The recent sexual assault allegations against prominent Tollywood choreographer Jani Master have once again exposed the Telugu film industry’s pervasive culture of exploitation. The sexual harassment redressal panel’s swift action coupled with the media’s controversial handling of the survivor’s identity highlights how deeply entrenched these issues remain, despite years of public protests and institutional efforts. This unfolding case serves as a stark reminder of Tollywood’s ongoing systemic challenges.
As the #MeToo movement in Tollywood gained momentum, it became evident that individual protests like Sri Reddy’s were merely the tip of the iceberg. A gradual but determined institutional response followed, culminating in the formation of a high-level committee (HLC) charged with investigating sexual harassment in the Telugu film industry. However, like many endeavours to dismantle deeply entrenched power structures, the committee’s work encountered significant hurdles.
The first part of the series can be read here.
In this next instalment, political researcher and HLC sub-committee member A. Suneetha provides a rare insight into the committee’s uphill struggle against a resistant industry, unveiling both the systemic challenges and the hard-won victories that have largely remained obscured from public view. The conversation has been edited for brevity and clarity.
Can you tell us about the origins of the #MeToo movement in Tollywood and your observations so far?
A. Suneetha: The #MeToo movement in Tollywood was initiated by lesser-known actresses and gained momentum when Sri Reddy protested outside the Movie Artists Association (MAA) office after being denied membership. The film industry operates through various guilds, with MAA being a crucial one. Membership is essential for recognition and opportunities as an actress.
Despite Sri Reddy’s willingness to pay fees, MAA repeatedly denied her membership. During her protest, she highlighted the issue of the “casting couch” or the practice of demanding sexual favours in exchange for roles. Her stand garnered support from several up-and-coming artists in the industry.
Some supporters used stage names, Jyothi and Apoorva, for instance. Apoorva, who was more recognisable, was the first to publicly back Sri Reddy. She emphasised that such exploitation was widespread and systematic. Subsequently, more women, including transgender actresses like Sona Rathod, came forward with their stories.
Women’s groups extended their support to Sri Reddy and others voicing grievances. The women exposed repeated sexual exploitation by ‘coordinators’ – a group of industry recruiters. This exploitation, they revealed, began as early as in dancing and acting schools.
They also described how the situation had deteriorated. What once involved sexual favours for a single recruiter had expanded to a broader network. The women raised numerous other issues as well.
They pointed out biases favouring lighter-skinned actresses and a preference for outsiders over local talent. They also highlighted the lack of basic amenities on film sets such as dressing rooms, bathrooms and proper food. Many reported being treated disrespectfully, given inferior food compared to others and asked to work in degrading conditions.
The most distressing experience they shared was the sexual exploitation and the utter lack of dignity. Dignity emerged as a central theme in their accounts. As women’s activists, when we spoke with these women in depth, we learned about their backgrounds. Many came from disadvantaged castes, particularly backward class and Dalit communities. Some were widows, others were child marriage survivors or had been abandoned, and many had children.
Some were young newcomers to the industry. They were talented, passionate and wanted to pursue their careers. However, they couldn’t endure the recent escalation in sexual exploitation. When the Telugu media picked up the story, several news channels invited these women to speak. Some appeared openly, while others concealed their identities. They even named prominent producers and studios. These interview clips are still available online.
At this juncture, the industry’s response became particularly revealing.
MAA made appalling statements, claiming these women had “morally corrupt character” and didn’t belong in the Telugu film industry. Some, including a well-known left-leaning producer, even likened them to sex workers.
The industry largely failed to support these women, with exceptions like Apoorva. The only established figure who extended some support informally was Jhansi. None of the prominent industry figures – producers, directors, or actors, regardless of gender –stood by them.
Within six months, all these women were effectively pushed out of the industry. The movement began in April 2018, and by June or July, most had left Tollywood entirely. Some started their own businesses like restaurants or salons. Tragically, no one from the industry came forward to support Sri Reddy or the other women who had initially raised the issue of sexual exploitation in Tollywood. And that’s how this movement began.
Could you talk more about Sri Reddy’s initial interview where she talks about ‘commitment’. It seemed she was addressing a breach of trust, akin to an informal contract. Was that her initial grievance?
