Shweta Tripathi was last seen on the big screen in the award-winning Masaan (2015). She is now ready with Haraamkhor, directed by Shlok Sharma. In fact, it is the first film she signed and filmed as an actor and it was completed in 2013; Masaan came her way much later. Haraamkhor has taken a long route to the theatres, including a Censor Board rebuff in 2016 that was overturned by the FCAT (Film Certification Appellate Tribunal).
This is Tripathi’s second outing with Sharma, having played the role of the young, tormented protagonist (Huma Qureshi played the older character) in his acclaimed short film Sujata (2013). She was offered the role of Sandhya in Haraamkhor on her first day on the sets of Sujata. The story of a young girl, who falls in love with her teacher, caught her fancy. And we caught up with her for a quick chat before the film releases this Friday. Excerpts:
How did you get into films?
How did you get into the mind of a 14-year-old?
I was 26 when I played the role of Sandhya in Haraamkhor. At first, I was often stumped, unable to understand why the character would behave as she did. When you’re 14, and in love for the first time, or infatuated, there’s no logic or practicality to it. You don’t think about the guy’s background or his salary or how you’ll make it happen. I had to look at the role from the viewpoint of Sandhya.
In this case the guy is her teacher.
She comes from a disturbed family. Her mother has left her. She feels neglected and is drawn to the teacher, who is probably the only role model in her life. But although she knows he’s married — “Woh koi doodh ki dhuli nahi hai” — it’s not really a case of going for forbidden fruit. Not in this film, at least. She probably admires him and feels the need to be close to him.
How did you connect to the character?
I could not relate to the film, and I enjoyed the challenge. I’ve had a stable upbringing. My father was in the IAS; my mother’s a teacher. I’m from a very different background. I’ve studied at DPS RK Puram in Delhi where the norm is to, say, shorten one’s skirt by an inch, or turn up one’s sleeves, and leave the hair untied. My family was always very supportive of me. I was never told what to wear, what to do,
what to be. In the film, Sandhya wears frocks at home, lives in a village,
is in a completely different environment.
And once you’d connected?
Somehow, I could not disconnect from the film after [I had] connected [with it]. For a week or so I had regular nightmares. It was very uncanny. If I slept on my left side, I’d dream of the two kids. On my right, I’d dream of Nawaz (in Shyam’s role), just walking towards me. This persisted for a while, before I decided to go spend some time at a friend’s house. That helped drive away the nightmares. I had been warned by Shlok [Sharma] that it would be a difficult role; but I never realised the extent to which it took a toll on me.
You’ve mostly done these intense character-driven roles. Is that by design or choice?
I would really love to do, say, a Romeo and Juliet. But I think I’m partial to roles that are unusual, written well, in which I have a strong part. Some of it is chance. For instance, one of the first successful plays that I did under my theatre group — All My Tea — was called Cock, a British play about a gay man who falls in love with a woman. We closed the Prithvi Theatre Festival with the play after struggling for three years to get into the theatre circuit through Thespo, an annual one-act play festival for those under 25.
Some of it has to do with the fact that I never stressed out about having to make it in the industry. I knew I could go back and do something else if this didn’t work out. I’m a certified scuba diver, so I’d love to teach that. Or perhaps even be a psychologist.
What kind of films excite you?
I love shooting scenes that are not my stories, and different from the staid life I’ve grown up in. I want to make people cry. I want to kill people on screen. I want to make statements. I don’t want to be a prop, I don’t want to be saved,
I don’t want to do item numbers or roles that don’t respect the character. I want to do action films and I want to save people. Why can’t someone write a Raman Raghav 2.0 for a woman?