PUBLISHED
January 11, 2026
“Writing on Indian movies?” exclaimed Amna, my lifelong best friend. “But you never watch them, let alone follow the industry!”
I smiled. “Well, now is the time to put pen to paper.” My goal is to strip away the cinematic polish and expose the reality behind the glitz. While Bollywood markets itself on dreams and grandeur, there is a stark contrast between its scripted perfection and the underlying fakeness of the industry. Behind the coordinated dancing and grand romances lies a manufactured world that often obscures the truth. I want to challenge the polished facade of Bollywood and compel readers to see the reality hidden beneath the inaccuracy and fraudulent practices.
“Why the shock?” I asked Amna. Bollywood’s “originalitys” has always been a mirage and I for once was one of the few who could sense it!
My elder sister, Saira, has always been a powerful influence in my life, shaping many of my choices since childhood. Despite her deep-seated devotion as a die-hard Shah Rukh Khan fan, even her enthusiasm couldn’t bridge the gap for me. I simply couldn’t develop a taste for what I perceive as the repetitive or lacklustre quality of mainstream Hindi cinema. Despite our close bond, my cinematic preferences have diverged sharply from the influence of her favourite superstar.
My tastes were forged in a Convent School environment where the soundtrack of our youth was dominated by Western icons like Wham! Modern Talking, Tina Turner, Madonna and Michael Jackson. While Saira swooned over Hindi leads, my classmates and I were busy idolising Whitney Houston and crowning Tom Cruise as the ultimate heartthrob. This deep-rooted immersion in global pop culture created a disconnect that mainstream Hindi cinema simply couldn’t bridge, leaving me indifferent to its charms.
After years of maintaining a deliberate distance from Bollywood, one might wonder why I’ve finally chosen to break my silence. The answer is simple: I have reached a breaking point with the nonsense being produced. It is no longer just about a difference in taste; it is about the blatant propagation of copied plots, unoriginal influences, and, most alarmingly, historically distorted narratives.
Seeing history weaponised to fit a specific political agenda is deeply unsettling. The industry seems to have pivoted from entertainment to a vehicle for the Indian government’s messaging, trading creative integrity for propaganda. They are rewriting our past to suit a modern narrative, and it begs the question: who are they actually trying to fool? My long-standing disconnect has shifted from mere cultural indifference to a principled stand against the intellectual dishonesty currently dominating the Hindi film industry.
Professional dishonesty of Bollywood probably started with its music. The trend of lifting tunes isn’t new; it began decades ago with legends like R.D. Burman, whose iconic Mehbooba Mehbooba was a direct lift from Demis Roussos’s Say You Love Me.
My further digging into this subject just confirmed my hitch that things were not as they were commonly seen by the general public in India and across the border. For example R.D. Burman borrowed from ABBA for Mil Gaya Hum Ko, while Bappi Lahiri famously lifted Jimmy Jimmy from Ottawan’s T’es OK.
The trend intensified with Anand-Milind copying Poovoma Oorgolam for Dhak Dhak Karne Laga, and Jatin-Lalit reimagining The 500 Miles as Jab Koi Baat Bigarr Jaye. Even Rajesh Roshan used Boney M’s rhythms for Kya Kehna. From Anu Malik’s blatant lifts to Pritam’s modern “adaptations,” the industry’s “reality” is a persistent pattern of uncredited creative recycling.
I am not trying to undermine the creativity of these music giants but only R D Burman copied some 25 songs in his illustrated career each ending up as a one of the biggest hits of its time, is my point.
Bollywood’s history of “inspiration” is extensive, with many of its biggest hits being direct adaptations of Western cinema. Iconic blockbusters like Sholay drew heavily from The Magnificent Seven, while Sarkar and Kaante served as Indian iterations of The Godfather and Reservoir Dogs. The trend spans genres: thrillers like Ghajini, Sangharsh, and Baazigar mirrored Memento, The Silence of the Lambs, and A Kiss Before Dying. Even beloved romances and comedies—including Hum Tum, Partner, Chachi 420, and Dil Hai Ke Manta Nahin—are reproductions of classics like When Harry Met Sally, Hitch, Mrs Doubtfire, and It Happened One Night. From Black (The Miracle Worker) to Dhoom 3 (The Prestige), the industry has consistently built its success on established Hollywood frameworks.
Believe me Bollywood copied even the dialogues and situations from some 10 of Nadeem Baig’s movies for 1980s, yes they copied Pakistani hit movies.
The industry’s creative bankruptcy extends beyond Hollywood; in academia, we consider “self-plagiarism” a grave offense, yet Bollywood has institutionalised it by systematically cannibalising South Indian cinema. Rather than innovating, filmmakers frequently rely on carbon-copy remakes of established hits from the Tamil, Telugu, and Malayalam industries to guarantee box-office returns. This relentless recycling of domestic plots reveals a profound lack of originality. By treating the South as a mere content farm for Northern audiences, Bollywood perpetuates a cycle of intellectual dishonesty that stifles genuine artistic growth.
