When they say women are a mystery they're not joking. The idea of a woman is a convoluted one that every girl must survive as she grows up. By unlearning and challenging society's definition of a woman, she must build her own identity, fighting tooth and nail the projections of the world around her. This battle is murky and lifelong.
Feminist horror, a subgenre that has lately emerged as a cultural force, takes the abstract anxieties of womanhood — the fear, the surveillance, the expectations, and gives them flesh. It comes from the need of opening a channel of understanding about the visceral nature of their experiences that may not have been possible otherwise.
Feminist horror dissects themes of control, objectification, and systemic violence through monsters, ghosts, and fictional entities Instead, because even they are granted more personhood than a woman.
The new Amazon Prime series Khauf written by Smita Singh and directed by Pankaj Kumar and Surya Balakrishnan is a supernatural horror that doubles as a feminist critique of Patriarchal society, and a sincere exploration of womanhood. Set in a women's hostel in Delhi, it paints a portrait of gendered trauma through paranormal occurrences.
The story follows Madhuri/ Madhu, the protagonist who comes to Delhi for its opportunities and finds herself in Pragati Working Women's Hostel that she eventually discovers to be haunted. From the other hostelites who are aware of nature of the room to the warden and her constable friend, the female characters in the film form the lens through which we dissect different persuasions of womanhood.
The psychiatrist, Madhu's employer and legal guardian in the city as well as Bela, her friend from Gwalior who has already been living in Delhi take fascinating positions as people too. Together we get an eclectic picture of the ways each woman responds and adapts to patriarchy.
This overarching theme of gender and its manifestation lingers right beneath a classic, slow-burning horror tale. But more than just a metaphor-based commentary, Khauf is also a masterful subversion of storytelling tropes. The expectations you have going in of a woman-scorned, or the feminine rage, or men as the enemy are dismantled as the tired cliches they are. What you do find is nuance and duality; something that we miss when it comes to conversations as difficult as gender.
The triumphant delivery of a such an ambitious narrative mission is also aided by a woman's perspective on two of the most crucial episodes in the series. Documentary filmmaker and the founder of Footloose Films Surya Balakrishnan, stepped in to direct episode five and seven of Khauf.
"Horror was never a genre I saw myself directing. But Khauf wasn’t just horror. It was about women in Delhi, and the fear that women everywhere quietly carry every day. What really struck me was how the script captured that constant self-doubt: Is this real? Am I overreacting? Am I being difficult? What’s wrong with me? That quiet, internal horror felt incredibly real. The way it blurred reality and paranoia mirrored life so closely."Surya Balakrishnan
Surya's background in documentary filmmaking, where she learned to be both a fly on the wall and an intruder, deeply informed her visual approach. "In both my episodes, the city and the people are atmospheric but also invasive, just like the gaze these women constantly live under. So my choices were always about tension: how close is too close? When do we hold? When do we retreat? The goal was never to overpower the story, but to sit just under its skin and let the unease build from there", she explains.
This creative camouflage also reflects in the music of Khauf composed by Aloknanda Dasgupta. A lifelong horror fan, the artist used field recordings to create the sound palette of the series. "My goal was for the sound to be both invisible and omnipresent — something you feel before you hear," she shares. Windy chords on a flute and clarinet, a low, gliding cello glissando, and melodies on the violin helped her define the extent of the fear looming over the hostel.
In the series, the paranoia of a character facing the wrath of otherworldly spirits resembles trauma to a huge extent — the constant state of heightened awareness, the out-of-body experience of watching yourself move through the world, the mistrust with people around you and your own self, are all too familiar to victims of abuse like Madhu. As as someone who went through sexual assault, she grapples with debilitating shame and regret. Bring in the paranormal and you get a special cocktail of psychological realism that especially shines through in episode 5.
Surya speaks of the episode as a sort of unraveling. On one hand you've got Madhu, who moves through the worlds of pain, love and possession, becoming a vessel for everything unresolved within her. On the other, the mystery behind the haunted hostel is slowly revealed as the characters peel back the layers of their past. "They reveal just enough, protecting each other even in their vulnerability. A sisterhood bound by silence and survival" shares the director.
This is also the moment in the story where after a long period of demistifying the night of sexual assault, Madhu comes face to face with her aggressors. Years of festering wounds implode as she unleashes her fury and wrath upon them, possessed by the demon inhabiting her. But as daylight comes, things are back to normal as if nothing happened.
"It's a haunting metaphor for how women carry trauma: they bury it, brace themselves, and keep going. They show up, get shit done, and push their feelings down."Surya Balakrishnan
Set within an emotionally charged environment of misogyny, rape culture and victim blaming, Khauf makes us truly question our notions of justice and victimhood. This comes through in the most important episode in the series: the penultimate number 7.
"The characters live in moral grey zones — flawed, conflicted, and shaped by circumstances and systems beyond their control. What fascinated me was the uncertainty each of them carries. No one is fully sure of the decisions they’re making or how they should respond. That inner chaos, especially within the women, was so nuanced, and capturing that on screen was just incredible. In contrast, the men in the show often feel disturbingly certain. Not just in their actions, but in their sense of entitlement. That contrast — the women’s internal conflict versus the men’s unwavering conviction, makes the emotional landscape so layered," shares Surya.
As the secret behind the apparitions is finally revealed, we are left questioning own lust for vengeance. The norm is to look at revenge as resolution. But Khauf takes us a step further; into the consequences of it; the cost of retaliation. Stuck between hell and high-water, the women in Khauf must bear the pain of whatever it is they choose to do.
"In the end, while what the women muster the courage to do is undeniably important, what follows is devastating. It leaves you wondering — was it worth it? Should they have just stayed silent, stayed safe? And isn’t that the real horror of life — when we question our own courage?"Surya Balakrishnan
Amongst the various hues of womanhood Khauf presents us with, the bond of sisterhood, — the betrayal of women who fall to misogyny as a survival mechanism, and everyone in between, the one force that contaminates it all comes in the form of the Hakim (doctor) played by a phenomenal Rajat Kapoor. Tying up the story in a perfect little thematic bow is this doctor who becomes the embodiment of patriarchy.
He initially appears as a friend who only intends to help. He draws his power from women to get stronger. He turns them against each other. And when he has immobilized them, he steps in as a saviour. More than anything, he convinces them that they need him.
Through his manipulations, the character highlights how stoicism, machismo, Machiavellianism; these supposed symbols of masculinity, are something that women must arm themselves with to survive in this world; they must sacrifice their femininity. Therein lies the paradox of being a woman.
In Khauf, the supernatural terror goes hand in hand with an existential one — the slow, systemic erasure of identity; the corrosion and corruption of self. The social rot of chauvinism is a demon they must let in to make it. And in the process become ghosts of their past selves.
If you enjoyed reading this here's more from Homegrown:
'Bokshi' Blends Folklore & Feminine Liberation To Rewrite The Rules Of Homegrown Horror
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