I am lucky because I got into a creative space early in my life, with painting being my first creative medium. After school, I used to go to Kerala Kalapeedam, where many senior artists worked. My parents, both bankers, have always given me the freedom to pursue my interests. A few years ago, we even did a family project. My father translated Rabindranath Tagore’s Gitanjali into Malayalam, I did illustrations for it, my mother edited, and my brother handled the tech aspects.

In college, I acted in Mahesh Dattani’s play Thirty Days in September. That was my first time on stage as an adult, and it was a wonderful experience. After that, I went to Oxford for higher studies in anthropology. Before that, I did psychology. Rather than becoming a practising psychologist, I was more interested in how culture shapes our personalities.  

On returning to Kerala, I auditioned for a play called The Lover. Dominic (Arun) happened to see its trailer, which got me the role in Tharangam. Around the same time, Prem Shankar, who directed Randuper, also saw the footage and asked if I would like to be part of his film. Nothing was planned, but the desire to express myself creatively has always been there.

Family support is crucial. There were times I had no money in my account. Not having to worry about rent or food is a huge privilege. My friends have also been vital collaborators. We started working on Lokah five years ago, so it is not an overnight success. Dominic made Tharangam in 2017, and both of us went through years of struggle. The collaboration kept us going. Friends who saw potential in us kept us motivated. In 2020, Dominic pitched the original idea of a vampire or yakshi living in present times, set in an urban environment. That idea drew us all in.

The project then evolved in scale and scope through discussions with the creative team, including myself, Nimish (Ravi), and Jithin Puthenchery. We pitched it to Dulquer Salman’s Wayfarer Films in 2023 while Nimish was working with him on King of Kotha. He believed in our vision and saw the potential for creating a universe. We then worked out how the story could progress beyond the first film and created a pitch bible with the future instalments and new characters.

Both the production and creative teams were on the same page, which is why we could wrap the shoot in 94 days. Notably, ₹30 crore is a huge budget for a Malayalam film, but we still had to utilise it effectively to create a credible universe.

Nimish and Dominic also share a similar aesthetic vision and keep bouncing ideas. Being a tech phobe, it was a huge learning experience for me to see how they execute these ideas. My defining trait from childhood has been the thirst to learn, and a film set is a perfect place for that.

Yes, there were times when we even wondered if this film would ever get made. But I remember often telling Dominic that the only thing that separates a person who makes it and one who doesn’t is grit and not talent.

I am extremely grateful. Brands are now creating ad campaigns inspired by our film. I was over the moon when Amul came up with a billboard. It’s also interesting to see people picking up even minute details. As creators, this is what we dream of—people embracing our work and making it their own.

I am also getting messages from women who want to work in cinema as they now start believing that a female-led film can do such big numbers. But it’s also true that I’m here because I had male collaborators giving me that space. It’s difficult to break through the glass ceiling on your own, and you need allies.

Starting from Dominic, everybody gave me the space to bring in my perspectives, which they might not have thought of earlier. It’s the same with Naslen also, who would have had people trying to dissuade him from taking up this project after delivering a major hit. But he said he saw potential in this film and can look back at it proudly after 10 years.

It’s a sign of a generational shift. Dulquer also trusted us to kickstart a new universe with a female-led film. It would have been safer to begin with a male hero, but he backed our original idea. On the film’s release day, I sent him a message saying, “I’ve never been this nervous for a film release. I just hope we all go to bed happily tonight.” He replied, saying, “For once, I’m not nervous because I know everybody worked sincerely. Let’s just wait for the audience’s response.” Coming from a producer, it was so reassuring.

The central figure is a yakshi, and Yakshis are usually associated with a certain level of fragility and immense destructive power. We also had other options, but when Kalyani’s name was put forward, the first image that crossed my mind was of Lissy ma’am in a white saree from Oru CBI Diary Kurippu. She is similarly fragile and victimised in that film, and I immediately felt a connection that Kalyani would be the right person for Chandra. Dominic had also watched Antony, and he could see the effort she put into the action sequences. Dulquer was also convinced about her.