The term “Dishonesty” serves as the vital link between Bollywood’s creative bankruptcy and the current media landscape. This culture of intellectual theft has paved the way for Indian media to stoop to new lows, transitioning from unoriginal entertainment to blatant propaganda. Over the last few years, the influence of the Modi government and its youth wing RSS has become unmistakable, as they desperately attempt to rewrite history through the lens of cinema. By weaponising the industry’s reach, they are replacing factual heritage with distorted, nationalist narratives designed to manipulate the masses. This systemic dishonesty doesn’t just fool the audience—it erodes the very foundation of historical truth, proving that when an industry is built on “borrowed” ideas, it is easily bought by political agendas.
Recent Bollywood portrayals of Mughal history have shifted from the nuanced storytelling of classics like Mughal-e-Azam to a modern trend of maliciousness. In films like Padmaavat and Panipat, Mughal and Sultanate rulers are often depicted as barbaric, unrefined caricatures, stripped of their documented administrative and cultural contributions. This cinematic distortion frequently aligns with the RSS and BJYM agenda to frame Indian history as a perpetual religious struggle.
By exaggerating atrocities and ignoring the complex alliances of the era, movies like g use the “invader” trope to stoke contemporary nationalism. This systematic rewriting ignores historical records in favour of a binary narrative, transforming the screen into a site for political revisionism and communal polarisation.
The demolition of the Babri Masjid remains a visceral memory—a shocking spectacle of communal rage broadcast to a global audience. For a young person like myself, witnessing such fanaticism through international media was deeply unsettling. However, the true weight of the tragedy hit home when my father, a historian and a proud Lucknow University graduate, spoke on the matter. I vividly remember him exclaiming, “Now is the time the Hindus should bring down the Taj Mahal.”
His words weren’t a call to action, but a heavy expression of heartbreak; I could sense the profound sadness and disgust in his tone. As a scholar of history, he saw the destruction of the mosque not as a victory, but as the beginning of a dark era where India’s rich, pluralistic heritage would be systematically dismantled by hate.
I never expected to see my father’s prophecy take shape within my lifetime. While Hindu fanatics aren’t physically tearing down the Taj Mahal yet, the Indian media and government have launched a diabolic strategy and sorry to say in collaboration with Bollywood, who is a master architect of shaping public opinion. Their influence is subtly ingrained through popular culture, most recently in the film The Taj Story (released October 31, 2025).
This strategic shift in narrative suggests that physical destruction isn’t the primary goal; rather, it is the systematic erasure of historical identity from the collective consciousness. By reframing the monument’s origin through cinema, the state successfully bypasses logic and targets emotion. Watching this transformation unfold is a chilling testament to my father’s foresight. It reveals how easily a nation’s heritage can be recontextualised until the original truth becomes unrecognisable to the very people who once cherished it.
The movie centres on the long-debunked theory by P.N. Oak that the Taj Mahal was originally a Shiva temple. Despite having no archaeological evidence and being repeatedly dismissed by the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) and the Supreme Court, the film presents this “alternative history” as a hidden truth being suppressed by a “Muslim rulers.
Tushar Amrish Goel, who happens to be the writer, director, and dialogue writer for the film need to do better homework. P.N. Oak the self-proclaimed historians claim that Taj Mahal was originally a Shiva temple (often called “Tejo Mahalaya”) have been systematically examined and rejected by India’s highest legal and archaeological authorities on multiple occasions from 2017 to 2022.
Movies like The Kashmir Files (2022), The Kerala Story (2023), Pathaan (2023), Sarfarosh (1999), Fanaa (2006), The Surgical Strike (2019), follows a pattern of stereotyping Muslims, often linking them to terrorism or anti-Pakistan narratives.
Films like Mission Majnu and Dhurandhar—set in Pakistan—are prime examples of this decline. Rather than offering nuanced storytelling, they rely on caricatured portrayals and factual stretches that are more laughable than gripping. This trend reveals a film industry drenched in creative stagnation, opting for cheap, sensationalist friction over substance. By prioritising agendas over authenticity, these productions fail to impress anyone with a basic grasp of history or sophisticated taste.
My sincere advice to the government-backed Indian film industry is to finally move past these exhausted caricatures and portray Muslims, especially Pakistanis, with a shred of realism. The stereotypes Bollywood peddles are blatantly misguided: Pakistani men do not constantly wear kajal, greet every person with an exaggerated adab, or walk around permanently draped in shoulder cloths and prayer caps.
This lazy visual shorthand reveals a profound lack of research and a commitment to disinformation. By clinging to these outdated tropes, filmmakers ignore the modern, diverse reality of the people they claim to depict. It is time for Bollywood to stop relying on “othering” and start investing in authentic cultural representation. For an industry with such a global reach, this creative ignorance is simply inexcusable.
All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the writer
The writer is a professor and a wild life enthusiast. She can be reached at safiabwp1@gmail.com