AS: Yes, ‘commitment’. That’s the term we all learned from her. Initially, she framed it that way – an informal agreement where she had fulfilled her part, but they didn’t follow through. Later, when the interview went viral, she appeared to step back and pose a more profound question: “Why should we even be making these commitments?”
Through this, we gained significant insight into how these ‘commitment contracts’ operated. Many women admitted they wouldn’t object to a one-time intimate encounter if it secured work. For them, it appeared to be a necessary evil. They’d connect with a broker or mediator who would find them jobs. However, what began as a one-off agreement soon escalated.
This ‘commitment’ wasn’t limited to a single film or project– t became a prerequisite for every job. Worse still, it wasn’t confined to one man. That person would extend the commitment to his friends and others in the industry. It evolved into an unspoken condition that kept expanding and involving more people, ultimately becoming a systemic issue.
People will argue that it’s a complex situation, saying that in such a close-knit industry, there might be instances where genuine relationships develop.
AS: Indeed, and sometimes these evolve into longer-term arrangements, perhaps even contractual ones. It often begins with a single agreement.
The industry’s entire structure has transformed. Power dynamics shifted rapidly. As the industry began recruiting more outsiders, opportunities for local women dwindled. Consequently, they were forced into exploitative situations.
This isn’t just about isolated incidents – it’s indicative of a broader, systemic change in the industry. I doubt much has improved even now. The system has simply become more covert. The industry effectively silenced these women, so we no longer hear their stories.
There was only a brief period in 2018, lasting about three or four months, when these women had a platform to speak out. And then it was over.
I recall a press conference where Allu Arvind spoke, and Nagendra Babu commented after Sri Reddy had mentioned Pawan Kalyan. Your assessment was correct, MAA’s reaction was appalling. They even went to the extreme of washing the place with gangajal, claiming it had been “polluted.”
Illustration: Pariplab Chakraborty
But why did this issue vanish so abruptly when the media was intensely focused on it initially?
AS: I believe it’s because of the intimate connections between the Telugu film industry and the media. Many channels are owned by individuals with strong caste and political ties to the industry. I remember that after the backlash, Chiranjeevi made a statement along the lines of, “We need to unite because the film industry is under attack.” He convened a meeting, and they all banded together.
We learned from TV channel insiders, activists who had been invited to discuss the issue, that they were unofficially instructed to cease coverage. The channels were directed to abandon the story and they complied.
It was like an informal gag order.
At Ram Gopal Varma’s suggestion, Sri Reddy used an expletive to describe Kalyan on TV and made an ‘obscene’ gesture. Shortly after, the gag order was implemented. Is that an accurate account of the events?
AS: I can’t recall the precise sequence of events because it was so long ago, but yes, the gag order was indeed issued after Sri Reddy made those remarks about Kalyan. Despite the gag orders and other obstacles, Sri Reddy persevered in her fight. She wanted to maintain her position in the industry and was reluctant to sever all her connections.
However, these efforts proved futile. Her comments about Kalyan and others turned the industry against her. No one publically stood by her even though people privately acknowledged the truth in her statements.
How could a single woman stand up to such a powerful industry? Especially considering she wasn’t an established actress yet. Taking on an industry of that magnitude single-handedly was an insurmountable challenge.
Ultimately, she didn’t succeed. Despite the backing of women’s activists, our influence was largely moral and limited to legal assistance. We did what we could, but our power pales in comparison to that of the film industry.
How does sexual harassment in Tollywood compare to other industries?
AS: Sexual exploitation is deeply rooted in our feudal system. Take agriculture, for instance. Until about 50 years ago, women were systematically exploited. Feudal landlordism thrived on the exploitation of women labourers, a reality we’ve seen depicted in films as well.
But this isn’t confined to one industry, it’s ubiquitous. We’re acutely aware of the exploitation of working-class women. It’s inextricably linked with caste. In our caste system, a woman’s status is determined by her caste. Some women are deemed ‘untouchable’, while others, particularly those working outside the home, are considered ‘touchable’ – which translates to exploitable, available, and viewed as public property.
This is the misogyny we grapple with in India: caste-based and deeply entrenched. Entertainers, dancers, and women in the public eye are automatically perceived as sexually available and exploitable. This perception spans many sectors.
