At 38, Swara Bhasker no longer separates her life as an actor from her identity as an outspoken citizen. She moved our interview forward so she could join Friday’s student-led education protest, a cause that, for her, begins at home. “This protest is very relevant to my family,” she says.

Bhasker grew up in Delhi between two forms of public service. Her father, C Uday Bhaskar, served in the Indian Navy for nearly four decades, while her mother, Ira, taught film studies at Delhi University and JNU for 43 years. “My mom always believed education should be public, government-funded, subsidised or free,” she says.

In fact, in 2017, many academics challenged the creation of the National Testing Agency, questioning why teachers were losing oversight of entrance examinations to a system driven by contracts and tenders.

Bhasker later studied English Literature at Miranda House and Sociology at JNU, trained in Bharatanatyam, and worked with N K Sharma’s Act One and the Indian People’s Theatre Association. “I have seen the guru-shishya parampara, modern Indian education and the progressive cultural movement,” she says. “I feel very blessed to have been a student in India.”

When Bhasker left Delhi for Mumbai in 2008, she imagined a career shaped by films rather than politics. Vishal Bhardwaj’s Omkara remains the benchmark. “Because I was a literature student, I had studied Othello, and then I saw what Vishal Bhardwaj had done with it. It was brilliant.”

Her love affair with cinema, however, began much earlier. “I always say Chitrahaar ruined my life,” she laughs. “My dad got cable installed, but I failed a maths test the next day, so he cut it in two days. I was obsessed with Chitrahaar and Superhit Muqabla. I wanted to be in that world.”

As films such as Raanjhanaa, Nil Battey Sannata and Veere Di Wedding raised her profile, her political voice grew louder. Bhasker insists there was never a conscious decision to become outspoken. “There was never one moment when I started being vocal,” she reflects.

“I came to Bombay during the Congress government and the Anna Hazare movement. India has a really vibrant culture of protest. So many actors used to write and tweet and give their opinion. It was just normal, part of being a citizen in a democracy. It was not an act of bravery. To share your thoughts or say this is the truth, all of this became an act of bravery only after 2014.”

After a series of posts following the 2014 general election – in which she’d pointed to the country’s socio-political fractures—triggered months of online abuse, she says the threats never altered her convictions. “You fight for what you love. I love this country, and I love the version of this country envisaged in our Constitution.”

Her outspokenness has come at a professional cost, from the backlash over her open letter on Padmaavat to her opposition to the Citizenship Amendment Act. Bhasker says many colleagues choose silence after seeing what she has faced.

“A lot of my friends would say, ‘Let your art speak.’ But how can art speak when you haven’t left any space for it to be created? Honey Trehan did create art, Satluj, but it didn’t even last two days on Zee5 and wasn’t even allowed a theatrical release. There’s so much censorship. Even when I wrote that open letter to Sanjay Leela Bhansali, more than one big director told me I shouldn’t have done that.”

She is unsurprised that Bollywood rarely takes political risks. “A producer is ultimately a businessman. I don’t expect great acts of bravery from commercial cinema. Bollywood has always maintained good relations with whichever government is in power.”

Bhasker’s advice to those finding their voice is, thus, rooted in collective action rather than celebrity. “The only way you can speak up and be safe is if everyone speaks up. But people should not depend on actors. Celebrity worship has ruined our politics and our films. Celebrities are products of marketing, money and glamour. They will grow a conscience when society grows that conscience.”

She is equally uncomfortable being placed on a pedestal herself. “Don’t make me your hero. Someday I will probably let you down because I am human. Don’t attach those kinds of hopes to anyone.”

Now balancing motherhood with a quieter phase on screen, she is completing The Illicit Dreams of Mrs Phalani, in which she plays 16 characters. She has also made peace with the labels attached to her. “I fought that activist tag for many days, then I said, ‘Give it to me. I am not going anywhere.’ I just hope I’m remembered as a person who had good and clean intentions and integrity.”