THE most popular Bollywood genre with producers in recent years has been telling true-life tales based on actual events and ones with a patriotic subject have been the most dominant. While a lot of artistic licence is taken on these films, there are other true incidents with a story that is so extraordinary that they have more than enough drama for a movie.
A great example of this will be forthcoming film Bhuj: The Pride Of India, which is based on an extraordinary incident that took place during the Indo-Pakistan war of 1971 and involved 300 village women stepping up to save the day in the most unbelievable way.
The high-profile movie starring Ajay Devgn, Sanjay Dutt, Sonakshi Sinha, Nora Fatehi and Ammy Virk is due to be premiered on streaming site Hotstar later this year. To get you ready for the release,
Eastern Eye went back to revisit the original story it is based on and although Ajay Devgn is the lead star of the film, it is very much loaded with girl power.
On December 8, 1971, right in the middle of the Indo-Pak war, a squadron of Pakistani jets dropped bombs on a vital Indian airstrip in Bhuj and completely destroyed it, which meant combat aircraft couldn’t take off. Repairing the airstrip became a matter of urgency and 300 village women were recruited to fix it. The women from Madhapur in Bhuj stepped up without a second thought to repair the devastated airstrip, despite there being a danger of more such bombings.
The local village head asked the female labourers to step up and help the country, which they duly did. Squadron leader Vijay Karnik was also instrumental in recruiting the women at short notice and took the lead in what would become a game-changing moment in the bloody war. The brave women began work and were given quick training in evasive action in case there was a further attack. They were told to go hide in nearby bushes or bunkers if a warning siren went off and to cover the airstrip in cow dung while in construction to hide it from enemy planes overhead.
There was such a rush to do the emergency repairs that no food was available for the workers on the first day, but they powered through it. On the second day, a local temple brought over what little food was available and by the third day the bombed airstrip was fully functional again, which enabled the Indian aircraft to take off. The determined villagers worked hard during the three days and were taken care of by the air force officers, who were overseeing the work. The village women, who repaired the strip for the Indian air force, would later say they too felt like soldiers during those intense 72 hours.
Three years after the work was carried out, former Indian prime minister Indira Gandhi had offered the women gifts for their work, but they collectively refused the offer and said the work was carried out for their country. But their gallantry wasn’t forgotten and a gift of Rs50,000 was donated for a community hall at Madhapar at the time and a war memorial called Virangana Smarak at Madhapar village of Bhuj dedicated to the brave hearts was constructed decades later, which the surviving members proudly attended.
Now the story of the 300 brave village women, who stepped up to help their country, will be spread to a wider audience with new film Bhuj: The Pride Of India.
Jay's grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere.
Ditched the influencer route and began posting hilarious videos online.
Available in Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free
Jayspent 18 months on a list. Thousands of names. Influencers with follower counts that looked like phone numbers. He was going to launch his grandmother's popcorn the right way: send free bags, wait for posts, pray for traction. That's the playbook, right? That's what you do when you're a nobody selling something nobody asked for.
Then one interaction made him snap. The entitlement. The self-importance. The way some food blogger treated his family's recipe like a favour they were doing him. He looked at his spreadsheet. Closed it. Picked up his phone and decided to burn it all down.
Now he makes videos mocking the same people he was going to beg for help. Influencers weeping over the wrong luxury car. Creators demanding payment for chewing food on camera. Someone having a breakdown about ice cubes. And guess what? The internet ate it up. His popcorn keeps selling out. And from Gujarat, his grandmother's 60-year-old recipe is now moving units because her grandson got mad enough to be funny about it.
Jay’s grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere Instagram/daadisnacks
The kitchen story
Daadi means grandmother in Hindi. Jay's daadi came to America from Gujarat decades ago. Every weekend, she made popcorn with the spices she grew up with, including cardamom, cinnamon, and chilli mixes. It was her way of keeping home close while living somewhere that didn't taste like it.
