In a conversation with Subha J Rao, writer-director-actor Tamizh speaks of his tryst with policing, his childhood inspiration, the ecosystem that made him, and what he hopes to contribute to cinema.

'I am particular that my film stays true to its roots, but also works at the box office.'
Last Updated: 07.21 PM, Feb 18, 2026
AT A TIME when most cop films in Tamil glorify the uniform and celebrate the over-the-top violence and encounter killings, some choose to be different. They focus on the nitty-gritty, the behind-the-scenes work, and the sheer exhaustion of it all.
Recent examples would be Vetrimaaran’s Visaranai (2016, Netflix) and Viduthalai (2023, 2024, Prime Video), RDM’s Kavalthurai Ungal Nanban (2020, YouTube), Franklin Jacob’s Writer (2021, Aha, Prime Video), Tamizh’s Taanakaaran (2022, JioHotstar), and the more recent Sirai (2025, ZEE5), written by him and directed by Suresh Rajakumari.
Taanakaaran and Sirai remind you why Tamizh is a welcome new voice in Tamil cinema. Because the former cop, who was born and raised in Rameshwaram, can look power in the eye and state home truths. But he is also observant enough to catch the fleeting moments of bonding in a deeply unequal relationship. His cops are not trigger-hungry, but they are not without malice, either. They can be strict, but also kind. In both films, one emerges with knowledge of how the police department actually works. The sharp crease of the khaki uniform, polished shoes and pistols shine in most cop movies, but this writer-director celebrates the rigorous paperwork, the interactions with the judiciary and the sheer exhaustion that comes with handling law and order. And, humaneness is always at the higher end of the scale here.

Sirai is another of those December releases that took its time to find box-office love. After a good run in theatres, it is being rediscovered on ZEE5, and social media feedback shows that a well-made film will find its audience. Somehow.
Tamizh is also an actor, with performances in Asuran, Jai Bhim and Run Baby Run coming in for appreciation.
Edited excerpts from an interview with the writer-director-actor, who speaks of his tryst with policing, his childhood inspiration, the ecosystem that made him, and what he hopes to contribute to cinema.
Everyone’s been wondering how you capture the life of police personnel with nuance, but few know you’ve been one in real life…
That’s true. I spent 12 years in the department. I had to join when I was 23 due to family pressures, and I began my career in the battalion in Manimuthaaru, then went to Delhi’s Tihar, Vellore and Chennai. I’ve done hundreds of remand trips and have visited most jails in the state. I’ve interacted with judges, argued with department folks, and also been that person who was reprimanded for a favour someone else asked for. After 12 years, I decided I had to step out to pursue my passion for cinema.
From the age of 23 till 35, I got to see people closely — those who were kind at heart while following the rules. In fact, when I applied to work with Vetrimaaran Sir as assistant director during Visaranai, he told me that I had the ability to clearly express what was stored in the deepest recesses of my heart. Also, he noticed that I never took up the cudgels on behalf of my former colleagues. He felt I could discern the good from the bad and approach anything with objectivity. And, so, I began my journey with him.

There’s a strong sense of fairness in your writing. Communism makes its presence felt too…
I was surrounded by family members who belonged to the movement. Even though I was in the police department, I would attend Communist meetings. Early on, it instilled some values in me — to ask for the greater common good. It would land me in trouble, but things worked themselves out.
That said, I am particular that my film stays true to its roots, but also works at the box office. It does not make sense to make just “exhibition pieces”. I have to be honest with the script, I must take cognisance of the underprivileged and their issues, and I must find a way to offer hope.
Hope floats in your writing. People discover their humaneness, systems bend and change for the better, and in Sirai, love triumphs.
As a person, I believe that love that has fought so much should not lose. We were particular about how our climax would be — one of change. The couple should win, the conscientious cop should win, and the producers should also win.
How have your days in the department influenced you?
More than influence, I think it changed me, reaffirmed certain thoughts, and told me which path I should choose. In 2009, I attended a protest against the genocide of Tamils in Sri Lanka. There was some issue there, and I decided to leave. By then, a local cop caught hold of me. I was taken to the police station. I could not reply immediately, and later told them I was a cop too. That gentleman warned me, dropped me off outside the city limits, and told me to do my job properly.

