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An Instagram ‘add yours’ story template has been circulating in Kerala, warning people to “protect their values” from what it calls the “normalisation of the LGBTQ community” on Bigg Boss Malayalam 7. Shared by thousands of Instagram users, the story pairs a screengrab of superstar and Bigg Boss Malayalam host Mohanlal confronting homophobic contestants with a photo of Adhila Nasarin and Fathima Noora— the show’s first openly lesbian couple. The accompanying message claims that platforms such as Bigg Boss are subtly shaping viewers’ minds, presenting queer identities as if they were the “default.”
But let’s pause and think, why are we so threatened by someone else’s life and love?
All Mohanlal did on the show, really, was defend basic human decency. Two contestants, Lakshmi and Mastani, had openly insulted Adhila and Noora. Lakshmi claimed she would never welcome the couple into her home, while Mastani accused them of “normalising LGBTQ culture.” But what, after all, is wrong with normalising it?
Mohanlal’s response was clear — respect and inclusivity are non-negotiable. If the contestants couldn’t accept that, they were free to leave. He also said that he would gladly welcome the couple into his own home.
It was a simple message but an important one, that Adhila and Noora deserve respect and dignity, just like anyone else.
The real-world impact of such moments can be profound. A Reddit user on r/LGBTIndia shared how Bigg Boss Malayalam gave them hope. Though they haven’t come out to their family, the user said that seeing the queer couple defended on TV and receiving widespread support online made them feel that coming out safely is possible. The user noticed relatives engaging positively with the show — their cousin liking queer-positive reels, their grandmother casually acknowledging the couple without hostility — small gestures that can signal safety, hope, and gradual change.
For many queer viewers, visibility on a mainstream platform is not entertainment, it is affirmation that their lives are valid.
The viral Instagram template, however, frames these affirmations as manipulation, implying that showing empathy is somehow dangerous. It also warns of “conditioning” by platforms and social media, as if implying that inclusivity is something imposed rather than experienced.
But the question is, when the only request is simple respect, whose principles are actually at stake here? Recognising someone’s right to live openly, so long as no one is harmed, is not an affront to principle. It is a test of our humanity.
While it is true that reality TV thrives on staged drama, moments like these often mirror society, offering glimpses into real people’s lives, their struggles, and their courage. For Adhila and Noora, who have battled harassment, coercion, and even the extremely dangerous pseudoscientific practice of ‘conversion therapy,’ visibility such as this is a lifeline.
Besides, the irony here is hard to miss. While the viral template claims to “protect values,” it does so by blatantly denying dignity to others. Such fear of representation rarely reflects principled objection. More often, it exposes deeply entrenched prejudice, revealing anxieties about our basic differences, even in a society that considers itself progressive.
‘Scripted’ as it may be, Mohanlal’s intervention on Bigg Boss was not indoctrination but quiet education, showing viewers what empathy, inclusivity, and basic humanity look like in real time. Sometimes, seeing someone defended on national television can shift attitudes far more effectively than a thousand essays or debates.
Views expressed are the author’s own.