I still remember the first time I met Swara Bhasker for an interview at her residence, nestled amid luxuriant flora, at the Jawaharlal Nehru University all those years ago. It was just before her debut film, Madholal Keep Walkingfound its quiet way to theatres in 2010. I could hear the birdsong in the background. It was also the first time I had the privilege to say hello to her father, Commodore Uday Bhaskar (who sat in the living room with his poised demeanour) and her mother Ira Bhaskar (who taught cinema studies at the School of Arts and Aesthetics then); it was from their protective warmth that Swara had dared to foray into the ‘big bad world’ (as it has wrongly been described for decades) of Bollywood.
We sat in the lawn, and the gathering clouds seemed to echo the building anticipation around the interview. I was struck by her spunkiness. She was disarmingly candid, and spoke eloquently, oozing out the uncontainable energy of someone who truly believed in the magic of movies, who believed in her own dreams, and perhaps, naively, in the fundamental decency of people. The unjaded hope of someone who was raring to go, taste stardom, was unmistakable in almost everything she said. We spoke about the kind of films she wanted to do, the roles she wanted to play.
She would laugh — a real, full-throated, soul-spilling laugh — and it lit up everything around her. Swara back then was a bundle of idealism and stubborn hope, someone who genuinely thought the world could change for the better — one meaningful film, one nuanced performance, one brave conversation at a time. She thought art could heal. She thought, with all the faith of someone who hadn’t yet felt the world’s cruelty, that her roles could mean something, that her voice could shift the needle, just a little.
The innocence that got taken
Those days feel like a different era now. The Swara I happened to know then was vulnerable in a way that only someone untouched by the world’s harshness could be. She wore her heart on her sleeve, never once imagining that someday, that same heart would become a bull’s eye for the ugliest kind of hate. I’ve watched that unguarded innocence get chipped away over the years. I’ve seen her grow into someone who carries a shield around her heart, someone who still stands tall but who does everything with the hesitancy of someone who knows it might be twisted into a weapon against her. It’s one of the quiet tragedies of knowing her: to witness how the weight of a country’s collective judgment can turn a carefree girl into some kind of a cautious warrior.
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When Swara fell in love with Fahad Ahmad, all hell broke loose. The right-wing trolls were after her life for long — no prizes for guessing why — but this infuriated them even more and they started attacking her personally — left, right and centre. At a time when terms like ‘love jihad’ and ‘back home seemed to ricochet off the newsscape, amplified by the Noida-based channels eager to pull out all stops to extend overt support the saffron party and its Supreme Leader, her choice of life partner was seen as a political act — an act of defiance.
Her wedding was treated like a national scandal. Every photo was closely scrutinised, every gesture was misinterpreted, and discussed threadbare. In a recent photo that has given the right-wing a chance to launch a vicious campaign against her, she sports a shalwar kameezstanding next to All India Muslim Personal Law Board spokesperson Maulana Sajjad Nomani, whom she and Fahad (a leader of Sharad Pawar-led NCP faction, who is contesting from Anushakti Nagar constituency) met ahead of Maharashtra Assembly elections to seek support. Nomani has made contentious statements about women’s freedoms, and the trolls used this to question her commitment to progressive ideals.
While her decision to meet is part of the political calculation with an aim to get votes for Fahard, meeting or engaging in dialogue, even with those holding differing views, should not be seen as ‘hypocrisy’ but a mark of an activist’s democratic spirit — an effort to bridge divides, not enforce binaries. The picture has become a flashpoint, an invitation for absolute strangers to debate her very right to exist the way she does. Imagine that for a moment. The dress you wear, the family you marry into, the love you share — all of it dissected, judged, condemned. The Swara I knew didn’t deserve this. But the world has a way of punishing women who refuse to fit into the boxes built for them. Especially a woman who dares to speak, to love on her terms, to live her truth.
That photo, being circulated on social media, often laced with dollops of vitriol, is such a cruel symbol of everything wrong with India in 2024. Her detractors have used her attire to shame her, to erase her as a woman, to paint her as a caricature of a woman who’s “lost” herself. But they don’t know Swara. They don’t know that she can wear a sari or a dress, a shalwar kameez or a pair of jeans, and still be entirely, unapologetically herself.
