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  • Hindi Cinema’s Vanishing Treasures: Pfft! Disappeared the ‘Good’ Muslim Character from Hindi Cinema!

    Poster reading “Muslim Characters in Hindi Cinema: Through the Decades,” with labeled poet, loyal friend, aristocrat, gangster, coolie, and terrorist characters.
    Muslim character archetypes have evolved in Hindi cinema over the decades. (Image generated via AI)

    The second of this three-part series on the vanishing treasures of Hindu-Muslim syncretism in Hindi cinema explores the characterisation of Muslims in Hindi cinema, particularly focusing on their evolution through the decades and what that indicates about our times, then and now.

    From magnanimous friends and fearless patriots in the 1950s and 1960s to menacing gangsters and cold-blooded terrorists in the 1990s and 2000s, the Muslim in Bollywood has changed a great deal over the decades. A brief examination of the many forgettable and unforgettable Muslim movie characters over the last seven and a half decades reveals how inextricably reel and real life are intertwined. 

    The overwhelming majority of post-Independence films did not have Muslim protagonists. Movies of a specific genre known as the ‘Muslim Social’ typically had all Muslim characters including the hero and heroine. The focus in this article is on regular films and how Muslims were depicted in these. The third and last part of this series will shine a spotlight on the ‘Muslim Social’. 

    Hindi Cinema in the 1950s, 60s & 70s

    Newly independent India was envisioned as secular and values of religious tolerance and pluralism were considered intrinsic to the Nehruvian idea of India. Films of the era captured this secular zeitgeist by portraying Muslims as loyal friends and companions, even saviours who shook the conscience of erring protagonists. Garam Coat (1955) shows a portly Pathan, Sher Khan (Jayant) cheering up the beleaguered hero Girdhari (Balraj Sahni) and saving his life by thwarting his suicide attempt in the end. Likewise in Pyaasa (1957), Abdul Sattar (Johnny Walker), a street head masseur, is the only friend of struggling poet Vijay (Guru Dutt) in the world. In the Dostoevskian Phir Subah Hogi (1958), Rehman (Rehman) acts as the penniless Ram’s (Raj Kapoor) pillar of support and refuses to abandon him even when Ram bitterly quarrels with him.

    One of the most remarkable Muslim characters in Hindi cinema was seen in Dhool ka Phool (1959). In it, the avuncular Abdul Rasheed (Manmohan Krishna) raises an illegitimate child undeterred by taunts and near-social boycott.

    Video credit: Channel Ishtar Music on YouTube

    The 1960s did not see a radical departure from this pattern. In Dharmputra (1961), Ashok Kumar plays the benevolent aristocrat and fierce patriot Nawab Badruddin who is forced to hand over his grandson, born out of wedlock to daughter Husn Bano (Mala Sinha), to a young Hindu doctor whose father had been Badruddin’s best friend. In Arzoo (1965), it is the comical but kindly Kashmiri houseboat man Mamdooh (Mehmood) who inadvertently unites the lovers in the end.  

    The 1970s saw the creation of a virtuous Muslim character, albeit one infused with flaws and frailties. One such character was the red-haired Pathan Sher Khan (Pran) in the cult classic Zanjeer (1973). A criminal running gambling dens, Sher Khan turns over a new leaf after befriending Inspector Vijay (Amitabh Bachchan). In the iconic Amar Akbar Anthony (1977), Rishi Kapoor plays one of the lead characters, namely a cheerful Muslim qawwal (singer) named Akbar. Muqaddar Ka Sikandar (1978) had important female Muslim characters like Fatima (Nirupa Roy) who brings up the orphaned Sikander (Amitabh Bachchan) and Zohra Begum (Rekha), the courtesan with a heart of gold. 

    Hindi Cinema in the 1980s & 1990s

    The 1980s witnessed a slight shift in the portrayal of Muslims. Though many films continued to show them as loyal friends and confidants, their depiction as working class people – oppressed and marginalised – increased. 

    By the late 1970s, nearly all affluent Muslims had left for Pakistan, and this portrayal may be regarded as a mirror to the community’s socio-economic condition in reality.

    The 1980s also marked the beginning of Muslim crime-themed films inspired, in no small measure, by the rise of underworld gangsters Haji Mastan, Dawood Ibrahim and others. The idea spawned dozens of movies containing the leitmotif of the ruthless Muslim don, gang lord, or petty criminal.  

    An exceptional movie is Coolie (1983), which featured a working-class Muslim as the protagonist, despite not being a ‘Muslim Social’. Amitabh Bachchan put in a power-packed performance as the swashbuckling coolie Iqbal, who fights, romances, and prays with equal ardour. Coolie abounds in Sufi imagery and symbols such as miracles worked by prayers to the “Lord of Medina”, and a badge embossed with the sacred digits 786.

    In the satirical drama, Mohan Joshi Haazir Ho! (1984), the poor but good-hearted Kareem (Naresh Suri) is the only person to support the elderly Mohan Joshi (Bhisham Sahni) and his wife who decide to take legal action against their avaricious landlord Kundan Kapadia (Amjad Khan). It was Tezaab (1988) that effectively popularised the character of the dreaded Muslim gangster with Lotiya Pathan (Kiran Kumar). 

