An Open Letter to Prithviraj Sukumaran

Dear Sir,

I write to you not with anger, but with deep concern — and hope. Hope that this message reaches your heart, not just your eyes. Hope that beyond the glamor of cinema and the roar of applause, you hear the quiet voices of people like me — ordinary citizens, with simple lives, who are affected in real and lasting ways by the stories you choose to tell.

I’m a proud Hindu. I’m a proud Indian. I believe in unity, harmony, and the shared values that hold our diverse society together. I don’t object to you portraying a Muslim hero, or someone of any other religion for that matter. Faith, in its truest sense, should never divide us. It should inspire compassion, courage, and community. And cinema, at its best, should uplift these ideals.

But Sir, cinema is not just entertainment. It’s not just fiction. It’s a reflection of our society, and more importantly, a powerful shaper of it. It plants ideas. It reinforces beliefs. It fuels emotions. That’s why I’m writing to you — because when filmmakers, especially those as influential as you, choose narratives that risk deepening communal divisions, the consequences don’t remain on the screen. They spill into our streets. Into our neighborhoods. Into our lives.

You are privileged in many ways — with wealth, a powerful voice, global reach, and a secure, loving family. If unrest were to erupt tomorrow because of something sparked by your film, you and your family would be safe. You could move abroad, enjoy the protection your status and resources provide. But we, the common people of Kerala and elsewhere, don’t have such luxuries. We live on the ground. We walk those streets. We send our children to schools that may suddenly feel unsafe. We share buses, markets, temples, and mosques. And if things go wrong, we can’t escape.

When art is used to provoke or misrepresent, to reignite old wounds or push subtle narratives of suspicion and “us vs. them,” it slowly corrodes the fragile harmony we’ve spent generations building. I say this not as a critic of your craft — because I respect your talent deeply — but as someone who sees how deeply your work impacts real lives.

In Kerala, we have always prided ourselves on communal harmony. We live together — Hindus, Muslims, Christians, and others — sharing festivals, food, and friendships. But this balance is delicate. It doesn’t take much to tilt it. A powerful story that plants mistrust in the minds of one community about another — even subtly — can unravel years of trust.

Sir, I don’t deny your right to artistic freedom. That is sacred. But freedom without responsibility can be dangerous. You may not intend harm. But intention doesn’t shield people from the effects. In today’s world, where misinformation spreads fast and biases grow stronger, your influence — your voice — matters more than ever.

I fear for my family. I fear for our children, who are growing up in a world that is becoming more polarized, more divided. We teach them to love, to be kind, to respect all faiths — and then they are exposed to content that tells a different story, one of division, mistrust, and subtle fear. How do we explain this to them? How do we protect their innocence, their belief in goodness?

We have always looked up to artists, filmmakers, and storytellers to be the conscience of society — to challenge injustice, yes, but also to promote understanding. To heal, not to hurt. To show us what’s possible when we rise above our differences. That’s the true power of your platform.

If I sound emotional, it’s because I am. This is not just about a film. It’s about our lives. It’s about the people we love and the communities we care for. When you wrap a story and move on to your next project, we continue to live with the impact of what you’ve created. We carry the weight.

I urge you to reflect. Not because I wish to restrict your creativity, but because I believe you are capable of so much more. I believe you can tell stories that inspire, that challenge stereotypes instead of reinforcing them, that bring people together in empathy, rather than push them apart with fear.

You have the power to change narratives. To show the world that our diversity is our strength, not our weakness. That a Hindu and a Muslim can be brothers, that a story can celebrate faith without demonizing another, that true courage lies in compassion. These are not fantasies — they are truths waiting to be told with the beauty only cinema can deliver.

Sir, we are not asking for censorship. We are not trying to silence you. We are simply pleading with you — as fellow human beings, as citizens of the same country, as people who once idolized you — to think before you create. To feel what we feel. To remember that every frame you direct shapes someone’s view of the world.

We still believe in you. We still want to support you. But we also want to feel safe. We want to be able to enjoy cinema without fear, without conflict, without having to wonder if we’ll be the ones paying the price for a story we didn’t ask for.

Please, choose empathy. Choose unity. Let your legacy be one that brought people closer, not tore them apart.

With respect and hope,

Sanjay

A big fan of your work, and a bigger fan of India.