The Swara I know never abandoned who she was. She adapted, she learned to defend herself, but deep within her, she’s still that girl who once believed in the power of cinema, who believed she could change the world. And maybe, in a way, she has. Because every time she stands up for what she believes in, she inspires a new generation to be brave, to be defiant, to never stop hoping.
Fighting battles she never asked for
A lot of water has flown under the bridge since we first met. The last time I saw her in person was at a FICCI conclave on cinema when I was in conversation with her. Today, Swara Bhasker is a name you could love or hate, but can’t ignore. She has delivered unforgettable performances in films like Raanjhanaa, Nil Battey Silenceand Tanu Weds Manu. She is, inarguably, one of the few voices in the industry willing to speak out against injustice, oppression, and the normalisation of hate.
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It’s the peril of fame, a downside of being a celebrity. When your life is in the public domain, every Tom, Dick and Harry feels he has the right to comment on everything you do. Swara’s life is no stranger to this. She has been fighting a war she never enlisted in but fights with courage that breaks my heart to witness. The trolls never stop. They mock her appearance, her marriage, even her motherhood. They also body-shamed her over the inevitable weight gain during pregnancy. A new mother is supposed to be in a bubble of bliss, focused on the wonder of a tiny human she’s brought into the world. But Swara, even as she cradles her newborn Raabiyaa Rama Ahmad, has to steel herself against a world ready to tarnish even this purest of joys.
When she was born, people picked apart the baby’s name, and of course her husband’s religion, and spun narratives so drenched in malice, so savage in spite that I can’t help but feel a lump in my throat when I think about what she has to endure, day in and day out. This woman, who once dreamed so freely, who wanted only to bring beauty into the world, now carries the bruises of a nation that won’t leave her alone, let her rest, and respect her privacy.
The cost of being unbreakable
I can’t imagine the strength it must take to become a mother in the middle of a storm like this. To look down at your baby girl and know that there are people out there who would taint even this joy with their ugliness. But Swara, true to form, has embraced motherhood with the same fierce love she brings to everything she does. I can see how motherhood has softened her even as it has steeled her for the battles ahead.
It’s easy to forget, when we see Swara being fearless on social media or making impassioned speeches (as she did during the campaigns for her husband) and that there is a cost to being this strong. That every battle leaves scars, that every act of defiance impinges on her spirit, even if she never lets it show. She carries the burden of every insult hurled at her, of every hate-filled message she receives, and she still refuses to back down. Swara’s strength is awe-inspiring, but it’s a strength forged from pain, and that knowledge is what makes it so unbearably heartbreaking.
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The Swara I see now is still brave, still relentless. Perhaps, in private moments, when it’s just them and the noise of the world fades away, Swara feels like letting her guard down. And talking about the exhaustion, about the days when she feels she can’t keep fighting, when the heaviness of it all makes her want to stop, escape. But the Swara I know would, without fail, straighten her back, and step back into the fray. Because even when the world has given her every reason to stop believing in goodness, she keeps trying to make things better — for herself, for her family, for all of us, for the kind of India she grew up in.
Why we should all care
It’s equally easy to brush off Swara as just ‘another loud voice’ who has gone from being ‘prim and propah’ to being ‘plump’ after marrying into the family of an ‘Abdul’ or as ‘politically ambitious, trying to stay relevant by jumping from one controversy to another’. But to do so is to forego humanity. She’s a daughter, a wife, a mother, and a friend. She’s someone who deserves to feel safe in her own country, someone who should be celebrated for her courage, not vilified for her choices. I know her strength isn’t infinite. I know there are days she wishes she could retreat, could go back to being that carefree girl who once believed the world was kinder. But Swara doesn’t have the luxury of retreat. She stands on the front lines, not because she wants to, but because she knows she must.
So, the next time you see a hateful comment or a cruel meme about her, remember this: Swara Bhasker is fighting battles most of us can’t even fathom, and she’s doing it with grace and love. She may have lost some of her innocence, but she has never lost her heart. And while the right-wing army seems determined to break her, she remains and will remain, unbroken. The right-wing trolls can diss or dismiss her all they want, but Swara Bhasker is not the one to be cowed down.
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