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If you've watched Khakee: The Bengal Chapter, you might recognise Aakanksha Singh who played 'Aratrika Bhowmick', a sweet-faced cop who brings you the twist you probably didn't see coming.
The year was 2012 when a young actress in her early twenties appeared on our television screens—not as a bubbly girl-next-door, but as a widowed mother of two in Na Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha. It was a bold, unconventional debut, but for Aakanksha Singh, it marked the beginning of a journey defined by risk, resilience, and reinvention. Whether it was taking on a character far older than her age or more recently stepping into the morally complex shoes of a cop in Khakee: The Bengal Chapter, Singh has constantly chosen roles that challenge the norm—and herself.
Over the years, she’s quietly but steadily carved out a space for herself across industries, from Hindi television and cinema to critically acclaimed roles in Tamil, Telugu, and Kannada films/series. Her approach is grounded in craft—shaped by her roots in theatre—and driven by a simple, unwavering wish: to feel alive in front of the camera for as long as she can.
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Singh is not interested in being a part of fictional worlds that serve no deeper purpose; she’s searching for meaning, for roles that contribute to the narrative, and for characters that leave an impact. It's a rare and powerful stand to take, especially for a female actor still establishing her place—but it’s precisely what makes her inspiring. With Khakee: The Bengal Chapter receiving a warm response, Singh finds herself in quiet reflection. In this conversation, she opens up about stepping into the layered world of Aratrika in Khakee, navigating language and identity across industries, breaking out of typecasting, and holding space for complexity in a world quick to label.
Here's how the conversation went!
Khakee: The Bengal Chapter is already out; reviews have started pouring in. How are you feeling right now? Is there any particular review about your performance that surprised you?
Honestly, it feels surreal. With Khakee, I’ve explored a character that’s so different from anything I’ve done before, making it incredibly special. When someone trusts you with a role like this, you want to push your limits and take on more layered parts. As for reviews, there’s one that made me laugh. Someone wrote, “We hate you, you're a gaddar (traitor)!” And I thought, wow, that means I must’ve done something right! If the audience reacts so strongly, the performance has struck a chord. Another review mentioned how Aratrika’s character brought warmth, depth, and a strong narrative arc to the series. They even said she was one of the key characters who changed the course of the story. That touched me. Feedback like that makes all the effort feel worthwhile.
Aratrika is such a central character—she’s essentially holding the entire mystery of the show, yet her moral complexity isn’t fully revealed until later. How did you navigate that space while portraying her? Especially since you’re also sharing the screen with iconic Bengal actors, including Jeet, and working with someone like Neeraj Pandey.
As I said earlier, it takes a visionary to place that kind of trust in an actor. Getting that opportunity from Neeraj sir, was incredibly validating. It reassured me that I’m moving in the right direction. When I first read about Aratrika, I knew this role would be different—it had many layers. The writers did a brilliant job crafting her. She’s almost like the sutradhar—a narrator of sorts for the series, but not a reliable one. That’s what makes her so fascinating. You believe in her innocence and what she’s telling you, and then one day—boom—it all shifts. That unpredictability was a challenge but a deeply rewarding one. There’s also a stillness to Aratrika. There are scenes where my hands and feet are tied, and I’m seated the entire time. So, everything had to come through my eyes, expressions, and voice. That’s not easy as an actor, but it pushed me to dig deeper.
And of course, no one could imagine me portraying a female police officer, so hats off to the creators for thinking of me in a way where I could add another dimension. Also, we’re so used to seeing male officers dominate this space, especially when it comes to being a morally ambiguous character—it’s almost expected. But a woman in that space? That’s not something we see often. So for the makers to believe I could pull off a tough, layered cop means a lot. It’s bold storytelling. Aratrika, to me, is a beautifully unique character—flawed, mysterious, and deeply human. I feel lucky to have had the chance to bring her to life in Khakee.
Zooming out from Khakee, you've consistently chosen diverse and challenging roles across your filmography. You played a widowed mother in Na Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha at the start of your career. That’s not a conventional choice for a newcomer. What made you say yes to a role like that? Were you ever anxious that it might typecast you?
At that time, I was very new to the industry. I had been doing theatre in Jaipur and was in the middle of my medical exams when I got this opportunity to audition. I did a self-test and got selected, so I didn’t come in with any notions of typecasting or stereotyped imaging—I didn’t even know such conversations existed. It was simply an opportunity, and I was excited to take it.