    The early 1990s saw India mired in multiple communal crises, including the Ram Temple Movement and exodus of Pandits from the Kashmir Valley, followed by an outbreak of insurgency in Kashmir. Further polarisation came in the wake of violent communal riots shortly after the demolition of the Babri Masjid. The villainisation of the Muslim had begun both in reel and real life. 

    The 1990s began with a remarkable movie called Henna (1991), about a Pakistani girl Henna (Zeba Bakhtiyar) and her unrequited love for the Indian Chander (Rishi Kapoor). Caught in the exchange of fire between India and Pakistan, the eponymous heroine is killed, prompting Chander to ponder the futility of war and violence.

    The Muslim Kashmiri terrorist, complete with a Kalashnikov and pheran, made his first prominent appearance in a Tamil film dubbed in Hindi named Roja (1993). 

    Hindi cinema in the 1990s also began dabbling in Hindu-Muslim love stories although, in line with Hindu patriarchy, the hero was almost always Hindu – reinforcing the idea of the majority conquering the minority. Examples include Bombay (1995) – another Tamil film dubbed in Hindi – and Dahek (1999). Interestingly, Shaila Banu (Manisha Koirala) of Bombay continues practicing her own religion even after marrying a Hindu man.

    Sarfarosh (1999) gave Pakistan-sponsored terrorism a face for the first time in a Hindi movie through Gulfam (Naseeruddin Shah). The film also pioneered the dichotomy of the good Muslim, bad Muslim with ghazal singer and undercover Pakistani intelligence agent Gulfam, and patriotic police inspector Salim (Mukesh Rishi). In a poignant scene, the latter bemoans his allegiances being suspect on account of his religion. 

    Video credit: Tips Films on YouTube

    Even in B-grade Hindi cinema of the 1990s, heroes were often seen single-handedly tackling gaggles of sword-brandishing goons, conspicuous by their Keffiyeh shoulder wraps and skull caps. 

    Hindi Cinema in the 2000-2010

    9/11 changed the world, including India, in irreversible ways. The Muslim, more or less, became a stock character – a terrifying, rifle-toting terrorist; a closet jihadi plotting to kill all kafirs; or a pitiful innocent victim. That India itself suffered numerous terror attacks all through the decade added fuel to the fire. In between the Parliament attack in 2001 and Mumbai terror attacks in 2008, there were at least half a dozen bombings – in Delhi, Mumbai, Jaipur, Varanasi, and Ahmedabad – all attributed to Jihadists.

    As the gaze of the majority hardened, so did the gaze of cinema.  



    Fiza (2000) showed a sister Fiza’s (Karisma Kapoor) search for her brother Amaan (Hrithik Roshan) who becomes a terrorist shortly after the 1993 Bombay riots. The Kashmiri terrorist re-emerged in Mission Kashmir (2000), which presented a trichotomy of Muslims – the patriotic Kashmiri policeman Inayat Khan (Sanjay Dutt), the misguided fundamentalist Altaaf Khan (Hrithik Roshan), and the brutal terrorist Hilal Kohistani (Jackie Shroff). The 1950s loyal Muslim friend trope reappeared in Hey Ram (2000), with Shahrukh Khan playing Amjad Ali Khan. 

    Video credit: Channel Eros Universe on YouTube 

    Iqbal (2005) featured a deaf-mute boy as its impoverished protagonist Iqbal (Shreyas Talpade), who aspires to be a cricketer with the help of his drunken coach Mohit (Naseeruddin Shah). Another stupendous sports drama of this decade was Chak De! India (2007), starring Shahrukh Khan as Kabir Khan, an ex-captain of India’s hockey team, who is suspected of deliberately losing a match to Pakistan, ostensibly because he’s Muslim. 

    At least three big-budget terror-centric films, namely Fanaa (2006), New York (2009), and Kurbaan (2009) can be regarded as trademark products of their time, reflecting, as they did, popular anxieties.

    While Fanaa brought the focus back to the Kashmiri insurgent, New York and Kurbaan offered a glimpse into the fallout of Islamophobia in the aftermath of 9/11, including the humiliation and rage among young Muslim men.

    My Name is Khan (2010), the story of a man with Asperger’s syndrome named Rizwan (Shahrukh Khan) also exploited the victim-of-American-Islamophobia trope to the hilt.

    Hindi Cinema Between 2010-2020

    The ascension of the Hindu right-wing Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and its poster boy Narendra Modi to power gave impetus to hypernationalism which pervaded Hindi cinema. The films that released in the wake of 2014 throbbed with a new jingoistic energy.  

    So, period dramas pitted evil Muslims against good Hindus in a string of big-budget films such as Padmaavat (2018), Panipat (2019), Kesari (2019) and Tanhaji (2020), lending xenophobia the gilded touch of history. Likewise, a contemporary film like Uri: The Surgical Strike (2019) gave it fresh urgency. 