The scene featuring Muslim police officer Khader Baasha has received a lot of love, as well as some hate. How brave do you think it was to have that scene at a time when members of the minority community are almost invisibilised, and are rarely seen in the ‘good Samaritan’ mould?
That scene was important to show that even a character (a constable) who is supposed to protect law and order, and to believe in the Constitution, presumes that accompanying a Muslim undertrial means he has to take more precautions. This is when the boy willingly surrenders at a police station because the cops accompanying him are not to be found.
Remember the incident when I got caught by the cops? That kind person who dropped me off was a Muslim cop. Every time I think of that incident, I wonder how differently it might have played out. A version of that person is Khader Baasha.
I am happy that many people in the police department seem to like what I speak about in my films. That gives me hope.
The courts can be lonely places where people sit stunned as their lives are decided. How did you strike a balance there — writing in both understanding judges as well as arrogant ones?
As a cop, I’ve done at least 500 escorts across Tamil Nadu in the nearly four years I was in escort duty. I’ve seen courtrooms and judges in every district. I’ve been to all the central jails. I can write a separate story about the judges I’ve met. Some of them have been very strict. One of them, in fact, made me take the stand when I went for a warrant extension, because the accused had not come, and said he would remand me the next time.

You’re directing Karthi in Marshal now. Why did you opt out of directing Sirai?
I was supposed to direct it, and had even taken an advance. By then, Karthi Sir gave me his dates for Marshal. My producer wanted me to shoot immediately. And so, I requested the producer of Sirai to appoint someone else as director. He wanted me to suggest someone because he felt I would get the right person. That’s when I thought of Suresh. I promised to help out in all ways I could.
At a time when a director wants the story-screenplay-dialogues-direction tag for himself, how did you decide to step back and only remain the writer?
Veteran director A Venkatesh Sir told me that this call to give one’s writing to another director will prove to be beneficial across the board. In fact, the Malayalam film industry has a name today because of its healthy respect for writers. They fix the writer first before roping in the cast and crew. The writer is the hero. And, we, the audience, keep wondering how they crafted something so lovely using that core idea. We face that lacuna in Tamil. We need to encourage more good writers and novelists into the film industry, and get them to write stories. We need stories by people who think and write in Tamil.
You were talking about the reading habit and Kuru novels (novellas) available in petty shops near bus stands. What was your initiation into reading like?
Till Class 12, I did not read anything other than school books. And then, I got introduced to one Mr Murugadas, publisher of Pudhiya Thadam. He, in turn, introduced me to Marathi writer V S Khandekar and Poomani’s works. Till then, I was only aware of pulpy novellas. I remember reading Vela Ramamurthy’s Irulappa Saamiyum Irubathioru Kidaayum. Movies and drama played a role in my life, too.
My mother was a huge Sivaji Ganesan fan. She would get big pictures of him framed, while I accompanied her to the shop. Then, I never knew I’d work with his grandson Vikram Prabhu. My mother listened to a lot of radio dramas, and they became a part of my life.

With your films, we have also seen a new side to Vikram Prabhu, who stands as a picture of poise and integrity…
He’s capable of great nuance and trusts the writing. He goes by the script. He will never ask for an elevation anywhere. For example, in Sirai, at that powerful moment when the inspector identifies himself as Muslim and ticks off a constable with bias, Vikram has no dialogue. And, he did not ask for one to be included, because he knew it was that character’s moment, not his. That trait, that kind of grace, is rare.
What kind of stories charm you?
Historical incidents and stories revolving around them. Even Marshal is based on a 1965 incident. I like to choose stories that have a historical element. I think all struggles for a common cause, including the freedom movement, have to find reflection in cinema.
Every generation has its heroes and changemakers. We see the GenZ of so many countries holding forth the flag of freedom. And, we should be brave and document it.
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