For instance, women working on the street are often mistaken for sex workers even when they’re not. Studies have shown that women in construction are also forced into exploitative relationships. They must constantly negotiate, and when no other work is available, sexual exploitation becomes their only recourse.
In contrast, a few sectors, like software and IT, offer women some level of protection. However, it’s crucial to note that these sectors are predominantly populated by upper-caste women. In the film industry, by comparison, the entire space is culturally viewed as a place where any woman who enters is considered ‘public property’.
This differs markedly from the education sector. I’ve been involved in campaigns against sexual harassment in universities, and after 2012, the University Grants Commission (UGC) established a task force and produced a report called Saksham, which outlines measures for protecting women in colleges and universities.
When the task force visited Hyderabad, we conducted public hearings across four universities, engaging with students, faculty, and staff to understand the issues they faced. We examined instances of sexual harassment, looking at existing protective measures, responsible parties, and whether any action was taken. At least in universities, there’s an acknowledgment that the problem exists, and systems are in place, even if they don’t always function perfectly.
In comparison, the film industry operates more like the construction sector – informal and lacking any formal protections. Despite its high earnings, it’s a highly informal space that lacks the systems and regulations you’d find in more formal industries.
Also read: Malayalam Cinema Is Facing a Reckoning. It May Be Telugu Film Industry’s Turn Next.
What are the key differences between the film industry and other sectors?
AS: The first distinction is that most other workplaces have mechanisms in place. Regardless of how well they function, there’s at least an acknowledgment that sexual harassment is an issue. In the film industry, that acknowledgment is conspicuously absent.
The second distinction is that industries like education and IT have taken steps to address sexual harassment, especially after high-profile incidents like the Delhi gang rape and the Bangalore Uber rape. They’ve implemented security measures, established committees, and introduced gender sensitisation programs.
But the film industry, despite being just as productive and profitable as these other sectors, refuses to take responsibility. Over the past six years, we’ve witnessed a consistent refusal to own up to the issue. The industry is unwilling to implement any systems or be held accountable.
Every time there’s a public movement or issue, like the ongoing protest at R.G. Kar Medical College, some change emerges. But in Tollywood, they won’t even acknowledge the problem, let alone take measures to address it.
This attitude of evading responsibility is reflected in statements by people like Pawan Kalyan and MAA. Why do they feel they can act with such impunity?
AS: Several factors contribute to this. One of the most significant issues is the scarcity of powerful women in the industry, for reasons not yet fully understood. In the past, we had influential figures like Anjali Devi, who owned studios, and Bhanumati, who remained a major figure until her 70s. However, over time, the industry has become almost entirely male-dominated, both behind the scenes and in front of the camera.
On-screen, there’s a dearth of roles portraying strong women.
Many women producers are essentially figureheads or fronts for male family members. Many female producers don’t have full control over their productions. In the entire industry, we may have only a handful of female producers. And where are the women editors or technicians? The Kerala Women in Cinema Collective is headed by Bina Paul, one of the most sought-after editors in the country. But in Tollywood, do we know of a single woman editor?
Even someone like Mohan Babu’s daughter, Lakshmi Manchu, has faced sexual harassment. What does that say about the industry?
AS: It speaks volumes about the industry’s culture, that even someone of Lakshmi Manchu’s stature can’t speak out about it despite all her influence. What kind of industry is this, where no one, regardless of their power, is exempt, yet no one can address it openly?
It’s not just that harassment occurs; it happens everywhere. The real issue is: who’s allowed to talk about it? Who can name names? Who can protest? That’s the crux of the problem in the Telugu film industry. You’re expected to endure in silence, negotiate, settle, reconcile, or compromise but never speak up.
The mere attempt to speak out is why it became such a scandal. When someone dares to break the silence, the industry retaliates with a barrage of insults, labelling them a prostitute, morally corrupt, or claiming they’ve been promiscuous. The moment you speak up, they’ll say anything to discredit you.
In essence, the Telugu film industry operates under a feudal patriarchy—a deeply entrenched system with a veneer of suave liberalism. There are two main types of behaviour. One is the aggressive, entitled kind. Think of it as a ‘grab-everything’ approach. In this case, there’s an expectation that women entering the industry must sexually ‘service’ these men.