We signed Kalyani in December 2023, and started shooting in September next year. During that period, she got in touch with our action choreographer Yannick Ben, who guided her about the preps. She also trained with an MMA coach. She completely submitted to Dominic’s process. He gave her music that Chandra would listen to, which was about immortality and the weight of existence. Kalyani is also expressive and not the contained person that we see in this film. Dominic would keep asking her to cut reactions, and she trusted him.

Life would’ve been much simpler if I had just taken the co-writing credit! (laughs) There’s been so much discussion around it, but I chose to be credited for dramaturgy because I wasn’t just involved in ideation, research, and scriptwriting — I was also actively part of the production process.

We were building an entire world, and to keep that world logical and visually consistent, I worked closely with the art team, the costume department, and even the lyricists. A dramaturge helps create a cohesive vision across all elements of a production. I like to say: if the director is someone in labour, the dramaturg is the midwife (laughs)! Writing with Dominic was a lot of fun, but being part of this project was a full 360-degree experience.

For example, in the flashback scenes, the idol worshipped by the king and the one revered by the indigenous community are stylistically different. The tribal goddess was inspired by the fertility cult—more rounded, carved in stone.

I worked with art director Jithu Sebastian, sharing reference images and discussing every detail for that. I also worked with Archana (Akhil Rao), who handled costumes of Kalyani, Tovino and Dulquer, on the symbols, their narrative relevance... all of it. As a kid, I wanted to be many things, and a fashion designer was one of them! This project gave me a chance to collaborate with experts across fields.

I also enjoyed deconstructing the origin story. We had long debates around Kathanar. I felt that since it’s essentially a superhero story centring a woman, we couldn’t have a patriarchal religious figure ‘taming’ her. That concept — ‘thalakkuka’ — is all about control. And if she (Neeli) has agency, that concept won’t fit.  There was a question of whether we should tweak the origin story. I give credit to Dominic for really seeing value in my opinion.

Another character I was invested in was Nachiyappa. I loved that Dominic envisioned a police officer as the villain. He reasoned that we all instinctively feel a bit scared around cops. And I thought there was potential to critique authority through that character. His introductory scene is an homage to the yakshi lore— a woman in a white saree at a crossroads.

Traditionally, yakshis attack unsuspecting travellers. So, the whole dichotomy of prey and predator worked for me as a layer. And that’s where we see the man first, who is supposed to be a protector, becoming a predator. But there was a hiccup with that scene.

I wasn’t there while it was being shot, and due to some miscommunication, the actor wore a regular saree instead of a white one. I was upset, but there was a time crunch, and it was raining, and the shoot had to continue. I literally started praying for it to rain harder, and it poured and how! Eventually, we decided to reshoot — and this time, we got the costume right.

I was familiar with these myths and legends since childhood, as I used to read Aithihyamala and Greek mythology. My academic background also helped, especially in understanding narratives around social and political power and how myths get reinterpreted. This project became a platform for me to bring all that to life. Dominic could have made an entertaining film without me, but I’m grateful he allowed me to add layers that deepen the story. For example, Nachiyappa’s mother has no lines, which was intentional. She represents the silent victim of patriarchy. He grew up in a toxic household with a misogynistic father whose core belief—fear leads to respect, and respect to devotion—shapes him. Meanwhile, Kutty Chandra’s mother teaches her a different code of honour, leading the two characters down very different paths. This ties beautifully with the yakshi myth and the symbolism of the crossroads—places where crucial decisions are made.

Since we were creating a misogynistic villain, it was important to show how that attitude manifests in different ways. Nachiyappa’s superior officer is empowered by her position, but is also a victim of internalised misogyny. She upholds patriarchal values and criticises him for not being ‘man enough’. This reflects reality: women can hold problematic views too. In Nachiyappa’s life, two women stand out—one is completely voiceless and powerless, while the other is vocal and aggressive but still tied to patriarchy.

It happened organically. We weren’t initially focused on delivering a specific message, but the story naturally had that potential. One of my favourite superhero films is Black Panther, which does this brilliantly. It’s about indigenous African pride. That’s also alternate history, right? That kind of cultural depth was a big inspiration in shaping our narrative.

