As conversations around identity, allyship and political solidarity continue to shape public discourse in the aftermath of the Jantar Mantar protests, Homegrown looks at 'Vinchu', Sumedh Natu's political satire that explores the contradictions of contemporary politics through the story of a young right-wing foot soldier, examining ideology, belonging, moral policing and the uneasy relationship between personal identity and political belief.
In the aftermath of the Jantar Mantar protests, there has been a whirlwind of identity politics unfolding across social media, newsrooms and everyday conversations, over solidarity, reservation, political affiliations, free speech and what justice should look like. A protest that began with students demanding accountability soon became a meeting point for larger disagreements about the country itself, as people argued over whether the movement was political enough, too political, intersectional enough or losing sight of its original purpose. In the middle of all this, the idea of allyship has become increasingly complicated because every community has its own histories, priorities, fears and an oppressor class, making it harder than ever to agree on where different struggles meet. These conversations have also exposed how quickly empathy can shrink once it crosses the boundaries of our own beliefs, and the ignorance in defending one’s own liberty while remaining indifferent to someone else's. It is the same contradiction that lies at the heart of Sumedh Natu's 'Vinchu', a witty political comedy that finds humour in the everyday hypocrisies that ideology teaches us to live with.
The film features a young political foot soldier carrying out orders in the name of protecting culture. The group he belongs to, the fictional Vinchu Sena, borrows heavily from the methods associated with several real-life right-wing organisations that have built their influence through public outrage, intimidation, and moral policing. Saleel, our protagonist, played by Delzad Hiwale, works in the propaganda wing of the organisation while also joining its missions on the ground, where writers and journalists become targets for accusations of ‘hurting religious or political sentiments'. Saleel, his senior, Shrinivas, and a new recruit named Urjita blacken the face of a writer as punishment for his supposed insults, only to realise that they have assaulted the wrong man. The mistake throws the trio into panic, but it also becomes the starting point for a film that is far more interested in the radicalised instruments of political violence than the spectacle of the violence itself.
Away from the party, Saleel is a vainglorious young man who admires Bollywood stars and aspires to be as cool as them. He paints his nails, protects a boy being bullied for wearing a pink T-shirt and instinctively stands up against everyday acts of toxic masculinity. At the same time, he spends his days creating propaganda and intimidating people whose views have been marked as offensive by his organisation. A queer man being a foot soldier for a right-wing organization becomes the punch line of the film. As a henchman, Saleel may fight against the free thinkers in all his ultranationalist vigour, but he will also stand up against homophobic, patriarchal language that emasculates men. Through these dissonances, the film taps into how prejudice can comfortably exist alongside experiences of discrimination.
The premise allows Vinchu to say something larger about organised outrage as well. A majority of party workers, especially on the lower rungs, rarely understand why they are angry, what a so-called ‘antinational’ writer actually questioned or what the act of their ‘punishment’ means for the individuals they taget. Their anger has been handed to them, manufactured by their leaders to make pawns out of men. Through absurd conversations, comedic misplaced confidence and the chaos that follows the mistaken attack in the film, Sumedh brings our attention to mob politics that depend on unflinching loyalty more than actual conviction.
The film's humour lies in in the irony of a broken political compass that exposes the gap between what these young men believe they are defending and the realities of their own lives. When Saleel discovers that the target he has been sent to attack is queer too, it raises a deep internal conflict. He is forced to confront the fact that the same machinery he has willingly become a part of has never had room for people like him either. Vinchu is an illuminating and timely reminder of the nature of freedom — either all of us have it, or none of us do.
Follow Sumedh here and watch the short film below:
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