    Even an otherwise fine film like Raazi (2018) sent out a muddled message, underlining how patriotism gnaws away at humanity on the one hand, and extolling jingoism in the end credits on the other. But the decade also saw a few noteworthy films with nuanced characterisations such as Shahid (2013), Haider (2014), Aligarh (2015), Raees (2017), Gali Guleiyan (2017), Jolly LLB 2 (2017), Mulk (2018), and Gully Boy (2019). While the protagonists of Raees and Gali Guleiyan seemed incidentally Muslim, Mulk and Gully Boy made more overt political statements. In Mulk, a Hindu female lawyer is shown putting up a legal fight to get rid of the ‘terrorist’ label foisted on her Muslim husband’s family, while Gully Boy underscored the connection between being poor and Muslim and how the medium of rap could be empowering. 

    Films like Mulk and Gully Boy were in fact the silver lining in an otherwise increasingly dark celluloid night. 

    2021-2026: The Last Half Decade in a Nutshell

    The early months of 2020 saw orchestrated communal riots in the country’s capital followed by the Modi regime’s minions in mainstream media scapegoating a Tablighi Jamaat gathering for the spread of COVID-19 in India. The same communal poison seeped cinema even as the gloom-and-doom days of lockdown descended upon India. 

    The Kashmir Files (2022), directed by the apple of the Hindu right’s eye Vivek Agnihotri, depicted the tragic insurrection that tore through the Kashmir Valley in the early 1990s solely through the binary of aggressors (read Kashmiri Muslims) and victims (read Kashmiri Hindus). The Kerala Story (2023 & 2026) series wielded one of the Hindu right’s pet whips with which to lash the minority, namely ‘Love Jihad’. Muslim characters in these films were egregious, disingenuous plotters who seemed capable of just two emotions – lust and loathing. 

    Vivek Agnihotri went on to direct two other crappy, loopholed dramas, ‘The Bengal Files’ (2025) and ‘Udaipur Files’ (2025) which purported to ‘reveal’ the truth about real-life communal events but only turned out to be a hotchpotch of bad acting, gratuitous violence, and inflammatory dialogues. The communal content trope, cloaked in the finery of history, made its reappearance in Samrat Prithviraj (2022) and Chaava (2025). 

    A better film in this Modi regime-pleasing, hate-spewing universe was Article 370 (2024), a fairly riveting drama about the abrogation of Article 370 in the Kashmir Valley. If propaganda and hate-driven narratives were swirling about with great speed till this point, they reached a crescendo with the so-called espionage thrillers, namely the Dhurandhar films (2025 and 2026). Both parts revelled in their goriness, packing in hours of anti-Pakistan, anti-Muslim, pro-Modi regime narratives slathered many times over with the goop of majoritarianism. Both were blockbuster films, sadly underlining that the audience were being fed what they wanted. 

    It is pertinent to mention Darlings (2022) a fun film about an abused Muslim housewife who decides to take matters into her own hands. I liked this film because it ‘normalised’ Muslims, showing how problems like alcoholic husbands beating their wives are as common in that community.

    Video credit: Channel Netflix India on YouTube 

    Homebound (2025) presented a refreshingly realistic portrait of the frustrations and helplessness of the contemporary young Indian Muslim. The depiction of everyday micro-aggressions  perpetrated against Muslims was masterful in my opinion. 

    Web Series Taking up the Mantle 

    Luckily, a few web series have excelled at showing more nuanced portrayals of Muslims. In the social horror Ghoul (2018), a flesh-eating demon in a dystopian future shows the mirror to the minions of a totalitarian regime. Likewise, Leila (2019) explored the horrors of a corrupt, dystopian fascist state that enforced segregation on the basis of caste, class and religion. 

    Paatal Lok (2020), presented a cornucopia of India’s most pressing social problems including caste violence, the nexus between crime bosses and politicians, and the ubiquitous discrimination faced by Muslims in India. In one scene, when Imran Ansari (Ishwak Singh) is about to appear for his mock IPS interview, a co-examinee tells him he is going to be selected anyway because they need to fulfil the minority quota. This barb, couched in polite well-wishing, drives home one of the most hard-hitting points enunciated in any entertainment medium in recent years – even educated, so-called ‘mainstream Muslims’ are othered in India.

    Video credit: Channel Prime Video India on YouTube 

    Reel & Real are Both Scary at Present 


    Films are not just a form of art; they are also a profit-driven business. So there is nothing appalling about films capitalising on popular sentiments. After all, producers are more likely to back films they believe will sell. 

    But the continual production of religion-baiting films, coupled with the stereotyping of Muslims, is worrying. Besides, the fact that many of the most communally divisive dramas in India have received state patronage, with several BJP-ruled states directly promoting and granting these films tax exemptions speaks of the dark times we are living in. It could be the real communal frenzy feeding the reel communal frenzy, or vice-versa, and neither bodes well for the future of India or Indian cinema. 

    Luckily, we have a precedent to look towards. There are films that chose to be the nation’s conscience and drew attention to the iniquities unfolding around us.

     

    Films like Kissa Kursi Ka (1977) and Aandhi (1975) are shining examples of films that intrepidly took on the government (then the Congress party) at the zenith of its power. The 1950s films, helped by the prevailing Nehruvian secularism, also stepped forward to heal the wounds of Partition and communal riots India was still smarting from. 

