For seven months, I tried to ignore him, repeatedly telling him I felt uncomfortable and didn’t appreciate his inappropriate remarks. He bullied me daily, criticizing my clothes, mocking my language, and publicly humiliating me, only to apologize privately as if that excused his behavior.
MUMBAI, India — For many aspiring actors in India, including myself, breaking into the entertainment industry presented a journey fueled by hope and ambition. Television served as a launchpad for potential stardom. Yet, the promises of fame and opportunity often come with harsh realities, especially for women.
Behind the scenes, I encountered a culture where manipulation, unrealistic expectations, and even harassment became common. They often disguised these tactics as “character building” or “toughening up.” The industry’s male-dominated power structure fostered an environment where women like me became undervalued, pressured to conform, and at times outright exploited. My experience revealed a stark contrast to the glamorous façade shown to the public.
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When I first started in television, I felt captivated by the lights, scripts, sets, and the thrill of performing on camera. Landing my first major role felt like validation for all my sacrifices and the dream I tirelessly pursued since childhood. Yet my dream quickly shifted into a nightmare as those I admired became barriers to my safety and dignity. In an industry where male producers, directors, and financiers hold the reins, an unspoken rule exists. It asserts that female actors must submit, follow cues, and meet demands without complaint.
“That is the nature of the business,” people would say, and over time, the weight of those words settled heavily upon me. At first, the mental abuse seemed subtle, almost imperceptible. Directors commented on my appearance. They said, “Lose a few kilos. You look too heavy on screen,” or “Could you be less intense? Smile more. Talk less.” When I did not immediately conform, their frustration felt palpable.
Many in the industry told me to “toughen up” and “get used to it” because “that is just how things work here.” Over time, these critiques chipped away at my self-esteem. I remember standing in front of a mirror, scrutinizing myself, wondering why I could not just be better. I wanted to please everyone including directors, producers, and fellow actors. Yet, no matter what I did, they always made me feel like I was too much or not enough.
Coming from a small town with strong values made it hard for me to compromise or consent to things that felt wrong. The pressure followed me beyond the set. Social media became another means of control. Those in charge expected me to uphold a specific image matching my role. Whenever I strayed, they called me in and reminded me of what the public wanted from me.
My opinions and my autonomy did not matter. I felt like a product, endlessly molded to fit others’ expectations. Still, nothing prepared me for what followed. The show I was in took a turn when a new actor joined the cast, who was simply nasty. He made inappropriate remarks, asked personal questions, and even hinted someone might force me to “hook up” with him. No woman should have to endure this at work or anywhere else. Things quickly became tense between us.
They cast him as one of the protagonists, while I played a character older than my age. Just days after he arrived on set, he began making uncomfortable comments. During night shoots, he offered to drive me home, adding that it was “my choice.” Without a car, I usually relied on public transport, covering my face to avoid recognition. His bullying persisted for months. Initially, he asked invasive questions like do you have a boyfriend or are you intimate with anyone. When he learned I was single and inexperienced, his comments became disturbingly blunt. “If you do not do it, someone will force it,” he said.
This mindset is, sadly, all too familiar. In our society, people expect girls to remain virgins until marriage, yet the same “modern” society scrutinizes her if she has not been with anyone. People question women and label us “narrow-minded” or “rigid.” It becomes an impossible standard that reduces our identity to speculation and judgment. As his intrusive comments and questions continued, I reported it to the production team and the director. Yet, nothing changed. As a newcomer myself, facing a well-known star brought to the show on the channel’s recommendation, no one wanted to challenge him.
For seven months, I tried to ignore this man. I repeatedly told him I felt uncomfortable and did not appreciate his inappropriate remarks. He bullied me daily, criticizing my clothes, mocking my language, and publicly humiliating me. Yet, he apologized privately as if that excused his behavior. One especially busy day on set, after hours of shooting, we shot a late-night scene together. Suddenly, he screamed at me in front of the entire crew. Grabbing my hand, he said, “If you do not do it willingly, someone may rape you.” His words shocked me, but I knew any reaction might only escalate the situation.