Then there are men who employ a subtler strategy. They flirt, compliment and seduce the new entrants. The behaviour we observe ranges from outright entitlement to a more charming approach. This spectrum encompasses the entirety of the situation—nothing more, nothing less.
Illustration: Pariplab Chakraborty
After the media spotlight on Sri Reddy faded, women’s and transgender associations filed a petition in the high court. Can you elaborate on that?
AS: Initially, we attempted to encourage police complaints, but the women were understandably hesitant. Filing a police complaint would have put immense pressure on them, and many had already suffered career and livelihood losses.
Given their reluctance, we needed an alternative path to keep the issue alive. We determined that filing a Public Interest Litigation (PIL) was the most prudent approach. Our goal was to ensure that the issues they’d raised continued to receive attention.
By then we’d established contact with the Women in Cinema Collective (WCC) in Kerala. We were in discussions with them, learning from their experiences. They’d had success with the Hema Committee, which inspired us to push for a similar high-level committee (HLC) to investigate our film industry.
A government-instituted committee would lend formality and credibility to the investigations, ensuring they’d be on official record. It would compel everyone to take the matter seriously. That’s why we advocated for an HLC.
We filed the petition in October 2018, and the case proceeded. Advocate Vasudha Nagaraj presented our arguments, and a group of us – Sandhya, Devi, Sajaya, Satyavati, and I – filed the petition. The government lawyer, however, kept offering excuses, either denying the issue or claiming unavailability.
Fortunately, the chief justice of the high court at that time was proactive. He persistently questioned, “What’s preventing you from instituting an HLC?” Concurrently, many of us associated with Anveshi, where I worked alongside Vasudha and Sajaya, organised a significant conference on #MeToo in the South Indian film industries.
The conference drew WCC members like Bina Paul and Anjali Menon, as well as representatives from the South Indian Film Women’s Association (SIFWA) from the Tamil film industry. Chinmayi also participated. It evolved into an excellent networking platform, uniting people from various regions.
By the first week of April 2019, we learned that the government has issued an order forming an HLC. We learnt that the National Human Right’s Commission’s taking up the issue suo moto pushed the government to take this action.
We reviewed the proposed committee members. As petitioners, we were granted the opportunity to suggest two names ourselves and we made a strategic decision to nominate professor Vasanthi and professor Ramadevi, both accomplished feminists with relevant expertise.
That’s how these two women secured appointments to the committee. They participated in the inaugural meeting of this HLC.
How many members were on the committee?
AS: There were 25 members. It included commissioners from various government departments and notable figures like Tammareddy Bharadwaj, C. Kalyan, Supriya, Jhansi, Preeti Nigam, and Shruti, whom I haven’t met. The Telangana State Film Development Corporation (FDC) was meant to be the anchor. After the GO was issued, the government—either the FDC or another entity—reached out to us. We all met to discuss the committee. We proposed two women to join, and though they were initially hesitant, we assured them, “We’ll support you in every way. Please be part of the committee.”
They agreed and joined. However, at the first meeting, some elders from the film fraternity were already trying to shut down the committee. They essentially said, “What’s there to investigate? We know what needs to be done. We’ll handle the coordinator system, register people, and that’s it. There’s nothing else to look into.”
This dismissal worried us. A committee like this is politically important. It needs to follow proper procedure, have formal documentation, meet multiple times and thoroughly probe the issue. Without that, the problem wouldn’t be properly dealt with.
So, our two nominees proposed a set of Terms of Reference (TOR). They outlined four key areas: sexual harassment mechanisms, gender discrimination in the film and television industries, work conditions and wage agreements. We insisted all these issues needed documentation. But they pushed back, claiming they didn’t have time.
At that point, we, as Telangana Student’s Joint Action Committee (TSJAC), lobbied the women and child welfare commissioner, asking her to suggest forming a sub-committee. She agreed and advocated for it.
Was she also part of the HLC?
AS: Yes, she was. She’s a conscientious officer and belongs to the Dalit community. Her father was the late Bojja Appalaswamy, a well-known Dalit MP. Her older sister, Vijaya Bharti, is a respected Dalit feminist and retired professor.
We approached her, practically pleading, “Please push for the sub-committee.” And she did. They agreed to let the sub-committee handle the proceedings. That’s when we all got involved— Vasudha, Sumitra, Satyavati and I.
