Opinion: Dirty Picture: Bollywood’s Inside Story
Shows like The B***ds of Bollywood and its fictional kin aren’t just reflecting the industry’s values, says SHASHI THAROOR. They are reflecting the values we ascribe to it.
My little tweet about The B***ds of Bollywood—written in the first flush of enthusiasm after binge-watching the OTT series over two rheumy evenings—seems to have caused a digital dhamaaka. The replies were a dizzying mix of gasp, glee, how could he?, he must have been paid!, and worse, validating a secret we all share: the real drama around Bollywood is often more compelling than the cinema it produces.
This got me thinking—less about the show itself, but what it tells us about our world, our society and its values. Those who enjoyed the seven episodes were actually acknowledging the highly stylized, deliciously messy world it holds up a mirror to—the ecosystem where the stakes are always impossibly high, the masala is always plentiful, and the lines between the script and real life are perpetually blurred. We’re subconsciously reacting to the values and the world this kind of portrayal suggests the tinsel town truly runs on.
The most enduring “value” that these portrayals shine a spotlight on is the concept of the Royal Bloodline. We talk about the Nepo-Verse with an equal measure of eye-rolling and awe because it turns the industry into a modern, slightly chaotic monarchy. The core value isn’t artistic innovation; it’s dynasty. (Sorry, SRK, but it’s not just you.)
A character’s defining struggle in this world is rarely about mastering an acting technique; it’s existential: am I worthy of my father’s or uncle’s legacy? The climb isn’t a humble trek from theatre stages to the big screen; it’s a saga of proving one is worthy of the ancestral mantle. The red carpet becomes the throne room, and the box office is the ultimate loyalty oath to the khandaan (family).
This system suggests that your entry into the club is often determined by birthright, making every career trajectory an epic tale of survival. If you don’t have the last name, your struggle is twice as steep, and possibly twice as dirty. The narrative confirms our belief that family is everything in India—even when that family is viciously competing for the same roles and the same headlines. This is where the reflection meets its darkest realism, and it’s a non-negotiable part of the Bollywood mythos: the pervasive, chilling role of the underworld. The inclusion of shadowy financiers, powerful bhais (brothers), and dubious contracts doesn’t just add a layer of thrill; it hints at a profound societal truth—the ease with which unregulated capital and raw power intersect with legitimate business. The glamour needs financing, and sometimes that financing comes with a high, often morally compromising, price.
In these fictional worlds, the gangster is rarely just an external threat. He’s often an unspoken partner—a parallel power broker offering solutions (read: muscle, protection, and black money) outside the legal system. This dynamic confirms a deep-seated suspicion: that behind the glossy facade of the industry lies a terrifyingly accessible infrastructure of illegality. The value here is survival at any cost, and the chilling realization that in this high-stakes ecosystem, the rules of formal society are secondary to those who can apply the most pressure. It’s a terrifying reminder that the greatest currency is influence, regardless of its origin.
The ultimate cultural value portrayed in these narratives is the Beautiful Lie. The world the actors inhabit is a dazzling bubble where the lighting is always perfect, the wit is always sharp, and the emotions are always dialed up to 11. The real struggle is maintaining the façade. The paramount importance is placed on image—not just looking good, but looking effortlessly good, perpetually scandal-free (unless the scandal is scripted by a PR firm), and relentlessly aspirational. Honesty is less valued than the flawless performance of honesty.
Every industry party, every magazine cover, every Instagram post is a meticulously staged act of “I have it all together.” The social gatherings are high-stakes battlegrounds, not for networking, but for silent warfare over seating charts, photo opportunities, and who is seen talking to the most important producer. The fragility of this fame is startling. One flop, one controversial headline, one run-in with the wrong person—be it a rival starlet or a shady financer—and the whole glittering structure can crumble. It’s an exhausting world where the ultimate fear isn’t a bad review, but a bad angle, whether literal (on camera) or ethical (in the press). The relentless pursuit of perfection in public requires an incredible amount of resilience in private.
In this high-stakes game, the currency isn’t simply money; it’s clout. The nature of relationships—both professional and personal—is always subtly transactional. Friends are allies for a season; enemies are often former allies who fell out of favor or got too successful. The true value in a relationship is not trust, but utility and the exchange of influence.
The ever-present PR machinery works overtime to craft “organic” friendships and “accidental” run-ins, carefully curating perception to manufacture “star power.” Everything is mediated, filtered, and designed to maximize one’s brand. The simple, honest values of the real world—uncomplicated love, unadulterated friendship—are rendered nearly impossible under the constant gaze and the relentless need to maximize one’s brand value. It’s a place where you’re only as good as your last hit, and your next powerful, strategic friend. And finally, we must turn the mirror outward and look at the biggest co-star in this whole drama: us. We, the audience, are the ultimate consumers of this mythology, and we are complicit in its perpetuation. We crave the larger-than-life cinema and the escapist fairy tales, but we also secretly demand the human, messy, sometimes illegal, and highly sensationalized drama that lies beneath the perfection.
Shows like The B***ds of Bollywood and its fictional kin aren’t just reflecting the industry’s values; they are reflecting the values we ascribe to it. We need to believe in the glitz and the gossip. We want the romance and the rivalry, the dance numbers and the dinner-table betrayals, and the dark underbelly that makes the whole story feel real. We keep watching because, by sensationalizing the drama, these shows simply give us the “truth” we already wrote in our heads. So, as the digital dust settles on my trending tweet, I’m left to reflect that Bollywood is not just an industry, it’s a beautifully unhinged ecosystem. It’s messy, it’s majestic, and it’s determined to prove that the only thing more entertaining than its films, is its reality—especially when that reality comes with a little dash of delicious danger and a whole lot of dramatic flair.
All credit to Aryan Khan that he knows that, he has grown up with it, and he’s willing to spill the beans for us with a knowing nod and a self-referential wink (in which his father and a galaxy of other boldface names are complicit via guest appearances). It’s an opera of ambition, finance, and dynasty, played out under the harsh but forgiving light of a million camera flashes. Pass the popcorn, chill the Diet Coke for next season—the saga continues.
Reprinted from NDTV.com with Congress MP Shashi Tharoor’s permission. An author and former diplomat, Tharoor has been a Member of Parliament from Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, since 2009.
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