I was stupid. How I am perceived does not matter. The point is to do the right thing.

I was terribly scared, so I discussed it with my mentor, Anurag Kashyap. Sir said, “No beta, mat kar (No, child, don’t do it). You know the consequences.” He was guiding me like a father. He was worried for my safety. I respect him but I was upset. I was very emotional. I knew that I would feel guilty if I didn’t speak up. How the hell would I live with myself? I cannot call myself an artist if I care only about my film. I will speak about Palestine, Manipur and Gujarat.

How did you deal with the backlash that you got after your speech in Venice?

I received a lot of threats, and my parents were harassed because of my comments. People went and told them, “Your daughter has become a leftist.” This is ridiculous. I do not have the luxury to be a leftist or rightist or centrist. I am struggling with my gender, man! These political categories and identities are created by men. Let them keep these for themselves.

People sitting in Kolkata think that they can speak for the rest of the world when they haven’t even bothered to go to Purulia or Medinipur or Malda. And those who idolise Bengal have nothing to talk about other than Tagore, aloo posto and maachher jhol! Nostalgia and fake patriotism will get us nowhere. We need to wake up, and talk about stuff that matters.

In 2025, an Indian film industry delegation went to Israel to explore collaborations. In 2018, Mumbai had a Shalom Bollywood event where Amitabh Bachchan, Karan Johar, Imtiaz Ali, Aishwarya Rai and others posed for a selfie with Prime Minister Netanyahu. Israel offers financial incentives for Indian filmmakers who want to shoot in occupied Palestine. What are your thoughts on the Film Workers for Palestine movement that has signatories refusing to screen films in Israel and work with Israeli film institutions?

I didn’t know about these details. Why are people doing this? For a few pennies? I was invited to the Cinema South Festival (CSF) in Israel but I refused to go. It doesn’t matter how much they are willing to pay. This is about principles. Artists must take a stand. I am not saying that all Israelis must be banned. Of course, not! There are people in Israel who have empathy for Palestinians, and they are extending their support. Israeli soldiers are spreading terror.

What are you working on?

It is a film called Lovers in the Blue Night. We completed the shooting recently, and I hope to have the trailer out soon. It is about the lives of marginalised people. There are references to the Gujarat riots of 2002. I don’t know how much my producer will let me retain in the final cut.

People are putting out some really good work like Nidhi Saxena’s Secret of a Mountain Serpent, Tribeny Rai’s Shape of Momo, Rohan Kanawade’s Sabar Bonda, and Shaunak Sen’s All That Breathes. But this is a very difficult time for independent cinema. When a film with a Kumar or a Khan comes up, indie films are just thrown out. The future looks uncertain, but we cannot stop fighting.

Chintan Girish Modi is a writer with a background in peacebuilding. He has worked with Insaaniyat, the Kabir Project, the UNESCO Mahatma Gandhi Institute of Education for Peace and Sustainable Development, the Prajnya Trust, the HRI Institute for Southasian Research and Exchange, and Women in Security, Conflict Management and Peace.

Note: Roy's age has been corrected in the article.

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