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Guest Column: The new gods of digital newsrooms
Modern journalism began in the early 1600s, triggered, as any new vocation or market usually is, by technology, ie, the invention of the printing press. At first, a very crude community narrow-sheet was born, which was circulated to a few households in the vicinity. It took almost a hundred years of slow evolution for today’s broadsheet daily to acquire shape, with a large distribution footprint, photographs and advertising. It took another century for the next innovation in news journalism, the birth of radio broadcasting. But evolution was quicker after that, with television news appearing just a few decades after radio.
Nearly 400 years later, around 1990, internet news disrupted the whole landscape. And that was a seminal turning point for mainstream journalism.
Technology only changes the practices, never the principles of any established vocation – this was the irrefutable wisdom until the Internet turned a million axioms on their heads. Simply put, the principles of journalism – who, what, why, where, when, how, integrity of facts, stringent adherence to the truth, always giving the right of response to the accused/aggrieved – remained inviolable, even as the dissemination medium changed from ink on paper to sound on analogue waves to sound with moving pictures on electronic satellite signals. Technology could never change the principles, only the methods and practices, of telling a news story.
But the Internet did the unthinkable, forcing mainstream journalism to modify its principles. I like to describe the pre-digital era of news as “the voice of God journalism” – the Gods, of course, were the all powerful editors. Since I won my editorial spurs in that bygone era, I too belong to that Tribe of Gods, where every morning, a bunch of stiff guys would troop into the conference room, with pencils and notepads, and decide the order of news stories for the day. It was such a unilateral exercise! “Let’s lead with Gandhi, then do that parliament debate … and just stuff a bit of sports and movies towards the end”. Done. The viewer was a complete “outsider”, her interests were peripheral, because “Gods” had the divine right to mandate the run order of news stories.
I grope for the correct adjective here. Archaic? Anathema? Anachronistic? Absurd? Perhaps all four of these, and a billion more, could be justifiably used if “the voice of God journalism” were to invade and dominate a digital newsroom today. Why? Because a digital newsroom is not a unilateral, linear, one way transmission of stories. In the nanosecond after you publish anything, readers and viewers pounce at it with their likes, hates, shares, comments, denials, corrections, updates, meme tweaks on WhatsApp, cartoon caricatures on Instagram, vociferous protests, loud applause etc etc etc … an intelligent or distasteful cacophony gets lit, and you have to respond to it, agree with it, deny it, debunk it, decorate it, ie do something, anything with it or to it, but you simply can’t ignore it. Because if you choose to be the unmoved, stoic, non-responsive “Godly” editor of the early 90s, you will be out of a job. Pronto.
Let me illustrate with a simple choice that we had to make the other day. We were dealing with two big “demonetization stories” – one was a rather complex unraveling of the tax rules enshrined in the new Income Disclosure Scheme, wherein you would have to pay X% tax/penalty if illegal cash was deposited by Y date; and if you failed to do that, you would be liable for Z additional penalties. The other was a heart rending story of a 75-year old woman, the youngest sister of five brothers.
For the last 50 years, she had kept 250 precious envelopes in her safe, containing cash given to her on bhai dooj. In her world view, that cash was a sacred gift from her brothers, not to be ever spent. Her heart was broken when her son forced her to open each envelope, take out nearly Rs 1.50 lac in notes of various denominations, and deposit them in banks. Her faith was rattled, shaken. What an astonishing human story, capturing the unusual pathos that demonetization has inflicted on ordinary people. In the unilateral, Godly days of yore, the tax rules would have played upfront, while the human interest story would be tucked towards the end, to be soon forgotten. But in today’s digital newsrooms, the story of this rudely disenfranchised 75-year-old woman would gain unrelenting velocity on social media, would whiz around cyber space, getting Facebooked, WhatsApped and Instagrammed, touching the hearts of a million people, instigating thousands of comments/shares/likes.
No God could stem the viral force of this venerable lady’s touching story, which would simply obliterate the dry prose of tax rules, and reign supreme in the world of digital news.
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The author is the co-founder and chairman of Quintillion Media, including BloombergQuint. He is the author of two books, viz ‘Superpower?: The Amazing Race Between China’s Hare and India’s Tortoise’, and ‘Super Economies: America, India, China & The Future Of The World’. The views expressed are personal and Indiantelevision.com need not necessarily subscribe to them |
MUMBAI: 2025 will be remembered as the year India’s OTT industry stopped chasing scale for its own sake and began reckoning with how audiences actually consume content. Completion rates fell, patience wore thin and the limits of long-form excess became impossible to ignore. In this guest column, Pratap Jain, founder and CEO of ChanaJor, traces how micro-drama moved from the fringes to the centre of viewing behaviour, why short-form fiction emerged as a retention engine rather than a trend, and how platforms that respected time, habit and emotional payoff were the ones that truly grew up in 2025.
If there is one thing 2025 will be remembered for in the Indian OTT industry, it’s this: the industry finally stopped pretending.
Stopped pretending that bigger automatically meant better.
Stopped pretending that viewers had endless time.
Stopped pretending that scale without retention was success.
What began as a quiet reset in 2023 and a cautious correction in 2024 turned into a very visible shift in 2025. Business models matured. Content strategies tightened. And most importantly, platforms started aligning themselves with how Indians actually watch content, not how the industry wished they would.
