Why Real Stories Matter: Lessons from Marathi Films 'Jogwa', 'Sairat' and 'Fandry'

Written by: Prutha Honrao, Moitrayee Das

Films in the past decade have slowly become, much like our food today, overprocessed and unrecognizable—completely removed from reality. They deal with the aspirational: what happens when one already has everything they need for survival. Most films today seem concerned only with transitions toward thriving. While efforts are being made to reinvent the wheel, so to speak, and tell stories that matter, many miss the mark, perhaps simply because they are looking in the wrong direction. Let us therefore look at three Marathi films—Jogwa, Sairat, and Fandry—to understand what they share and how this makes them powerful.

All three films tell stories of social ostracization and the trauma, (intersectional) identity crises, and resistance associated with it. Social ostracization here refers to the experience of being ignored and excluded by individuals and groups, even in the absence of verbal insults or physical assault. It involves being pushed out of groups and actively ignored—affecting belonging, self-esteem, control, and one’s sense of meaningful existence at a psychological level.

Jogwa (2009) deals with the social issue of devadasis (jogappas) in rural Maharashtra. It follows Tayappa and Suli, who are married off to the goddess Yellamma and face abuse, extreme marginalization, ostracization, and rejection from society. Tayappa, a man, is further forced to dress and behave like a woman, which he resists but cannot escape. Through their interactions with others, the film provides several vignettes of the many forms of social ostracization faced by jogappas and the diverse ways they cope.

Sairat (2016), a romantic tragedy, examines the social realities of love at the intersection of caste and gender. It portrays two college students, Parshya and Archi, from different castes, who fall in love—inviting violent conflict from their families and forcing them to flee. Parshya, the son of a fisherman, constantly faces verbal and physical threats from Archi’s family, wealthy landowners and politicians. Their first attempt to escape is foiled by the police and a fake FIR; the second takes them to Hyderabad, where they live in a shack and take up blue-collar jobs, facing both internal and external challenges as they adapt to their new reality.

Fandry (2013) explores intercaste love through the lens of childhood. It follows Jabya, a boy from the Kaikadi caste who lives on the outskirts of a caste-segregated village, and his crush on Shalu, a forward-caste girl. Through Jabya’s interactions with family and friends, the film presents a spectrum of experiences at the intersection of caste and gender—revealed through the love stories of Jabya, his sister, and an older friend.

Importantly, all three films depict recurring patterns of humiliation, exclusion, and violence as markers of ostracization. It is a collective action undertaken by dominant groups to curb what they perceive as social, moral, or caste-based deviance from norms. These films show verbal and physical abuse, public shaming, and communal boycotts of the characters—and sometimes their families—as tools of exclusion. Ritual dehumanization includes the public denial of dignity: Jabya and his family are forced to catch pigs; jogappas must beg, perform, and endure exploitation for survival. In Sairat, this is shown through the plight of Parshya’s family after the couple flees and through the couple’s harsh encounters in Hyderabad. All three films, set at least partly in rural spaces, depict ostracization similarly: protagonists live on the fringes of villages, segregated because they are viewed as transgressing social norms.

There is a gendered dimension as well. Tayappa, Suli, and other jogappas face sexual and physical violence at multiple levels, with male jogappas (jogtas) being forcibly feminized for ritual purposes. Parshya is routinely harassed and beaten by Archi’s relatives. Archi, even as an upper-caste woman, faces gendered violence and rejection—at home due to layered familial expectations, and later in Hyderabad, where she is pressured into stereotypical feminine roles and almost sexually assaulted. Jabya’s sister, a Dalit woman, is mocked, fetishized, publicly shamed, and photographed without consent while catching pigs.

Immediate social support systems also fail to counter the ostracization. Jabya’s family is submissive and fearful, unable to shield him from discrimination and violence. Tayappa and Suli’s parents force them into the jogappa tradition, further subjugating them within an oppressive ritual practice. In Sairat, Archi’s family is the primary instigator of conflict, perpetrating violence against the couple until the very end.

Within each story, characters are deeply affected by this ostracization. Tayappa and Suli experience sexual and emotional abuse, humiliation, loss of agency, depression, self-hatred, fractured identities, suicidal ideation, internalized stigma, and substance abuse. Archi and Parshya endure chronic stress, social isolation, hypervigilance, psychological exhaustion, displaced anger, breakdowns, disillusionment, and suicidal ideation. Jabya’s repeated humiliations and caste-based ridicule lead to internalized inferiority, manifesting as shame, withdrawal, rage, and psychological distress.

All three films show their characters being pushed to extremes, and although they often submit to imposed roles and realities, each narrative contains moments of rebellion. Sairat’s second half unfolds because Parshya and Archi successfully rebel by fleeing to Hyderabad. Jabya’s rebellion erupts at the film’s end, when he throws stones at those who humiliated him—the final stone hurled toward the camera.

In Jogwa, Tayappa attempts to wear pants under his forced saree, and Suli decides to keep her child even after Annu abandons her. Both acts are thwarted—Tayappa’s father forces him to remove the pants, and Suli’s mother forces an abortion. The film ends with their most powerful rebellion: Tayappa and Suli reject the Goddess’s directives and choose to marry as man and wife.

These films address both the how and the why behind the challenges faced by their characters. This article has examined the “how,” but it is equally important to consider the “why,” rooted in their identities. The stories are entrenched within frameworks of caste, class, gender, and other systems of oppression that are treated as natural components of social reality. It is the implicit acceptance of these frameworks—structures that undermine both individuals and communities—that enables the social ostracization and exclusion of those most harmed by such human-made hierarchies. Parshya, Jabya, Tayappa, and Suli all belong to oppressed communities, a fact the films refuse to obscure.

These films excel at accurately and realistically portraying real lives and real emotions. They do not shy away from difficult subjects, complex issues, or harsh truths—yet they also avoid the opposite trap of depicting only misery and suffering. Perhaps this balance is why these films resonate so deeply, earning both critical and commercial appreciation. They do not pretend that life is glamorous, nor do they oversimplify narratives to make them “easier” for audiences. Instead, they treat viewers as intelligent individuals capable of understanding complex, nuanced stories. This is especially important today, when everything seems formulaic—and those formulas feel broken, with few daring to remake or break them.

Not showing these stories does not make them any less real. But engaging with them respectfully and thoughtfully gives visibility and validation to struggles otherwise erased. It allows for acceptance and support—not just for specific communities, but for humanity as a whole.

Moitrayee Das is an Assistant Professor of Psychology at FLAME University, Pune, and Prutha Honrao is an undergraduate student at FLAME University, Pune.