Hindi
After much controversy, ‘MSG’ becomes ‘The Messenger’
NEW DELHI: Following controversy over the film, which was cleared by the Film Certification Appellate Tribunal, self-proclaimed Saint Gurmeet Ram Rahim Singh Insan’s much hyped film has been renamed MSG – The Messenger.
The film was initially named MSG: Messenger of God, and had reportedly provided the fuel to the mass resignations from the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) whose members had alleged interference from the Government.
The new name was revealed in a tweet sent by Gurmeet Ram Rahim Singh Insan himself, clarifying that the film had been cleared by the CBFC with a new name.
He said the film is targeted at cleansing the worldly evils that have plagued society recently and threatened to corrupt it. It develops an insight into the exploration of spirituality with the entertainment factor remaining intact.
A first in its kind, the film has been trending all over social media creating a huge interest. The music with most songs sung by Singh has become an instant hit after its release online through the trailers and promos.
Slated or release on 13 February, the film has been produced by Hakikat Entertainment Pvt. Ltd., co-directed by Saint Gurmeet Ram Rahim Singh Insan and Jeetu Arora Insan with and music directed by Saint Gurmeet Ram Rahim Singh Insan.
At the release function last month of the music, Singh who is head of Indian social-spiritual welfare organization Dera Sacha Sauda, had said that he would be using the earnings from the film for the betterment of the community. He will support a new research initiative for Thalassemia patients and also donate most of the proceeds towards research on HIV.
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.
