DIRECTORS NOTE
Being raised by four women (three elder sisters and a mother) I didn’t quite live up to the conventional ideals of the Indian masculine while growing up. As a child I was often ridiculed and bullied for being effeminate. My masculinity was further challenged when I concocted a narrative in my head in which Lord Hanuman, the Hindu God of masculinity, held me guilty for my father’s infidelities.
I belong to a Dalit caste, a marignalised community within the Hindu Fold that has been oppressed since generations by dominant upper castes. I soon discovered that the pursuit of belonging to a social circle in India as a man meant not only conforming to the set ideals of masculinity but also conforming to the regime of aesthetics driven by the upper caste. The discourse on masculinity has largely focused itself on gender and violence. My bagful of experiences puts me in a unique position from which I can explore the nuances of this discourse in relationship with caste, class and religion.
-Vaibhav
PRODUCERS NOTE
On the face of it, Taalim has a deceptively simple premise. A young boy training in a traditional Indian wrestling akhara, a Taalim. But beneath the rigour and discipline, lies a deeply charged world: one where masculinity is inherited, policed, and performed with brutal precision. What seems like a physical journey is, in truth, a deeply emotional and psychological induction into a rigid code of manhood, one that rewards control and punishes softness.
As a producer, I was drawn to Taalim because it confronts a fundamental and often unspoken question: what happens to tenderness in a world that worships control?
In India, where sexual crimes are often discussed only in the framework of justice and punishment, we rarely examine the root: the culture of repression, shame, and inherited silence that many boys are raised within. From a young age, they are denied the vocabulary to name their own desires or discomforts. Vulnerability is not nurtured. It is shamed. Emotional expression is seen as weakness. Power is modelled through domination. And silence becomes a rite of passage.
Taalim does not sensationalise this. It doesn’t preach or explain. Instead, it chooses to observe, with care, with patience, and with an unusual gentleness. That’s what first struck me about Vaibhav Jadhav’s approach as a director. His gaze is never voyeuristic or moralizing. It is deeply tender, even in moments of tension. He holds space for ambiguity. He trusts the audience to feel what is not said. In a world as hyper-masculine and emotionally shut down as an akhara, this kind of gaze is not just rare. It is radical!
I find Vaibhav’s sensibility vital, especially now, when so many narratives around masculinity are framed in extremes, either through glorification or condemnation. Taalim sits in a quieter, braver space. It witnesses how boys are shaped, through routine, through praise, through punishment. It probes how much of what they carry is inherited rather than chosen.
As a producer, my responsibility is to protect this gaze. To create the conditions—logistical, ethical, and creative—that allow a film like Taalim to remain true to its spirit. That means building trust with the community being filmed, supporting a long and often invisible development process, and making sure we never take shortcuts with consent or context. It also means safeguarding the film’s quietness in a world that often demands louder, more performative storytelling.
Taalim is not just about wrestling—it is about all the things we wrestle with: identity, desire, shame, and the roles we’re told to play. It’s about the making of men, and more urgently, the deep and dark cost of that making. I believe this film speaks urgently to our cultural moment, not because it has answers, but because it dares to sit with uncomfortable truths—gently, honestly, and with the kind of gaze we need more of in the world.
-Jaydeep
PRODUCERS NOTE
I met Vaibhav a few years ago at a film festival. He was quiet, a little shy — the kind of person who doesn’t take up space, but somehow still makes you stop and notice. I remember thinking, there’s something going on here.
I’ve always had to move through the world in a masculine way — it’s part of how I’ve survived, especially in this industry. So for me, masculinity is often wrapped in conflict. As a feminist, it’s a word I’ve questioned a lot. But Vaibhav flipped that script.
Here was this gentle boy trying to make sense of something that affects all of us — masculinity — but without anger, without blame. Just curiosity. He doesn’t fit into the 'norm' of what a man should be in India, and that’s made life harder for him. But he still shows up, asking, why can’t softness be part of masculinity too?
This story is also about a joint family where no one questions the rules — a powerful political uncle, a household of expectations, and a boy who’s just trying to make one decision for himself. It’s such a deeply Indian setting, but the questions it raises — about identity, control, love — feel universal.
As Vaibhav once said to me, “I just want to be able to be a man in a way that feels right to me.” That stayed with me. That’s why I’m producing this film.
-Lisa