Abhinav Kashyap, Dabangg, and the Harsh Realities of Bollywood

Abhinav Kashyap is making waves on YouTube these days. His series of interviews are now online, and my heart goes out to this creative man. For those who don't know him, Abhinav is the younger brother of director Anurag Kashyap. He started his career in television as a writer and director, also writing a few films, but his major break came when he directed the cult classic Dabangg with Salman Khan, for which he was also the writer.

While Abhinav may not be a household name, those of us who have worked in the Hindi film industry since the boom of television and its transition to OTT know him well (Maybe not directly, but through common acquaintances.). His recent interviews have sparked a crucial conversation, one that requires us to understand the history of the Indian entertainment industry.

The Changing Landscape of Entertainment

For decades, cinema was the undisputed king of Indian entertainment. Going to the movies was an event—a time-consuming and somewhat expensive effort that involved planning, taking the family out, and eating a meal together. But it was always worth it. Stars from Dilip Kumar to Rajesh Khanna and Amitabh Bachchan drew audiences into theaters, creating a genuine craze.

This began to shift in the 1980s with the arrival of Doordarshan and hugely popular serials like Buniyad and Hum Log. They offered competition, but cinema still reigned supreme. The real game-changer came in the early 90s with liberalization and the explosion of cable TV. Suddenly, we had a multitude of private channels like Zee, Sony, and Star.

This created new platforms and opportunities. For many writers and directors, breaking into films was a hard nexus to crack. Television became a vital showcase. Production houses like Balaji Telefilms led the daily soap revolution, while channels also aired one-hour slots like Star Bestsellers, Shh….koi hai, Khauf and Director's Cut. This was the training ground for a generation of talent—including Imtiaz Ali, Tigmanshu Dhulia, and Anurag Kashyap. They built their showreels and honed their craft through these stories. Abhinav Kashyap was also navigating this world, trying to find his foothold in cinema even as his brother was gaining recognition.

The Great Divide: TV vs. Cinema

Despite television's growth, cinema still ruled. I remember this divide clearly, as I was transitioning from TV to films myself. Cinema crews often looked down on TV people. I heard the taunt, "Ye TV nahi hai" ("This isn't TV"), more times than I can count.

And it was true—film shoots were different. They were more difficult, stressful, and expensive. Grand sets, costly cameras, and, most significantly, the immense pressure of huge financial investments. A lot of this stress revolved around managing star egos.

I recall a shoot that was supposed to start at 7 AM. The stars—Abhishek Bachchan, Anil Kapoor, Mahima Chaudhary, and Waheeda Rehman—arrived by 11 AM. But we couldn't shoot because we were waiting for a renowned actress. She finally arrived at 4 PM for an outdoor shoot, with daylight fading fast. The director's skill was truly tested then: he had to keep his cool, reshoot the plan, and use close-ups to make the night shoot look like day. This was considered normal.

On another occasion, an entire 80-person crew flew to Christchurch, New Zealand, only to have the shoot postponed for three days because the lead actress (again, the same renowned star) had refused to fly from India. While it might sound like a free vacation, the reality is that crew members want to work and earn, not sit idle abroad. We later learned that this was often a clash of egos between the producer and the star, a negotiation played out with the crew as pawns.

This star culture has damaged the art for ages. Why does it persist? Because there's too much money riding on a star's shoulders, and no one wants to risk upsetting them. I've seen actors make outrageous demands, like one star's son who insisted on having rasgullas flown in from a specific shop in Kolkata. This same actor would play cruel pranks on the crew, like taping their mouths shut or reading a newspaper in his vanity van while everyone waited on set. This unpredictable, entitled behavior is, sadly, a normalized part of the system. As Abhinav says, "Inko maza aata hai, ki log pareshan hain unki wajah se" ("They enjoy the fact that people are troubled because of them”).