When people struggle to get that one break, you don’t say no to something that comes with so much faith in you. The fact that they saw something in me and approached a 21-year-old with the trust to play a widowed mother of two, that kind of belief from the makers, in wanting to give me an opportunity and take that chance, meant everything to me. So I came to Bombay. Na Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha was my first big opportunity. There was absolutely nothing that made me feel hesitant or unsure. Everything around me felt so positive, and I was eager to do it—because let’s be honest, every actor dreams of being on screen. Coming from a theatre background, I felt grounded and clear about why I was here. Acting was, and still is, my passion. The money, the fame—those things come later.
What truly excited me was the complexity of the role. I’ve always gravitated towards characters that challenge me as a performer. So when the producers offered me the part, I told them I’d be happy to do it. I said, “I know I can portray this character—I come from theatre, I can bring that depth—but I don’t know if I look like the person you're imagining.” And they said, “Leave that to us. You just focus on the performance.” That kind of trust meant everything. And honestly, I’ve always been up for a challenge. Even in Rangbaaz, I played a character across three different age groups—starting from 20 to mid-30s- 40s with dentures, bodysuits, and the whole transformation. I enjoy immersing myself in roles that push me out of my comfort zone. That’s the kind of work I want to keep doing.
I noticed that you did something very different with another show, Gulmohar Grand, on television—it felt ahead of its time, especially for Indian TV.
Yes, Gulmohar Grand was one of the early limited-series experiments on television. And again, it happened because of the same people who had cast me in my first show. They knew me personally and trusted me to play a 21-year-old hotel management trainee. That was refreshing because otherwise, I kept getting offered similar kinds of roles on television—mostly mother characters—and I didn’t want to be boxed into that. I wanted to explore more, so I consciously decided to step away from television. I patiently waited for that one opportunity that could shift things for me. Initially, I was still looking for that in Telvevision, but when Badrinath Ki Dulhania happened, it truly changed the game for me. It opened up a new vision board—I realized there was more out there than just TV, and I could be a part of films too. Before that, even though the dream of being on the big screen was always there, I didn’t know how to get there. I didn’t have a map. And it didn’t help that I was constantly being typecast—“You’ve played a mother, so here’s another mother role.” That wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to break out of that mold. I wanted to challenge myself.
What was your overall experience with working in television, and what challenges did you face that, in hindsight, you might want to change today?
I stepped away from television a while ago but I value everything it taught me. What’s great now is that the landscape is evolving—people are finally beginning to explore actors more freely across mediums. The lines between television, OTT, and film are slowly starting to blur, at least when it comes to performers. But breaking out of the image that TV had built around me was incredibly challenging back then. Even after Badrinath Ki Dulhania, it wasn’t easy to shake off that typecasting. That’s one of the biggest challenges I faced. And it’s why I actively chose to explore other industries and languages—I started working in the South, doing films that allowed me to explore range and versatility. I do think times are changing. We’re seeing more nuanced roles written for women and actors of all age groups.
However, there’s still a long way to go regarding how the industry and audience perceive actors from different backgrounds. There's this unspoken taboo around where someone comes from—a tendency to tag actors—“TV actor,” “film actor,” “OTT actor.” But acting is acting. A good performance is a good performance, regardless of where it comes from. Yes, the range might vary from person to person. Some may surprise you with how much they can bring to the table, while others might not. But it’s unfair to put everyone in a single box without giving them a chance. If someone delivers in a scene—whether they’re from television or films—they’re a performer. Period. The media sometimes plays into this by continuing to label people as “TV actress so-and-so.” While it might not seem harmful on the surface, those labels limit how people are seen. I wish every actor to be viewed as just that—a performer. Let them audition, let them prove themselves, and then form an opinion.
All I ask is that actors be given a fair shot. Let them audition. Let them show what they can do. Let their work speak for itself. Then decide. You don’t have to cast everyone, but at least offer the platform. That makes a world of difference, especially for young, emerging actors. For me, those labels and typecasting were definitely hurdles. And I’m proud that I’ve kept pushing and slowly been able to break through them. I hope, moving forward, that the newer generation of actors doesn’t have to fight the same fight.
Your career is hybrid and diverse. You’ve worked across languages and mediums: Tamil, Telugu, Kannada, Hindi, TV, and films, and now you’re part of a show rooted in Bengal. Is that something you’re deeply passionate about?