It was the lyrics that attracted me. Dominic wanted a retro-feel, party-vibes song for the scene. I came across this song on Instagram and felt connected to the lyrics, ‘Uyarangaliloode Pala Naadukal Thedi’, which was in sync with Neeli’s journey. We were all stressed while shooting that scene, as the outfit options didn't work at first. So, I went home to get my shoes for Kalyani, and the costumes team tailored a dress on the spot.

One of Dominic’s inspirations was The Man from Earth, about a being who carries the existential weight of 14,000 years. I had earlier worked on Ennennum, which explores immortality and love. Another film I love is Only Lovers Left Alive, where vampires live for centuries. That world excited us, and we asked, “What if they really lived among us?”

Dominic researched conditions like porphyria, often called the vampire disease. We then asked: how does transformation happen? Why does one person change while another dies? We needed clarity on those rules. In Neeli’s case, she grew up in a nurturing environment, deeply connected to nature. Yakshi is also considered a nature spirit, a guardian of the tree she inhabits. There’s an ecological explanation there, which shapes why she becomes a Yakshi, while some of the people she bites don’t.

That also came from Dominic. During the pandemic, ‘virus’ was everywhere, and he felt it was something people could relate to. It was a way of grounding the story, instead of relying on supernatural explanations. That’s why Kathanar explains it as something mixing in your body. The original draft had the word ‘anu’, but Kathanar is from the ninth century, long before germ theory. We couldn’t say ‘anukkal’, as that came after the Renaissance. So the line was changed to “something mixed in the blood,” which made sense for that time.

We wanted this to be a standalone film, but also introduce the audience to a larger world. So the film should feed the elements. Nimish and editor Chaman (Chakko) suggested some addition, which suddenly expands the world. The cameos were also strategically placed to elevate the experience of the audience at the right time. At the end of the day, it is a commercial film. We are not claiming that we have the perfect script. We knew it was technically solid, but we were concerned whether it would connect with the audience. It is still not a perfect film. So all criticisms are welcome and valid.

These readings are to be expected. If someone has such views, it makes sense from their perspective. It creates a debate and conversation. It is good for us to be mindful of what people feel when they watch the film, but you should also be true to what you want to convey. You can’t create something when you’re scared of what the audience is going to say.

The idea of three boys living on the opposite street was Dominic’s, inspired by Vandanam, but this is a more updated version, as there is no stalking. Sunny is a softer representation of masculinity, which people from this generation can relate to. Gen Z understanding has evolved, and there is nothing like, ‘This should be how men and women interact with each other.’ Sunny’s character is important in ensuring that Chandra is able to finish off the villain. It is like the coexistence of genders. An ideal world is not one where women hold power and men are useless. The ideal world is where both of them are partners in doing the right thing.

I think there is enough speculation already (laughs). Mammoootty sir has shown a lot of faith in the film. He once came to the sets, and it was like the principal coming for a surprise visit. Everyone was in their best behaviour. It also generated some interest in the film at that time. He was following the progress of the film. There was no guarantee about the cameo, but I think at some point, he liked what we were making and extended his support in the best way that he could.

I think as an actor, it’s valuable to push yourself outside your comfort zone and not restrict yourself to only characters that align with your own views. I’m completely fine playing a character who does things I’d never do in real life. But I always pay attention to what the story as a whole is trying to communicate. If that message doesn’t align with me, or if it feels problematic, then I’d probably step back. But if it’s simply a character doing wild things I wouldn’t personally do, that’s fine because that’s exactly why I’m an actor, to experience all of this without consequences.

Krishand is very open to these discussions, and I wanted to be part of his world. He offers space to add things. I appreciate his self-awareness; he accepts the criticism that female characters’ arcs may not be fully explored, and recognises that as a man, there may be perspectives he misses. Men can write great female characters, but sometimes things go unnoticed because of their own rooted point of view.

