The Manipuri movie Boong written and directed by Laxmipriya Devi and co-produced by Farhan Akhtar, was understandably celebrated in Manipur for its cinematic brilliance, and for the pride it brought the place, after all it was first Indian film to win a prestigious BAFTA award, the British equivalent of the Oscar, in the children’s film category in 2026. I watched it with my family on the third day of its theatrical release in Imphal.
Beyond the engaging drama of a boy’s longing for his long-missing father, and the intimate glimpses his search offers into the complex and emotionally fragile inter-community relationships in multi-ethnic Manipur, the film also struck a deeper, raw nerve among the Manipuri audience.
As the show ended and lights flooded back into the theatre, there was a palpable sense of catharsis — the kind that good performing arts leave behind. Yet, some women remained seated, quietly wiping off tears, taking a few extra moments to regain composure before rising to join the rest of the audience.
Manipur’s gender equation reality is complex. At one level, women have historically been at the forefront of many social, economic and political upheavals. Across both the hills and the valley, exclusive women-run markets thrive, and in the agrarian economy, men and women function as equal partners. The fact that the director of Boong is a woman reflects this sinew of gender empowerment too.
The Meira Paibi movement amongst Meiteis, which also manifests under different nomenclatures amongst hill communities, is the most prominent alibi of Manipuri women’s well-deserved image as social torchbearers.
During the colonial period, in 1904 and again in 1939, women rose to protest against British policies, ultimately forcing their withdrawal. These uprisings are now commemorated as Nupi Lan or women’s war.
The first was against the forced labour of Manipuri men to rebuild the British Residency in Imphal, which had been gutted in an arson attack by disgruntled elements; the second opposed the large-scale export of rice from the State to support the British World War II effort, which led to severe shortages for local consumption.
Patriarchy persists
Despite this, there are strongly entrenched gender oppressive patriarchal norms which have persisted. This is especially true among Meiteis, who continue to carry the albatrosses of a feudal past. Polygamy is arguably the most troubling.
The practice persists since it is normalised, even though not encouraged. This is particularly common among the elite section, where keeping mistresses or even taking more than one wife, is not uncommon. Many of Manipur’s current set of Ministers and MLAs would be guilty of this despicable feudal legacy.
The hurt and humiliation endured by women who suffer this fate are profound. Even those who are spared often live with anxiety over the vulnerability of their daughters and loved ones. As the practice has become normalised within society, this deeply gendered anguish largely remains invisible.
Women often become gatekeepers of the patriarchal order that oppresses them, reflecting what Frantz Fanon characterised as the silent desire of the oppressed to emulate their oppressors. Hence, even women vigilantes tend to overlook men who betray marital fidelity, accepting it as destiny. However, if a woman were to make this breach, these same vigilantes often become the harshest moral police.
Change, however, may not be too far away. Although, no study has yet established a connection, rising cases of divorce among younger Meiteis may be a herald of Fanon’s “mailed fist”.
In the spirit that good art is hiding good art, Boong succeeds in drawing up a non-dogmatic but piercing portrayal of this inherent gender injustice. Boong’s father, Joykumar—a carpenter and timber trader played by Hamom Sadananda — works along the India-Myanmar border, in the town of Moreh and the neighbouring township of Tamu in Myanmar.
At some point, the family loses contact with him and for a prolonged period. Many presume he is dead or has joined the insurgents, but the family refuses to give up. Boong, or Brojendro, played by Gugun Kipgen, yearns to find his father and bring the good news to his mother Mandakini, played by Bala Hijam.
On one occasion the boy dupes his mother that his school was organising a 2-day school excursion to Ukhrul district and would like to be part of the tour. He then slips away to make a trip to Moreh instead. His bosom friend, a Manipuri Marwari, Raju Agarwal, played by Angom Sanamatum, follows him there out of concern. The families of the boys learn of the trip but too late. The two boys’ adventure is thrilling. Boong traces his father in Tamu, but to his horror, discovers that he has remarried and has a daughter.
The final scene is powerful. Boong finds his mother, on crutches after a scooter accident, waiting for him at their courtyard. Both know the truth — and both know that the other knows. The boy tells his mother bluntly “Baba is dead”. The camera then closes in on her. She pauses a while before asking in resignation, “Is he doing well?” Boong replies, “Yes’’ and hugs her.
Bala’s breathing deepens; her face reddens, and her eyes well up. She is forced to confront what she had long suspected but tried not to believe. Not a word is spoken, yet her tearing pain, numbing humiliation, and seething anger surface — along with a quiet resolve to remain standing for the sake of her son.
For those sensitive enough to hear it, her silent, agonised scream is deafening. For many others who have endured this betrayal themselves, or have witnessed loved ones suffer it, Bala’s silent scream becomes their own.
Powerful as this portrayal of an invisible oppressive order is, life may well settle back into its old, abnormal normal. Yet, for many, Bala’s silent scream affirms that Boong is, at its heart, a desperate appeal for social introspection.
Pradip Phanjoubam is Editor, Imphal Review of Arts and Politics, and the author of two books.
