At the hotel room in Dehradun, the air still carried the aftertaste of debate and dialogue from the Crime Literature Festival sessions, held in the city, recently. In that quiet pause, actor Tridha Choudhury sat down for a conversation that was as candid as it was layered. Much like the city’s winter hush, she spoke with clarity and conviction, weaving her experiences into the larger tapestry of crime fiction and the roles women inhabit within it.On Babita and the making of a temptressAs we sit down to discuss the tropes in crime fiction, the conversation starts off with her character, Babita, in the web series Aashram. “If you see Babita’s arc, especially in season one, she actually begins exactly there,” she says. “She’s naïve, she’s a victim. And eventually, yes, she becomes a temptress. But that’s not where her story ends.”For Choudhury, the interest lies in what follows the fall. “I think it’s important to have an experience. Once a character has had a bad experience, that’s when the pivot happens. That’s when she realises she can take charge, maybe even avenge herself, maybe choose a different path altogether. I think it’s important for women to know that, even in real life.”
Tridha Chaudhary and (R) in a still from the show Aashram
Choice, consent, and the industryThis idea of choice—where it exists and where it’s quietly taken away—runs through much of Tridha’s work, and parts of her life. When asked about her own experiences with having control over her decisions and facing pressure in the industry, she doesn’t dramatize them. She simply states them. “Being forced into a character is not possible,” she says plainly. “You know what you’re signing up for. That’s a fact.”But the truth, she adds, is more complicated once cameras stop rolling. “Sometimes it’s about how something is presented later—graphic representation, post-production decisions,” she explains. “That’s where consent can get blurry.” She recalls an instance—not on Aashram, but on another project—where scenes were altered without her approval. “That shouldn’t happen,” she says quietly. “And I think actors need to be more mindful of what they’re getting into. I had a bad experience, and I wouldn’t want anyone else to go through that.”
Tridha Choudhury
Beyond crime fiction: A lens on lifeCrime fiction, at its best, exposes how systems entrap individuals. But Tridha doesn’t see this as a genre-specific problem. “It’s not just crime stories, it’s life,” she says. “I’m a woman with strong, independent values, and yet I’ve had people tell me, ‘But you’re pretty… you should take advantage of that.’ It’s horrific to hear that.”Her voice steadies as she acknowledges the uncomfortable truth that while many women are made to feel small by such narratives, some do end up navigating or even exploiting them. “My characters and I, we stay very neutral to that,” she says. “I don’t think this way of thinking works anymore, at least not today. I’ve been very careful not to lean into it. I’m opinionated, and I try my best to reverse that narrative.”The compass withinHer reflections carried a strong moral undertone. “Moral compass is very, very important,” she emphasizes. “Even if I’m playing a character for beauty, most of them have intrinsic values and strong personalities. Swadheenta from Dahleez, Sandhya from Bandish Bandits, Babita from Aashram —they’ve all got values and strong personalities.”“The most humbling part,” she adds, “is when people tell me how these characters impacted them.” She recalls young women coming up to her, saying they wanted to become lawyers, make different choices, speak up because of something they saw her do onscreen. “That makes me very mindful of what I represent,” she says. “It’s a responsibility I feel I have towards people.”Learning to find balanceAs the conversation winds down, she allows herself a softer admission. “I think I’ve taken my career very seriously, sometimes too seriously,” she says with a smile. “I may have overlooked other parts of my life.” Balance, she feels, is the next lesson waiting to be learned.-Pakshalika Mansingh