There is definitely a difference. When we debate, we often ask whether political correctness or fun should take priority. But this film wouldn’t have worked without the fun element. I think there’s mutual respect for what each of us brings to the table. Beyond just writing a fun script, executing it the way he envisioned it, and the overarching vision is something I admire. I could never have pulled this off on my own.

We never set out to make a political statement or introduce the first female superhero; the film developed organically, with layers added because there was space for them. Women’s experiences aren’t only heartbreak and trauma. Women’s stories can be fun too. Ente Sooryaputhrikku was emotional, yet entertaining, and Sookshmadarshini was a fun film that did really well. Interesting female characters have always existed, but for a long time, there was hesitation to invest in women-centric films, assuming audiences wouldn’t come. I’m glad it’s changing. It encourages more investment. The systemic issue that female-centric films only exist in the independent space needs to be broken. If Lokah encourages more writers to create such stories, that’s wonderful. But female stars can only truly grow when there’s also a significant female presence in male-led films.

One of the most emotional moments was watching the rough cut. The effort everyone had put in reflected on screen, and I felt really proud. Then, when the music was added, Jakes’ score for the forest portion gave me goosebumps. That’s the only place where we see Chandra’s emotions. It had to work for the audience to understand her—why she’s so stoic, and the trauma she’s carried since childhood. Jakes also collaborated with lyricist Harinarayanan to create an alternate language for that sequence. Harinarayanan combined five languages to form a dialect called Mozhika. Through this, he captured the philosophy of indigenous folk as custodians of wisdom and protectors of nature. The lyrics in the title sequence reflect it beautifully. Hearing that for the first time blew me away.

Yes. Both Dominic and I trip on these details. He has placed a poster of Vandanam in the boys’ house. He’s a huge Arsenal fan, so their jersey is hanging in their house. Kadamattathachan (1984) on TV, Chandu reading Malayattur’s Yakshi... There is a lot of foreshadowing. Naslen was trying to tie his shoelaces, which had a payoff. All of these were planned.

Lyricist Vinayak Sasikumar deserves credit for that. He was working on the song ‘Shoka Mookam’ when he suggested the title. We had many options, but nobody was completely happy with any of them. ‘Lokah’ felt apt because we are introducing a new world.

I love such details, especially when people discover them. I didn’t want to add a father’s surname, but something fitting for the character. ‘Ananya’ also suits the character’s mystery. In her passport, you can see her father’s name as K Kannan, and her mother’s as K Devi. The place is Kannur.

Yes (laughs)

If you see Michael’s costume, there is an homage to Michael Jackson. Also, when Tovi mentions, “I am leaving with Charlie,” the audience knows who he is talking about.

I attended some screenwriting workshops in Oxford and found it really exciting. But I always had imposter syndrome. Even now, when people ask me if I want to be a director, I say no, because it is a job that requires immense clarity and great people management skills, but I get stressed easily. I don’t think I can be a director like Dominic or Krishand because they take the team along happily together. I don’t want to be the one who loses it on set.

Ananthan Kaadu, scripted by Murali Gopy. I’m also part of Krishand’s Masthishka Maranam and Kamal KM’s next. It’s an independent film about female friendships and travel.

I think there are certain ideas of what a female actor should look like, but many have broken those conventions, especially over the last ten years. Even earlier, we had darker-skinned actresses like Karthika — whom I adore — and Sharada ma’am. None of them were fair, and Malayali audiences have always embraced actors who perform, regardless of skin colour. In India, generally, fairness is equated with attractiveness. But Malayalam cinema tells rooted stories, and they don’t require that aspirational level of beauty. A girl-next-door look is more than enough to carry a lead role. The most exciting things don’t always happen to the most conventionally attractive person in the room.

It can be. My brain jumps to many things, which makes me curious. But there are challenges: anxiety, overstimulation, and time management. I had a late diagnosis. From the outside, I look composed, but underneath, it takes a huge effort to stay on track. My sense of time is messy, so even one task consumes a day because I have to plan backwards. But ADHD also makes me notice patterns and connections, which can help. Maybe that’s why I became an actor — you get to be different people.