Later, we filmed on a staircase with the director nearby. He called me up the stairs, and I hesitated until the director urged, “Come, we need to discuss work.” Reluctantly, I went because the director asked, not him. Other actors and the technical team stood around as I positioned myself two steps below him, fully aware of his tendency for inappropriate comments. In front of everyone, he asked, “Have you done something that we do after marriage?” This was a direct, intrusive question about my personal life. I answered, “No,” and started to step away. Immediately he added, “Do it, before someone rapes you.”
I froze, stunned and angry, but held back any reaction. We worked without days off, so I could not report it immediately. When I finally had a break, I went straight to the production team and recounted the entire event. For the first time, I clearly saw the industry’s power dynamics. I was no longer just an actor but a pawn in a system where people treated me however they wanted, without consequence. The production team took no meaningful action, merely arranging for us not to shoot together, using body doubles for scenes that required both of us.
After about seven months, some cast members attempted to mediate, hoping to reconcile us. We both agreed, and I felt relieved, believing things might finally improve on set. However, my hope quickly faded. One evening, after we wrapped up filming, I walked to the main road to catch a taxi when he offered to drop me off. I accepted, especially since we recently resolved our issues. During the drive, his mother called. A wonderful woman, she invited me to dinner. Feeling unable to decline, I joined them, had dinner, and spoke with his mother.
I knew that declining might make others view me as arrogant, given the recent reconciliation. The next day on set, people’s behavior felt noticeably different, as if silently telling me I had been naive. I did not understand why until a production crew member made a snide remark, suggesting I staged the situation to get closer to the actor. I felt bewildered, trying to make sense of it. Later, a co-actor pulled me aside and explained that the actor told everyone from the production team to the spot boys that I went to his house willingly, seeking a casual fling.
Stunned and speechless, I feared the worst. If this leaked to the media, my career could end. My parents would demand I leave Mumbai and come home, and I would lose all I had worked for. When I confronted him, he erupted with his usual loud, intimidating voice. He mocked me as a “small-town girl” who did not belong in the industry. After that shoot, I went home and cried, feeling defeated. He berated me in front of everyone, and no one intervened.
A crew member reported the incident to the channel, and within four days, the team abruptly wrote my character out of the show. No explanation came, but I understood it was punishment for not complying with his expectations. After leaving, my life shifted drastically. Mentally and emotionally drained, I waited for new projects, as the show consumed all my time. I lived in disbelief. A year later, I felt thrilled by an offer for a new television show. I auditioned, signed contracts, and everything seemed set. Then, two days before shooting, they told me I had been replaced without explanation.
Heartbroken, I could not take legal action despite the signed contract. I knew many actors faced similar injustices. My name had already been announced for the role, yet they excluded me anyway. Two months later, I learned that the new show’s producer was friends with the actor I had clashed with before. Apparently, he did not want me working, so they dropped me last minute. It did not surprise me; this male-dominated industry remains unforgiving. Many female actors endure abuse and harassment, treated as objects rather than professionals.
Despite talk of women’s empowerment, the reality remains starkly different. This is still a man’s world. Ironically, after they cut out my character the show itself ended within a few months. The same actor later joined a reality show isolating celebrities from the outside world. During his time there, a journalist reached out, asking for my opinion on his performance. I replied, “He is performing well, especially since he is just being himself—arrogant, abusive, and disrespectful to women.” He was merely showing his true nature on screen.
The media blew my remark out of proportion, and soon every media outlet covered the story. Once again, I found myself thrust into the spotlight. Once again, I bore the brunt of the backlash. Fans who once loved me for my character began trolling me online, labeling me a “bad woman” or someone who “desired the actor but could not get him.” The controversy affected not only me but my family as well. Journalists called my relatives for comments, and my phone rang continuously. Even now, three years later, I avoid unknown calls, fearing it is either a journalist or someone calling to harass me.
I still have not fully recovered from these experiences. I struggled immensely with both my mental and physical health and now take medication. My self-image took a hit also. I no longer see myself as beautiful. Sleepless nights fill with thoughts of what happened and why everyone ignored my voice. I constantly question whether refusing to compromise with the actor was worth losing my career, wondering if I made the right choice.
As I work on regaining my health, I found some solace in producing television shows. It feels like a step forward, allowing me to focus on rebuilding myself mentally and physically, hopefully preparing to step back onto the screen one day. Producing helps me re-establish control over my life, a small but important piece of myself I am determined to reclaim.