    All hope is not lost. Brave filmmakers should come forward and stop films from becoming mere tools of propaganda. This has now become imperative. 

  • Italy & La-La Land!

    Both Italy and La-La Land are scrambling for the top position.

    Watercolor alpine village with farms, market, cyclists, stream, and snowy mountains
    Italy is wonderful but there’s no land quite like La-La Land. (Image generated via AI)

    If you put a gun to my head and sought an answer I could give you without thinking for a second, I’d unhesitatingly tell you it’s Italy. 

    Italy. Yes, I mean, what’s not to like? I love art – particularly Renaissance art – and Florence was the cradle of Renaissance art. I could spend days exploring the museums housing those gorgeous paintings and jaw-dropping sculptures, reading about them, and learning art-related terminology which I could later bandy about in conversations with friends. 

    I am fascinated with history and Italy is a treasure trove of historical gems. The Colosseum in Rome, the ruins of Pompeii, the medieval architecture of Tuscany, the magnificent cathedrals and palaces that dot Palermo, Rome, Florence, Turin, Venice, and Pisa, and so much more. 

    I am enamoured of food and Italy is a veritable gastronomic Disneyland. Spaghetti, cannelloni, lasagne, gnocchi, risotto, tiramisu, and what have you – even thinking makes my foodie’s heart go ‘Boom! Boom! Boom!’ 

    And then there’s so much else I could do in Italy – take a ride in a gondola in Venice, ponder by Lake Como, hike in the Dolomites, sip coffee and read at a cafe on the Amalfi Coast, lounge on the beaches of Sicily and Sardinia, and run along the alpine meadows of South Tyrol. 

    Sigh. If every place were a drink, Italy would be sparkling water – pure, fresh, inimitable and irresistible. 

    But hold on! Also on top of my bucket list is a place named La-La Land. Don’t bother looking for it on the newly endorsed world map which shows Africa’s true size. What sets it apart is the following: 

    ➔ Politicians are honest; they serve the people, not foreign interests. 

    ➔ The government spends on essential services – building roads, flyovers, airports, running water facilities, bridges, world-class schools and state-of-the-art hospitals – not on populist freebies that benefit no-one. 

    ➔ The government does not displace tribes and forest dwellers for ‘development’ purposes. It hires experts to frame policies that strike a balance between infrastructure development and preservation of the rights of indigenous communities. 

    ➔ The government taxes the rich according to their wealth, and refuses to toe their line.

    ➔ The military-industrial complex does not exist.

    ➔ Little boys and girls are sensitised starting early in schools. In addition to modern education, girls are taught neither to view themselves as ‘objects’ nor to see boys as tools of social mobility; and boys are trained not to perceive women as objects that need controlling. 

    ➔ The government follows an independent foreign policy; it doesn’t fold in an obsequious bow before bigger powers, and doesn’t engage in sabre-rattling with weaker, littler neighbours. 

    ➔ There is no state discrimination on the basis of religion, caste, creed, or gender. Discrimination at an individual level is seriously penalised. 

    ➔ People below the poverty line receive both state aid and vocational training suited to each person’s skills and interests. The former stops when individuals gain meaningful employment and earn a sufficient, sustainable income. 

    ➔ There is no separate institution of uniformed personnel known as the ‘police’ that is feared and dreaded by people. 

    ➔ Safety is enforced and suspicious activity monitored through a vast network of voluntary civilian policemen and women. Policing is incentivised. Responsibility becomes a matter of pride and good work is widely celebrated. 

    ➔ Politicians are accountable; they must hold press conferences and smaller meetings with ordinary people. 

    ➔ The media is allowed to function freely and can excoriate the government when it feels the government is in the wrong. 

    ➔ The judiciary is a completely independent pillar of the state; there is a minimal state role in judicial appointments. 

    ➔ Middlemen do not exist; farmers earn adequate incomes for their produce and are able to directly tap into the consumer market to sell their goods. 

    ➔ Fresh, clean food is regarded as a basic human right. Packaged and ultra-processed food products are heavily taxed and clearly labelled. 

    ➔ There is no penal prison system that ‘punishes’ wrongdoers; only correction centres where inmates undergo rigorous counselling that is aimed at uncovering the root cause of their criminal behaviour.

    ➔ ‘Lobbies’ and ‘mafias’ – telecom lobbies, real estate lobbies, coal mafias, pharmaceutical lobbies, packaged food lobbies – are kept at bay. The government does not collude with them. 

    You are welcome to pounce on me and begin calling out what you may think are inherent flaws in the way La-La Land is run. Write your heart out in the comments below!

    I’ll let the authorities know as soon as I get there. 😉

  • The Weirdest Movie I Watched was a Plotless, Lifeless ‘Romance’

    Can you eat a bowl full of ‘nothing’? Can you watch a two-hour film that was ‘nothing’? Well, I incidentally did.

    Vintage collage of a checkered bowl, filmstrip, castle, fabrics, and colorful shoes
    Image generated via AI.