Jay wanted that in stores. Wanted brown faces in the snack aisle. It didn’t happen overnight. It took a couple of years to get from a family recipe to something they could actually sell. Everyone pitched in, including his grandmom, uncle, mum. The spices come from small local farmers. There are just two flavours for now, Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala. It’s all vegan and gluten-free, packed in bright bags that instantly feel South Asian.
The videos don't look like marketing. They look like someone venting at 11 PM after scrolling too long. He nails the nasal influencer voice. The fake sympathy. “I can’t believe this,” he says in that exaggerated influencer tone, “they gave me the cheaper car, only eighty grand instead of one-twenty.” That clip alone blew up, pulling in close to nine million views.
Most people don't know they're watching a snack brand. They think it's social commentary. Jay never calls himself an influencer. He says he’s a creator, period. There’s a difference, and he makes sure people know it. His TikTok has around three hundred thousand followers, Instagram about half that. The comments read like a sigh of relief, people fed up with fake polish, finally hearing someone say what everyone else was thinking.
This fits into something called deinfluencing; people pushing back against the buy-everything-trust-nobody cycle. But Jay's version has teeth. He's naming names, calling out the economics. Big venture money flows to chains with good lighting. Family businesses with actual stories get ignored because their content isn't slick enough.
Jay watched his New York neighbourhood change. Chains moved in. Influencers posted about places that had funding and were aesthetic. The old spots, the family ones, got left behind. His videos are about that gap. The erosion of local culture by money and aesthetics.
"Big chains and VC-funded businesses are promoted at the expense of local ones," he said. His content doesn't just roast influencers. It promotes other small food makers who can't afford to play the game. He positions Daadi as a defender of something real against something plastic.
And it's working. Not just philosophically. Financially. The videos drive traffic. People click through, try the popcorn, come back. The company can't keep stock. That's the proof.
Daadi popcorn features authentic Gujarat flavours like Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free Daadi Snacks
The blowback
People unfollow because they think he's too harsh. Jay's take: "I would argue I need to be meaner."
In May, he posted that he's not chasing content creation money like most people at his follower count. "I post to speak my mind and help my family's snack biz." That's a different model. Most brands pay influencers to make everything look perfect. They chase viral polish, and Jay does the opposite. In fact, he weaponises rawness and treats criticism like a product feature.
The internet mostly backs him. Reddit threads light up with support. One commenter was "toxic influencers choking on their matcha lattes searching their Balenciaga bags." Another: "Influencers are boring and unoriginal and can get bent." The anger is shared. Jay simply gave it a microphone and a snack to buy.
Jay's success says something about where things are going. People are done with curated perfection. They can smell the artificiality now. They respond to brands that feel like humans rather than committees. Daadi doesn't sell aspiration. Doesn't sell a lifestyle. Sells popcorn and a point of view.
The quality matters, including the spices, the sourcing, and the family behind it. But the edge matters too. He’s not afraid to say what most brands tiptoe around. “We just show who we are,” Jay says. “No pretending, no gloss. People can feel that and that’s when they reach for the popcorn.”
Most small businesses can't afford to play the traditional game. Can't pay influencers. Can't hire agencies. Can't fake their way into feeds. Maybe they don't need to. Maybe honesty and humour can cut through if they're sharp enough. If the product backs it up. If the story is real and the person telling it isn't trying to sound like a PR script.
This started with a list Jay didn't use. The business took off the moment he stopped trying to play by the usual rules and started speaking his mind. Turns out, honesty sells. And yes, the popcorn really does taste good.
Daadi Snacks merch dropInstagram/daadisnacks
The question is whether this scales. Whether other small businesses watch this and realise they don't need to beg for attention from people who don't care. Right now, Daadi keeps selling out. People keep watching. The grandmother's recipe that was supposed to need influencer approval is doing fine without it. Better than fine. Turns out the most effective marketing strategy might just be giving a damn and not being afraid to show it.
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