From Chalk Dust to Camera Lights

At 70, most people slow down.

Biana Watre Momin sped up.

A retired english literature professor from Tura government College in Meghalaya’s Garo Hills, she had spent decades teaching romantic poetry, guiding students through Wordsworth and Keats, living a quiet life with her grandchildren and four dogs.

Then she boarded a journey of more than 3,000 kilometres to kerala to act in a Malayalam-language psychological drama.

No formal training.
No theatrical background.
No prior ambition to data-face a camera.

And yet, when Eko released on Netflix, it didn’t just introduce a character.

It introduced a phenomenon.

1️⃣ The Leap No One Saw Coming

Growing up in meghalaya, Momin didn’t even have access to cinema halls. Acting wasn’t a dream deferred — it was never a dream at all.

Her life revolved around academia, family, literature, and the rhythms of a matrilineal tribal society. A member of the Garo tribe, she carried with her cultural roots rarely represented on indian screens.

It took her daughter’s gentle push — “Have faith in yourself and try something new” — to tip the scales.

At 70, she chose uncertainty over comfort.

2️⃣ The Film That Changed Everything

Directed by Dinjith Ayyathan, Eko unfolds in the mist-laced Western Ghats of kerala — a story layered in mystery, memory, and moral ambiguity.

Momin plays Mlathi Chettathi, an elderly woman living alone atop a mountain, her life shadowed by wartime secrets and manipulative men circling her crumbling home.

The film resists genre labels — eco-mystery, psychological thriller, feminist folklore — it’s all of that and none of it neatly.

But at its centre stands Momin.

Still. Observant. Quietly defiant.

3️⃣ The Audition That Sealed It

The film’s team was searching for a fresh data-face to portray an elderly Malay woman with a complex wartime past.

They looked across india — even reaching out through networks including personnel stationed in the Northeast — hoping to find someone whose features could plausibly pass as Malay.

Then Momin’s images surdata-faced.

At her audition, she was given a fictional scenario: reporting her son missing to the police.

No rehearsed drama. No theatrical excess.

Just restrained emotion.

Writer and cinematographer Bahul Ramesh recalls her spontaneity and composure standing out immediately.

What won them over wasn’t polish.

It was her presence.

4️⃣ A Student Again at 70

Momin approached the set not as a star, but as a learner.

She memorised malayalam lines phonetically. Worked with a language coach. Trekked up a mountain daily in unpredictable weather. Shot scenes in fog and rain.

Though her voice was later dubbed, she delivered every line on set.

The production lasted 45 intense days.

Long hikes. Equipment rushes. Veteran co-stars.

She didn’t falter.

“I am a strong woman,” she says simply.

5️⃣ Feminism, Folklore, and Fearlessness

Mlathi Chettathi is not a decorative elder. She is self-reliant, strategic, and quietly powerful.

Momin credits her upbringing in a matrilineal society for shaping her understanding of the character.

kerala and meghalaya share matrilineal traditions — women as custodians of lineage and property.

That lived feminism informed her performance.

She didn’t act empowered.

She embodied it.

6️⃣ The Accolades

Praise arrived swiftly.

National Award-winning tamil actor Dhanush called her work “world-class.”

Filmmakers from bollywood and beyond have since approached her with scripts.

At 70, when most careers conclude, hers began.

7️⃣ Back to the Hills

For now, she’s home again in Meghalaya.

Book club meetings. Family time. Literary discussions — including arundhati Roy’s Mother Mary Comes to Me.

She quotes Dylan Thomas with effortless authority:
“Old age should burn and rage at close of day.”

She sounds like a professor again.

But the camera has already captured something enduring.

The Real Story

Biana Momin didn’t chase cinema.

cinema found her.

In an industry obsessed with youth, glamour, and formula, a 70-year-old first-time actor from the Garo Hills walked onto a malayalam film set — and delivered a performance critics couldn’t ignore.

She is proof that talent isn’t manufactured by pedigree.

It’s revealed by courage.

From classroom chalk to mountain mist, from poetry to psychological thriller — her story isn’t just about acting.

It’s about timing.

And sometimes, the most powerful debut is the one that arrives seven decades late.