    The weirdest movie I ever watched was ‘Albela‘ (2001), which I watched about a decade ago. I chose to watch it only because its trailers were a regular feature on TV for months in 2000-2001, years I deeply associate with adolescence, those beautiful years filled with hope and energy.

    ‘Albela‘ starred the once-stunning, now pompous-fat-cat-with-lipstick-lookalike Aishwarya Rai, and Govinda, an 1980s-90s actor who was very good at dancing, grinning ear to ear, and…well, nothing else. I can’t remember the sequence of events one bit. But I do recall one melodious song in which Govinda and Aishwarya Rai sing and dance in pretty European locations, much to the amusement of onlookers. I also recall it looked dated and may have been shot in 1997 or 1998 even though it released only in 2001.

    So what made Albela weirder, you might ask, than other stereotypical Bollywood fluff-and-froth, topsy-turvy fare?

    Well, what I distinctly remember about Albela is that in its more than two hours of runtime, I kept waiting for some semblance of a plot to unfold but it never did!

    It featured songs and characters who delivered dialogues and entered and exited the screen, but it had no story until its final pitiful minute. Even the worst films I have watched have a story of some kind - a hotchpotch of a tale even - but Albela which means unique, was indeed unique by virtue of having no story at all.

  • My Morning Routine is a Blend of the Political and Personal

    Sounds strange, but it’s true.

    Lone figure facing a towering futuristic city at sunset
    Image credit: Generated using AI

    The last few months have seen me adopt a peculiar new routine. 

    But first, the usuals. 

    I wake up, stretch, cast a loving glance at my 17-month-old baby daughter and sleepily saunter over to the living room to fetch my copper water bottle, overnight-soaked walnuts and almonds, and two baby bananas. Then I sit down to express breast milk – an activity I have religiously engaged in since I gave birth 17 months ago – even though my milk supply is now nearly down to a trickle. Then – and this is something I could not have imagined myself doing even 10 months ago – I whip out my phone and check the Persian Gulf war updates. 

    Yes, you heard that right. I only thought social media addicts and philistines began scrolling their phones first thing in the morning after waking up, but here I am doing just that. The content may not be the usual fluff and froth so many love so deeply, but the act of turning to your phone right after you wake up smacks just as much of un-intellectualism.

    Now, this is partly because I have a husband who lives and works in the Middle-East and like millions of others, our very ordinary lives too have been swept over by the ongoing, unfolding cloak-and-dagger operations and gratuitous violence that have held the region in a stranglehold since 28th February 2026. But my seemingly unending interest in politics also plays a part.

    Having been a fan of ‘good triumphs over evil’ stories my whole life, viewing the conflict in what some might call facile terms curiously affords me a modicum of thrill and respite.

    It’s the classic Goliath (read: the US-Israel Empire and its satraps in the Gulf) versus David (read: Iran and its allies in the ‘Axis of Resistance’) story for me, building itself brick by brick and reaching a scintillating crescendo with each passing day.

    And then imagine this: an ordinary woman in India sporting bedhead and a dowdy nightdress expressing milk as she listens to some riveting international podcasts (Judging Freedom, Gray Zone Live, Mother of All Talk Shows, and Legitimate Targets by Jackson Hinkle, among others) and tries to make sense of a senseless war.

    And since we are talking morning routines, this favourite activity of mine takes about 20 minutes. After that, depending on the day of the week, I head out to the gym (headphones on) or go into the bathroom (phone blaring) to take a shower and answer nature’s call, all the while keeping an ear on the chronicles of a war that should never have been.

  • What’s a Personal Mantra or Philosophy You Live By?

    I live by nine simple mantras, a personal version of The Commandments, to help me navigate the increasingly unpredictable world we live in.

    Illustration of a book titled 'the commandments' with a minimalist design.

    Image: Image generated via Seedream 4.5

    My nine mantras are as follows:

    • Speak not till you are spoken to; it might be interpreted as ‘hitting on’ the other person, particularly if they are of the opposite sex.
    • Shop not till you have money in your account; credit cards are fine but they also require you to pay at some point.
    • Drink not — I mean sweet tea, coffee, alcoholic drinks and sugary soft drinks — until you know their exact calorie count.
    • Express not your political opinions before strangers; that squirming but silent figure may well be a vicious, vindictive troll online.
    • Advise not until asked for advice; the reluctant recipient would be well within their rights to glower and grimace.
    • Question not lest you be questioned; questions about career or exes might provoke counter-questions of a snarky nature.
    • Believe not the mainstream media; they’re mostly a bunch of furtive clowns who’ve sold their souls to the devil (read the political-corporate nexus).
    • Vote not; it’s a waste of time because the ‘leaders’ are all cut from the same fading, threadbare cloth. (Unless you must vote to vote out someone particularly terrible.)
    • Write not until you have something sensible to articulate. (Unless you’re responding to the WordPress daily prompt, in which case you are free to write some gibberish.)