From there, we all worked as a team with the other keenly engaged HLC members such as Gangadhar from the labour department, and Anasuya, a DCP from the women’s safety wing and Preeti Nigam. This group was committed to the issue. They were dedicated, attended every meeting, participated fully and followed the procedure.
As a committee, we had limited options for meeting places, so we began engaging with all the craft councils, the producers’ council, and the Telugu Film Chamber of Commerce. We met with every association we could. We were planning to conduct comprehensive field visits…
And then COVID hit.
Were your meetings held in person?
AS: Yes, we met face-to-face at the FDC office. Our meetings occurred every 10-14 days, consistently from July 2019 until March 2020, right until the lockdown.
Did members of the film industry participate in these meetings, like Jhansi or Nandini Reddy?
AS: Preeti Nigam was a regular attendee, showing great commitment. Jhansi attended once or twice before discontinuing her participation. Nandini Reddy wasn’t part of our subcommittee. She was on the HLC, but that group was largely inactive during its two-year existence.
I suspect the HLC either overlooked our subcommittee or perhaps exerted influence behind the scenes. It’s hard to say for certain. They probably viewed us as a harmless group engaged in inconsequential work.
When you mention engaging with the craft councils and producer councils, who specifically were you talking to and were there any women involved in these conversations?
AS: We primarily spoke with the office bearers and any additional representatives they brought along. There were some women present.
Our main interactions were with office bearers, and we asked them to bring any women who were willing to speak. However, our communication was largely bureaucratic, with the FDC acting as an intermediary between us and the associations.
We also allocated time for formal depositions, providing a space for women to come forward and share their experiences. Only two individual depositions were made: one by Sri Reddy and another by one more person.
So, these were the only two direct depositions from actual victims?
AS: There were other women too from the crafts councils who spoke. We continued to encourage more women to come forward. Eventually, we decided it was time to conduct field visits, as we felt we had collected sufficient indirect depositions and needed to engage with more women directly. Unfortunately, the pandemic struck and we lost about a year due to the lockdown.
You mentioned that the committee engaged with various film associations. What was the nature of those engagements, and what did you discover?
AS: We approached each association with a set of targeted questions:
- How many women are members?
- What efforts are being made to increase female representation?
- What working conditions do women face?
- What’s the recruitment process, and what entry barriers exist?
- Do they have mechanisms to address sexual harassment, such as an Internal Complaints Committee (ICC)?
- If so, who are the committee members, and what cases have they handled?
Our findings were concerning. Most associations lacked formal mechanisms to address sexual harassment. The Film Chamber of Commerce claimed to have a committee but couldn’t provide any documentation or evidence of handled complaints when pressed. Some associations acknowledged the existence of sexual harassment but admitted to dealing with it informally, typically at the association level.
Did any of these associations offer suggestions or solutions during these meetings?
AS: Some associations did propose ideas, particularly about increasing women’s participation in the industry. However, many were hesitant to acknowledge the full extent of the problem. We convened approximately 23 times and by the end we had developed a comprehensive set of recommendations. These addressed key issues such as work conditions, recruitment processes, wage agreements and the necessity for formal mechanisms to address sexual harassment.
It seems the committee encountered significant obstacles in encouraging women to come forward. How accessible was the committee to women, particularly given the industry’s informal nature?
AS: We made concerted efforts to reach out to women, inviting them to testify before the committee. However, several factors hindered their participation. The presence of men on the committee and its formal structure deterred some women from feeling comfortable enough to speak out. Moreover, the industry itself was resistant to women voicing their concerns, and many who had spoken up during the initial #MeToo wave faced retaliation. Consequently, finding women willing to share their experiences proved challenging.
This stood in stark contrast to the approach taken by the WCC in Kerala, where their committee fostered a more open and supportive environment, enabling women to feel safer in coming forward. In our case, most women who dared to speak up were stigmatised as sex workers or labelled morally corrupt, effectively silencing others.
That context must have made your work much harder. Did you feel supported by any groups within the industry, like Voices of Women (VoW)?
AS: Unfortunately, no. VoW, a group formed in 2019 within the Telugu film industry, didn’t assist the committee in any formal capacity. While some individual members of the HLC, like Supriya Yarlagadda, did contribute, the group itself didn’t help women come forward.