At the centre of this shift was micro-drama—not as a trend, but as a behavioural inevitability.
When OTT finally understood the time problem
For years, long episodes were treated as a marker of seriousness. A 45–60 minute runtime was almost a badge of credibility. Shorter formats were pushed to the margins, labelled as “snack content” or “mobile-only.”
That belief quietly collapsed in 2025.
What platform data showed very clearly was not a drop in interest—but a drop in patience. Viewers weren’t rejecting stories. They were rejecting commitment.
Across platforms, the same patterns appeared:
* First-episode drop-offs on long-form shows kept increasing
* Completion rates continued to slide
* Viewers were sampling more titles but finishing fewer
At the same time, shows with episodes in the six to 10 minute range started showing the opposite behaviour: higher completion, higher repeat viewing, and stronger daily habit formation.
Micro-drama didn’t win because it was short. It won because it respected time.
Micro-Drama didn’t arrive loudly. It took over quietly.
There was no single moment when micro-drama “launched” in India. It crept in through dashboards and retention charts.
By mid-2025, it was clear that viewers were happy watching four, five, sometimes six short episodes in one sitting—even when they wouldn’t finish a single long episode. Romance, relationship drama, slice-of-life conflict, and grounded comedy worked especially well.
This wasn’t disposable content. It was compressed storytelling.
In shorter formats, there was no room for indulgence. Every episode had to move the story forward. Weak writing was punished faster. Strong writing was rewarded immediately.
Micro-drama raised the bar instead of lowering it.
Where ChanaJor naturally fit into this shift
ChanaJor didn’t pivot to micro-drama in 2025 because the market demanded it. In many ways, the platform was already built around the same viewing behaviour.
From the beginning, ChanaJor focused on short-to-mid-length fictional stories that felt close to everyday Indian life—hostels, rented flats, office romances, small-town relationships, young people figuring things out. Stories that didn’t need heavy context or cinematic scale to connect.
What worked in ChanaJor’s favour in 2025 was clarity:
* A clearly defined audience
* Tight episode lengths
* Storytelling that prioritised emotion and pace over spectacle
While several platforms rushed to copy global micro-drama formats, ChanaJor stayed rooted in familiar Indian settings and conflicts. That familiarity mattered. Viewers didn’t have to “enter” the world of the show—it already felt like theirs.
Why audiences started responding differently
One of the biggest misconceptions going into 2025 was that audiences wanted shorter content because their attention spans had reduced. That wasn’t entirely true.
What viewers actually wanted was meaningful payoff per minute.
On platforms like ChanaJor, episodes didn’t waste time setting the mood for ten minutes. Conflicts arrived early. Characters were recognisable within moments. Emotional hooks landed fast.
A typical consumption pattern looked like real life:
* One episode during a break
* Two more before sleeping
* A few the next day
This is how viewing habits are built—not through marketing spends, but through comfort and consistency.
Viewers came back not because every show was a blockbuster, but because they knew what kind of experience to expect.
2025 was also the year OTT faced business reality
The other big change in 2025 was on the business side. Subscriber growth slowed. Discounts stopped hiding churn. Customer acquisition costs rose.
Platforms were forced to ask harder questions:
* Are viewers finishing what they start?
* Are they returning without reminders?
* Is this content worth what we’re spending on it?
This is where micro-drama began outperforming expectations. A well-written short series could deliver sustained engagement without massive budgets. It didn’t peak for one weekend and disappear—it stayed alive through repeat viewing.
Platforms like ChanaJor benefited because they weren’t chasing inflated launch numbers. The focus was on consistency and retention, not noise.
Failures Became Visible Faster
2025 also exposed weaknesses brutally.
Several platforms assumed micro-drama was a shortcut—short episodes, quick shoots, instant traction. What they discovered was that bad writing fails faster in short formats than in long ones.
Viewers dropped off within minutes. Episodes were abandoned mid-way. Weak stories had nowhere to hide.
Micro-drama didn’t forgive laziness. It amplified it.
The platforms that survived were the ones that treated short storytelling with the same seriousness as long-form—sometimes more.
OTT Stopped Chasing Prestige and Started Chasing Habit
Perhaps the most important shift in 2025 wasn’t technical or creative—it was psychological.
OTT stopped trying to look like cinema. It stopped chasing validation through scale and awards alone. It began behaving like what it actually is in people’s lives: a daily companion.
Platforms like ChanaJor found their space here because that mindset was already baked in. The goal wasn’t to dominate a weekend launch. It was to quietly become part of someone’s everyday viewing routine.
That shift changed everything—from release strategies to how success was measured.
What 2025 Ultimately Taught the Industry
By the end of the year, three truths were impossible to ignore:
* Time is the most valuable thing a viewer gives you
* Retention matters more than reach
* Format must follow behaviour, not ego
Micro-drama didn’t take over because it was fashionable. It took over because it fit real life.
Looking Ahead
Micro-drama is not replacing long-form storytelling. It is redefining the baseline of engagement.
Longer shows will survive—but only when they earn their length. Short-form fiction will continue to evolve, becoming sharper, more emotionally confident, and better written.
Platforms like ChanaJor have shown that it’s possible to grow without shouting—by understanding the audience, respecting their time, and telling stories that feel real.
2025 wasn’t the year OTT became smaller. It was the year it became smarter.
Note: The views expressed in this article are solely the author’s and do not necessarily reflect our own.