  • Vanishing Treasures of Syncretism in Hindi Cinema: The Magic Known as Urdu

    If cinema can be said to mirror the zeitgeist of a society, Urdu’s conspicuous absence from Hindi films is a sad reminder of what we, as a nation, are headed for.  This three-part series will delve into the vanishing treasures of syncretism in Hindi cinema, beginning with the loss of language.

    Vintage collage of Urdu cinema with film reels, microphones, manuscripts, and theater curtains

    Image generated via AI

    “Jaan ke badle mei jaan, ye insaaf nahin inteqaam hai!” (One murder in retaliation for another isn’t justice; it is revenge!) As Ashok Kumar uttered these words in a thundering speech in the last scene of the movie Kanoon (1960), I was struck dumb. The profound truth of his words coupled with the eloquence of language lingered in my head long after the credits rolled.

    The B.R. Chopra-directed Kanoon is a riveting courtroom drama that raises startling questions about the lacunae in the judicial system. Though the film is in Hindustani – the language nearly all Bollywood films of the era were made in – I couldn’t help but feel that its impassioned dialogues would not have been as effective in another language. 

    While there isn’t a scintilla of doubt that Hindi cinema has matured and metamorphosed over the decades, it has unfortunately also lost much along the way. Among these things is its portrayal of India’s cherished Hindu-Muslim syncretism through a profusion of Urdu dialogues and lyrics, Muslim characters playing central and important supporting roles, and the creation of a genre – known as the “Muslim Social” – exclusively depicting the Indian Muslim experience. 

    This article is the first in a three-part series that will explore in detail the loss of the Urdu language, the absence of Muslim characters, and the abandonment of the ‘Muslim Social’ respectively. All three articles will also delve into the socio-political reasons behind the disappearance of these cultural treasures and what that could mean for India as a nation.  

    Video credit: Channel Jashn-e-Rekhta and Rekhta on YouTube

    Credits

    For much of the 20th century, the title of almost every Hindi movie was flashed in the opening credits in three languages, namely English, Hindi, & Urdu in that order. This can perhaps be understood as a token acknowledgement of Hindi cinema’s core North-Indian audience, deemed to comprise Hindus, Sikhs, and Muslims. It can also be seen as an act of giving credit to the language. Moreover, the order of language while displaying the title suggests that this may have been a way of showing quiet regard for the minority speakers of the language. However, this is no longer the norm.  Though the practice hasn’t been abandoned altogether, a film title displayed in the Nasta‘līq script is increasingly becoming a rarity.

    Songs & Spoken Words

     If one were to make a list of Hindi cinema’s most cherished songs, it would be hard to find one that does not contain a generous smattering of Urdu vocabulary.

    Be it eulogising the beauty of the beloved, bemoaning the perfidy of the lover, pondering the futility of worldliness, or articulating patriotic zeal – the Urdu language has covered, with consummate perfection, a whole spectrum of human emotions in Hindi cinema songs.

    Even if stripped of melody, these songs would be admirable on account of their sheer lyrical beauty. “Jab Pyar Kiya to Darna Kya” (Mughal-e-Azam, 1960), “Jinhe Naaz Hai Hind Par” (Pyaasa, 1957) “Kabhi Kabhi Mere Dil Mein” (Kabhi Kabhi, 1976), and “Tu Shayar Hai, main Teri Shaayari” (Saajan, 1991) are only a few examples. 

    Some of the best lyricists of earlier decades such as Majrooh Sultanpuri and Sahir Ludhianvi were native speakers and even scholars of the Urdu language. Others, such as Anand Bakshi, demonstrated how Urdu vocabulary could be seamlessly woven into the everyday Hindustani of Hindi cinema.

    The continued usage of Urdu by a new generation of non-Urdu speaking lyricists well into the 90s is indicative of the language’s general acceptability among filmmakers and audiences alike. Though lyricists such as Gulzar, Javed Akhtar, and Irshad Kamil continue to weave the magic of Urdu into their songs, the usage is not as pervasive as it once was.  The last three decades have witnessed an influx of Punjabi and English words into songs which has further pushed Urdu to the margins.

    It is worth remembering that the most iconic dialogues from movies such as Pyaasa (1957), Anand (1971) Sholay (1975), and Deewar (1975), were heavily infused with Urdu words. That these dialogues continue to be replayed through memes and parody is testimony to their enduring quality. The genius of writers Abrar Alvi, K.A. Abbas, the duo Salim Khan, and Javed Akhtar, and Gulzar deserves special mention in this respect. 

    Film dialogues are well-written nowadays, but they are awash with not just English phrases, but also dialect-related words and intonations. While this has lent authenticity, one does miss the lyrical refinement and cadence of Urdu. Though Urdu words such as Daulat (wealth), Taaqat (strength), Muhabbat (love), Jaan (life), Waqt (time), Wada (promise), and Insan (human) continue to be used in modern films, many in the audience may not think of them as Urdu vocabulary. Urdu’s waning glory in Hindi cinema can also be gauged from the callous approach to pronunciation. No one really cares to stress the last syllable of Haqq (right), or the gurgling sound of “gh” in Kaaghaz (paper) any longer. 

