“Khauf: A Feminist Horror That Dares to Look Men in the Eye”
In an era where horror often feels like a recycled bag of tricks, Khauf arrives not with a bang, but with a chill that creeps under your skin. Helmed by writer-creator Smita Singh, this Amazon Prime Video series reimagines horror not as spectacle, but as commentary—slow-burning, unsettling, and deeply feminist. While it doesn’t aim for perfection, Khauf chooses to disturb not just with ghosts, but with the all-too-familiar violence of patriarchy.
At its heart is Madhuri, played with raw precision by Monika Panwar. She is no scream queen, but a woman running from a trauma that refuses to be left behind. When she moves into Room 333 of a women’s hostel on Delhi’s eerie fringes, the haunted room she occupies becomes a metaphor for the haunted reality of everyday womanhood. Here, horror isn’t just supernatural—it’s systemic.
Singh does not indulge in the cheap thrills that often plague Hindi horror. Instead, she lays down an atmosphere—moody, eerie, and grounded in the lived experiences of urban Indian women. The series uses Delhi not just as a backdrop, but as a character—a city bruised by its own truths. From the fog-laced corners of Sanjay Van to the sinister alleys of Old Delhi, Khauf paints a terrifyingly realistic picture of a world where women are constantly watched, judged, and violated—not just by spirits, but by men.
Rajat Kapoor’s portrayal of a manipulative hakim, feeding off female suffering, is hauntingly symbolic. So is Geetanjali Kulkarni’s cop, whose professional cynicism masks personal despair. Together, they highlight how authority, whether mystical or institutional, can fail—or feed off—the vulnerable. But it’s Monika Panwar’s Madhuri who commands the screen. Her transformation from victim to vessel of vengeance is messy, nuanced, and uncomfortably real.
What sets Khauf apart isn’t just its content—it’s its form. Clocking in at nearly six hours across eight episodes, it demands patience. Yet it rewards that patience with a textured narrative that blends supernatural lore with emotional truth. Singh doesn’t merely present jump scares (though there are a few); she builds dread like a slow boil. And in that simmer, the true monster is unmasked—not a ghost, but the male gaze that polices, objectifies, and controls.
Of course, the series isn’t without flaws. The climax stumbles, giving into genre tropes that undercut the protagonist’s arc. And there’s an underlying question: must trauma always be the gateway to empowerment in horror? Still, Khauf dares to ask uncomfortable questions. And more importantly, it listens to the silences in between.
In a country still grappling with how to tell women’s stories—especially in genre fiction—Khauf is more than a horror series. It’s a mirror, and sometimes, the scariest thing is what looks back at us.
Streaming Now: Khauf is available exclusively on Amazon Prime Video.