Given these challenges, how did the committee formulate its recommendations, and how effective do you think they are?
AS: Despite the obstacles, we gathered valuable information from our interactions with associations and the few depositions we received. Our recommendations were comprehensive, focusing on the industry’s broader ecosystem. We addressed entry barriers, work conditions, wage agreements and the creation of formal mechanisms for handling sexual harassment. We also suggested ways to ensure women’s safety on sets and democratise the work environment.
While more direct testimonies from women would have provided additional personal accounts to support our findings, the report still offers concrete recommendations to address the systemic issues in the industry.
What role did the government play in supporting this process?
AS: The government’s involvement was primarily reactive and limited. Following court proceedings and the NHRC intervention, they established the HLC. The FDC assisted us in arranging meetings with various associations. However, the government’s role didn’t extend beyond this administrative support. The industry associations themselves are notably opaque, and while the FDC made efforts to bring stakeholders to the table, there was little proactive government involvement in encouraging more women to come forward with their experiences.
What were some key recommendations made in the report?
AS: Our recommendations were comprehensive, addressing several critical areas. We emphasised increasing women’s representation in the industry, dismantling entry barriers and enhancing overall working conditions. Specifically, we advocated for the establishment of sexual harassment committees and clear complaint resolution processes, while also stressing the importance of employer accountability. We championed the implementation of best practices on film sets to create a safer, more inclusive environment for women.
Moreover, we underscored the need for industry-wide reform. This included proposals for fairer wage agreements and robust mechanisms to prevent exploitation. The report didn’t stop at the film industry. It also offered recommendations for the television sector, particularly focusing on addressing the power imbalances within news channels and entertainment networks.
You mentioned earlier that the government dismissed some recommendations as too difficult to implement. Could you elaborate on that?
AS: Indeed. After submitting our report, a HLC, including the chief secretary, reviewed it. They voiced concerns about its length, detail and the perceived difficulty of implementing certain recommendations. This was particularly frustrating because our proposals were concrete and grounded in the insights we’d gained from our meetings and depositions.
Did the HLC members, especially those from the film industry, engage with the report after its submission?
AS: No, we did not receive any response from most of the HLC members. While some, like Yarlagadda, were engaged during the process to an extent, after we submitted the report, we were met with silence. The industry largely ignored it, and the government showed little willingness to push for implementation.
Given everything you’ve shared, do you believe the recommendations you made are still relevant and implementable?
AS: Absolutely. Our recommendations stemmed from a thorough understanding of the industry’s ecosystem. They tackled a wide range of issues – from entry barriers for women to formal mechanisms for addressing harassment and improving working conditions. These problems persist; they’re as relevant today as they were when we made the report.
If the government or the industry took these recommendations seriously, it could spark genuine change. However, the current power dynamics within the industry present a significant obstacle. There’s staunch resistance to any form of systemic change, particularly when it comes to holding influential individuals accountable.
Were any specific names mentioned in the report regarding harassment or misconduct?
AS: No, we deliberately chose not to name individuals in the report. Although some names arose during our discussions, we maintained a consistent policy of anonymity. The women who came forward had already faced name-calling and ostracism. We didn’t want to exacerbate their situation by including names in the report. It’s a delicate matter, and our focus was on addressing systemic issues rather than singling out individuals.
There’s been significant pressure to “leak” the report. What’s your stance on that?
AS: The media has been pushing hard for the report’s release, but I’m sceptical about its potential impact. The stories are already well-known, especially within the industry. Key figures possess copies of the report but are simply sitting on it. Leaking it won’t drive change unless the government takes up the responsibility to release the report and shows a genuine commitment to tackling the issues we’ve highlighted.
What’s the future of the movement in Tollywood? Is there any hope for change?
AS: Real change will only occur if the industry acknowledges the problem and takes responsibility. At present, they’re doing everything possible to avoid that. HLC was a positive step, but without implementation, it’s merely words on paper. Women in the industry need to feel safe and supported to come forward, which requires a cultural shift within Tollywood.
We’ve seen movements like the WCC in Kerala make a difference because they were open, public and feminist in their approach. If Tollywood witnesses a similar phenomenon, where influential women unite and speak out, there might be hope for meaningful change.