    Video credit: Channel Being Cinematical on YouTube

    The Steady Decline

    Urdu – born of the marriage of foreign tongues Persian, Arabic, and Turkish with indigenous ones such as Sanskrit, Braj and Mewati – was nurtured in the imperial capital of Delhi. Though Persian remained the official language of the Mughal Empire till 1857, Urdu was the chosen language of the masses across north India, spoken widely on the streets, in bazars, military camps, and family parlours. 

    The Partition of British India and the creation of Pakistan in 1947 saw large numbers of Delhi’s Muslims migrate to Pakistan; Muslims had constituted nearly 33% of the city’s population. Millions of Urdu speakers from the United Provinces, Bombay, Hyderabad, and Calcutta continued to migrate in waves after 1947. 

    According to the Census of India 2011, the percentage of Urdu speakers in India has fallen by about 1.5% since 2001, with the total percentage having plummeted to below 4.2%. Other than Konkani, Urdu is the only language that registered a decline in the number of speakers, despite the Muslim population of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar – areas typically home to native speakers of Urdu – having increased in the same period. This suggests that even native speakers are gradually turning to Hindi, not least due to increased educational and employment opportunities.  

    Crowds of people traveling on and around a vintage train, with many individuals sitting atop the train and others climbing in through the windows, amidst a backdrop of luggage and bags.

    Image: Overcrowded refugee train during the Partition of India (1947) by Unknown Author via Wikimedia Commons

    Partition and the creation of Pakistan were events that sowed generational hatred across both sides of the border. Unfortunately, Urdu became the biggest casualty of India’s ensuing bitter relations with Pakistan and that of communal politics.

    From being labelled a language of Muslims – a communal badge foisted by the British since the late 19th century – it was tacitly labelled the language of Pakistan. Hindi, the new official language of the Union of India, was carefully purged of Urdu vocabulary, resulting in the emergence of a Sanskritized version. 

    The rise of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) in the early 1990s  saw the political and cultural climate of North India undergo further changes. With the Hindu supremacist organization Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) as its ideological parent, the BJP has been committed to promoting Hindi since the beginning. To the BJP, using Hindi to unify vastly heterogeneous Hindus into a religio-cultural monolith is a core component of its ethnocentric ideology, as evidenced by its famous slogan “Hindi, Hindu, Hindustan”. Since 2019, the BJP has tried to impose Hindi through the three-language formula under the National Education Policy. Now tied to the disbursal of central education funds, the clause continues to face considerable backlash from southern states such as Tamil Nadu. 

    Video credit: Channel Rekhta on YouTube

    The Role Cinema can Play

    If cinema can be said to mirror the zeitgeist of a society, Urdu’s conspicuous absence from Hindi films is a sad reminder of just what we, as a nation, are headed for.  It is noteworthy that outside its cradle, Urdu is thriving with tens of millions of speakers scattered the world over. Clearly, Urdu does not need us. 

    However, it is we who need Urdu. Urdu isn’t merely a language, but a child of the confluence of civilizations, a symbol of the Indian sub-continent’s shared heritage. While a mere return of Urdu to Indian celluloid may not help revive its fortunes in the country, it could still give it the cultural stimulus it needs.  

    It is perhaps no exaggeration to say that the collective amnesia with regard to Urdu could mean the loss of a significant chunk from the mosaic of cultures that is India.

  • What’s the Best Way to Explore a New City?

    Follow your Lonely Planet guidebook, but also do your own thing.

    A scenic view of traditional wooden houses on stilts near a calm water body, surrounded by bare trees and mountains in the background, covered in snow.

    Image credit: Photograph by Ram Pangeni from Pixabay

    I travelled solo to Srinagar, a beautiful city fringed by the Zabarwan mountains and dappled with lakes, in the insurgency-torn Kashmir Valley, in the summer of 2019 and autumn of 2020. Here’s what I did to know the city better:

    Explored on foot. Markets, tourist sites, restaurants — I walked whenever I could.

    Tried local food. And I mean street food. If you’re squeamish and fuss about ‘hygiene’, you’ll sadly miss out on a significant slice of the local experience pie.

    Spoke to the receptionist at my hotel. On my very first visit, I spoke to the manager and receptionist of my hotel. I engaged in small talk to break the ice. They recommended places and experiences most conventional tourists would never have known. They also introduced me to an auto rickshaw driver who took me to the caste ghettoes whose inhabitants I later wrote two stories about. (check out https://theflaneurdiaries.com/2026/09/13/fragile-floating-lives/)

    Attended the Sunday service at both a well-known Catholic and Protestant Church. The regular worshippers were naturally curious to see a new person. I struck up a conversation with them and ended up discovering a different dimension of the city.

    Played the flâneur (you’re reading The Flâneur  Diaries! :))Sometimes, I’d just saunter to a coffee shop and observe and imbibe the sights, scents, and sounds, holding the city’s physical form in a tight embrace.

    All in all, the independent exploration allowed me to shatter the mainland Indian assumption that the place was an unsafe, ‘terrorism-infested’, medieval, pan-Islamic monolith.

    It was like approaching a person reputed to have a dreadful temper, only to end up forging a warm friendship with them.

