Hindi
Aamir Khan slams Hindi cinema’s bad scripts, says good films can’t be stopped
MUMBAI: Hindi cinema needs to raise its game—and fast. That was the clear message from celebrated actor and filmmaker Aamir Khan at ABP Network’s high-octane India @ 2047 Summit, a national thinkfest charting India’s journey to becoming a fully Viksit Bharat by its centenary year.
“India has no shortage of stories. The problem is the way we’re telling them,” Khan quipped in a sharp takedown of the Hindi film industry’s recent flops. “Hindi cinema is making bad films. You can’t stop a good film, and you can’t force a bad one to be a hit.”
He didn’t hold back in comparing the current business model unfavourably to the booming south Indian industry. “We release films theatrically, and in eight weeks they’re available at home. Why would anyone go to a theatre?” he asked, pointing to a post-pandemic shift in viewing habits and a shrinking window between theatrical and satellite premieres.
Speaking in the session The Attention Industry: Telling the Best Stories, Khan struck a nuanced note. “Box office numbers matter, but they’re not the only yardstick. We also need better stories, better policy support, and frankly, more screens.”
Taking a macro view, Khan welcomed initiatives like Waves that support the creative industries, urging deeper government collaboration. “India has only 10,000 screens. For Hindi films, we get just 5,000. Compare that with China’s 90,000 or the US’s 35,000. We need more theatres, faster licensing, and incentives to build supporting infrastructure,” he said.
Khan also teased his upcoming film Sitare Zameen Par, calling it a spiritual successor to his 2007 classic Taare Zameen Par.
“It carries the inclusion theme ten steps forward, but this time through comedy. My character Gulshan is a hot-headed basketball coach—the opposite of the gentle Nikumbh,” he smiled. “It’s about how we each define what ‘normal’ means.”
In true method-actor style, Khan recounted not bathing for days while filming Raakh and Ghulam, laughing, “I had to look like I lived on the streets!”
On his long-cherished dream of adapting the Mahabharat, Khan said, “That’s a sacred story. It won’t let you down—but you could let it down.” While coy about which character he’d play, he admitted, “Krishna inspires me a lot.”
He also reflected on missing the re-release of cult comedy Andaz Apna Apna due to the Pahalgam terror attack. “We were devastated. I couldn’t bring myself to attend the premiere. But I trust the government will bring the perpetrators to justice.”
Recounting a post-Article 370 visit to Srinagar, Khan noted, “There was peace and calm. The lockdown had just ended, but it felt like normalcy was returning.”
On his unusual compensation model, Khan revealed he doesn’t charge fees upfront. “If the film profits, I earn. If it flops, I don’t. I didn’t take a rupee for Laal Singh Chaddha. I believe in putting my money where my mouth is.”
At 58, Khan may be selective in his projects, but his voice still packs punch. Hindi cinema makers consider yourself warned.
Hindi
Remembering Gyan Sahay, the lens behind film, television and advertising
From a puppet rabbit selling poppadums to Hindi cinema, he framed it all.
MUMBAI: There are careers, and then there are canvases. Gyan Sahay, the veteran cinematographer, director, and producer who passed away on 10 March 2026 in Mumbai, had one of the latter. Over several decades in the Indian film and television industry, he turned lenses, lights, and the occasional puppet rabbit into something approaching art.
A graduate of the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) in Pune, Sahay built his reputation as a director of photography across a career that stretched from the early 1970s all the way to the digital age. He was the kind of craftsman who understood that a well-composed shot is not merely a technical achievement but a quiet act of storytelling.
For most Indians of a certain age, however, Sahay will forever be the man behind the rabbit. His direction of the iconic long-running television commercial for Lijjat Papad, featuring its now-legendary puppet bunny, gave the country one of its most cheerfully persistent advertising images. It was the sort of work that sneaks into the national subconscious and takes up permanent residence.
His big-screen credits as cinematographer include Anokhi Pehchan (1972), Pagli (1974), Pas de Deux (1981), and Hum Farishte Nahin (1988). In 1999, he stepped behind a different kind of camera altogether, making his directorial debut with Sar Ankhon Par, a drama that featured Vikas Bhalla and Shruti Ulfat, with a cameo by Shah Rukh Khan for good measure.
On television, Sahay was particularly prized for his command of multi-camera production setups, a skill that made him a go-to technician for large-scale shows and reality programmes. In an industry that has never been especially patient with complexity, he was the calm hand on the rig.
In later life, Sahay turned teacher. He participated regularly in masterclasses and Digi-Talks, often hosted by organisations such as Bharatiya Chitra Sadhna, sharing hard-won wisdom on cinematography, the comedy of timing in a shot, and the sweeping changes brought by the shift from celluloid to digital. He was also said to have been involved in a project concerning a biographical film on Infosys co-founder N.R. Narayana Murthy.
Tributes from the film industry poured in following the news of his passing, with colleagues remembering him as a senior cameraman who served as a rare bridge between two entirely different eras of Indian cinema. That is, perhaps, the finest thing one can say of any craftsman: he kept up, and he brought others along with him.