Absolutely. Acting is my first love—it’s my passion. For me, that love isn’t bound by language or medium. If I’m getting meaningful work, if I get to perform and grow, then I’m in—whether it's a Tamil film, a Telugu show, a Hindi series, or something entirely new. That hunger to explore, to feel fulfilled as an actor, is what keeps me going. I don’t want to be involved in a project just for its sake. You know, sometimes you can be present throughout a film and still not really do anything. That doesn’t satisfy me. I want to contribute. Even if it's just a five-minute role, it should mean something. It should challenge me and add value to the story.
Having said that, I’d love to shoulder a full-fledged film or a show in Hindi. I’m still waiting for that opportunity and am very much ready for it. But this path I’ve taken—working across industries and languages—it wasn’t something I planned consciously. What I did consciously decide was never to limit myself. I wanted to grow and push my boundaries. And that’s what I’ll keep doing—whether it’s in Telugu, Tamil, Hindi, or any language. I just want to do more, explore more, and keep evolving as an artist.
How do you navigate working across so many languages? How do you prepare for it? Have you noticed any significant differences between industries?
Telugu feels quite familiar to me now because I’ve done many films and shows there. Kannada and Tamil are still relatively new territories, but I’ve never seen language as a barrier. Coming from a theatre background, I’ve always believed that storytelling transcends language. We all watch Korean dramas with subtitles and still feel deeply connected to the characters—that’s the power of performance.
Of course, working in an unfamiliar language demands ten times more effort. You’re not just learning lines—you’re learning the rhythm, the emotion behind each word, and making it your own. But if you understand the meaning of your dialogue, and if the writing is strong, emoting becomes easier. It’s not just saying lines like “1-2-3-4” and calling it a day—it’s about living those words. I’ve never been afraid of putting in that extra effort. I enjoy it—it keeps me on my toes. I feel fortunate to have been trusted with performance-oriented roles in every language I've worked in. Especially in the South, all my work has been lead roles, each very different from the other—no repetitions, and all creatively fulfilling.
As for differences, yes, there are a few. For instance, in Hindi cinema, especially with OTT or film productions, we often use sync sound—capturing the audio live on set. But in most South industries, everything is dubbed later, even if you know the language. I think there’s a notion there that dubbing gives more control over performance in post-production, though I’m not sure of the exact reason behind it. Otherwise, people are warm and welcoming—both in the South and the Hindi industry. The storytelling and creative processes are pretty similar across the board. The language may change, but the passion, the energy on set, and the hunger to tell a good story remain constant.
When you talk about the waiting period—those tough times of hanging in there between projects—what would you say to your younger self now or to someone going through the same phase?
If I could speak to the younger Aakanksha, I’d tell her this: You could’ve dared to dream bigger, earlier. Your vision was a little too compact. You didn’t realise then that you had every right to imagine yourself on the big screen too—not just TV. But honestly, I have no regrets. Whatever I am today is because of that journey. Maybe it could’ve moved a bit faster, but I’ve always believed in “slow and steady wins the race.” And that’s the mantra I live by. I want to stay here—doing this—for as long as life allows. The camera makes me feel alive. That feeling… I don’t think anything else compares.
Waiting is part of an actor’s life—it just is. Sometimes, it takes years. But one phone call, one project, can change everything. We've seen Neena Gupta, Shefali Shah, Boman Irani… their journeys prove that patience and self-belief can indeed pay off. I genuinely believe in manifestation and destiny. It worked for me, and I know it can work for others, too. If you genuinely believe in your craft, if you know deep down that you’re meant for this—then hang in there. Keep doing the work, and keep showing up. The rest? Leave it to the universe. It will happen. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but it will.
What’s in store for you in the future?
I have a few exciting projects lined up! I’m currently working on a Telugu thriller, which I look forward to. I’m also about to begin shooting for another film, fiction, which should go on floors soon. One of my upcoming films, Shasti Purti—a family drama in Telugu—is set to release next month, and I’m excited to see how audiences connect with it. As for Hindi, I genuinely hope Khakee: The Bengal Chapter opens more doors for me. I’m still waiting for more opportunities from the Hindi space—opportunities where I can take on different kinds of roles and show more shades of myself as an actor. I hope the audience continues to support me and filmmakers start seeing me in more diverse characters. That’s all I want—to keep performing and growing.
Khakee The Bengal Chapter is currently streaming on Netflix!
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