  • I Have Not One But Five Business Ideas…

    Jobs are totally out of fashion; become a job creator, not a job seeker!

    Image credit: Generated via Seedream 4.5

    I have five uber-cool business ideas for aspiring entrepreneurs! Unfortunately, these can only be implemented by Indians living in India. Read my post to Get Rich or Die Tryin‘! https://theflaneurdiaries.com/2026/09/24/how-to-be-an-atmanirbhar-deshbhakt-five-foolproof-startup-business-ideas/

  • I Have That One Healthy Eating Habit Many Will Find Weird…

    I am glad WordPress finally asked me this question. Social media is teeming with ‘influencers’ who tell you what healthy eating habits to embrace, but no one ever bothers to ask what habits you actually follow.

    A black bowl filled with a fresh salad, featuring green lettuce, sliced cucumbers, yellow and green bell peppers, and corn kernels.

    Image: Generated via Seedream 4.5

    I am on a strict, self-regulated postpartum weight loss diet and hence stick to the usual:

    • Start my day with water stored inside a copper bottle
    • Almonds, walnuts, and bananas are the first solids to hit my tummy.
    • Eat a wholesome, protein-rich breakfast.
    • Indulge in a mid-day fruit meal.
    • Enjoy an ultra-light lunch consisting of lightly dressed salad; may or may not have tuna or chickpeas or yoghurt, but will almost always have cucumber, lettuce, sweet corn, and bell peppers dressed in lemon juice and olive oil. And no, I don’t add pricey, exotic stuff like quinoa and edamame, please.
    • A light evening meal shortly after my evening tea.
    • A glass of milk before I hit the sack.
    • Keep sipping plain water all through the day.

    Then I religiously eschew the ‘thou shalt not‘ temptations:(basically, gastronomic equivalents of the Sirens)

    • No fried food (though it’s probably the greatest love of my life)
    • No soft drinks/sugary drinks
    • No packaged snacks
    • No chocolates/sweets/cookies
    • No cured meats (I, in fact, am a pescatarian which makes it easy to steer clear of all meat)

    And that one weird habit that keeps me going? Scroll through food delivery apps (Zomato and Swiggy in my country), drool over tasty food, vicariously taste everything I want, and … NOT order anything!

    It’s a bit like a nymphomaniac watching pornography. It’s the second-best thing for them, after all.

  • I believe in Karma but what I am seeing around me is damaging that belief…

    A child carrying a yellow blanket walks through the rubble of a destroyed building, with damaged structures in the background.

    Image Credit: Photo by Hosnysalah via Pixabay

    I think most of us heard of the term ‘karma’ later, having understood the concept much earlier. It’s been deeply entrenched in us since childhood. That’s been my case at least.

    I grew up with a dominating older sister who drilled the concept into my consciousness: if you’re mean, you’ll get back meanness, don’t expect good things to happen to you if you don’t do good things, and so on and so forth.

    And then there’s the influence of pop culture. I grew up watching movies in which ‘justice’ was served in the end — the ‘good’ were amply rewarded and the ‘bad’ were suitably punished. That poetic justice at the end of films usually filled one with a sense of satisfaction, an indescribable relief that doused the flames of distress much of the film might have provoked while showing ‘good people’ being wronged.

    Then, reading stories like ‘The Black Cat’ by Edgar Allan Poe and ‘A Christmas Carol’ by Charles Dickens in my teenage years reinforced that belief. Even in ‘God Sees The Truth But Waits’ by Leo Tolstoy, the evil-doer is punished, albeit belatedly. This sad story by Tolstoy was a part of my syllabus in the tenth standard.

    So, yes I did grow up believing strongly in the concept of Karma. But what I see around me today is seriously making me question it all.

    For instance, what did those little children in Gaza do to deserve the fate they got? What did the young orphans or parents who lost their children do, to suffer as they are suffering in Lebanon? What about the men and women and children affected by hunger and disease in Somalia? What did they do to ‘deserve’ this? Whatever they might have done, could it be worse than what the wielders of power – people like Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu – are doing? These avaricious, power-hungry men spent much of their lives lying, cheating, fornicating, and willfully harming other human beings. I am mentioning only them because they are the face of the neo-imperialist apparatus. But I am talking about every person ensconced in their camp of evil. The oligarchs, the tech magnates, the media barons, the political minions – everyone.

    And whatever happened to this global elite, evil beyond belief, I ask you? Many like Trump and Netanyahu are now in their seventies and eighties. What punishment awaits them now? They are probably enjoying caviar and champagne as I write this.

    Some of you might remind me of karma being served in the ‘next birth’, or on the Day of Judgment. But that doesn’t quite fit into the filmic, flamboyant, soul-soothing template of karma delivery movies and books have got us used to. And I daresay hooked on to.

    Sigh. This feeling that there is no justice, no karma is debilitating. It makes me feel that this world is a jungle, or a place where ‘Matsya Nyaya‘ (Law of the Fish, as ancient Indian philosophy calls it) prevails — the big fish eat the small fish and that’s that.

    Can you explain why evil people aren’t being punished the way they should be? No-one I know has been able to put forth a cogent argument so far.