One very big star in the industry used to call us "Lavdu." It was a common part of his vocabulary. In a normal conversation, he'd say, "Arey, woh bulao un lavdu log ko," which meant, "Go call those assistants." My blood would boil, but what could I do? Imagine this: an award-winning actor, our childhood idol who made millions of Indians dance to his tunes—and, above all, my own director—sitting there and smiling while this superstar called you "Lavdu." Many assistant directors rationalized it, feeling it wasn't an abuse but a term of endearment. I, however, never enjoyed it. When Abhinav says Salman used to call him "Lavdu," I can completely understand his anger.

Of course, not every star is like this. I've also worked with the most successful actors who are incredibly grounded and professional. But ego is an undeniable and pervasive force in the industry.

Abhinav’s Story: A Cautionary Tale

I understand the frustration Abhinav has carried for 15-16 years. He narrated the script of Dabangg to Arbaaz Khan, who agreed to produce it with Salman Khan as the lead. The film became a cult hit, but according to Abhinav, the experience with the Khan family was so negative that he declined to direct Dabangg 2. He made Besharam next, but after that, his directorial career stalled. He squarely blames the Khans for sabotaging his path.

In his lengthy interviews, he details grievances against each family member but struggles to clearly explain the how of the sabotage. As someone from the industry, I agree that powerful players can and do sabotage careers—it happens at every level.

I experienced it firsthand. When I was 24, I wrote my first story and got it approved by a channel for one of those one-hour slots. Out of gratitude, I brought the project to a director I was assisting. Instead of nurturing my talent, she made me feel indebted, absorbed the project, and systematically ensured I didn't grow as a writer, keeping me as an assistant for 15 years until my most productive years were behind her.

It pains me to look back, but I also know I should have been stronger. I allowed someone to take me for a ride. The same question applies to Abhinav: why did he allow the Khans to do this? Now, after 16 years, he realizes his career was sabotaged, but he must also share the blame. There's a telling dialogue in the film Buddha in a traffic jam: "कोई करप्ट नहीं है तो वो है, जिसे करप्शन का मौका ही नहीं मिला!" ("The only person who is not corrupt is the one who never got the opportunity to be corrupt.").

Look at the contrasting paths of Anurag and Abhinav Kashyap, who come from the same background. Anurag became a success, while Abhinav struggles. Do we think Anurag is "doodh ka dhula" (pure as milk)? He is likely doing, knowingly or unknowingly, what Salman did to Abhinav, perhaps with less intensity. This is how the ecosystem operates. We can't just be crybabies; we must accept that this is, to a large extent, how it works.

The Danger of Desperation and Losing Focus

While I empathized with Abhinav through most of his interviews, his approach now feels counterproductive. He’s creating gossip, not change. In one clip, he questions, "Who declared Salman a superstar? What is the criteria?" This is naive. Abhinav, as a maker of masala films, knows the box office is the ultimate criterion, and Salman still rules it.

This is where the real problem lies. When we fight, it reflects ourself. If we deviate our words or conversation to something else, the whole process goes for a toss. The subject gets deviated and it sounds and looks like a petty cat fight. Abhinav’s attempts to connect his personal grievance to beef-eating, love jihad, and calls for Gen Z to protest like in Nepal are a perfect example of this deviation. It's no longer a fight about systemic abuse in Bollywood; it becomes a messy personal attack.

He urges courts to re-investigate old cases against Salman, but it seems more like a personal vendetta than a fight for a larger cause. The cause—the big fish eating the small—is real and serious, and it should be fought like a cause. But it's not about a "beef-eating family." By introducing these extraneous elements, he dilutes his powerful core argument and allows critics to dismiss him as desperate or unhinged.

In his own words, Abhinav gives the solution but fails to follow it: "Line ko bina chue chota karne ka aasan tareeka hai, uske saamne ek lambi line kheech do" ("The easy way to make a line look smaller without touching it is to draw a longer line next to it").

The best revenge isn't a desperate interview series that loses its focus; it's a brilliant, successful film. It's high time he took his own advice. The fight must be fought with focus and dignity, not with scattered accusations that turn a serious problem into a spectacle.

- Viveck Tewari

Link to Abhinav Kashyap interview https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zns1tCY9g4w&t=853s