Pooja Pillai is an entertainment journalist with Asian Media Group, where she covers cinema, pop culture, internet trends, and the politics of representation. Her work spans interviews, cultural features, and social commentary across digital platforms.
She began her reporting career as a news anchor, scripting and presenting stories for a regional newsroom. With a background in journalism and media studies, she has since built a body of work exploring how entertainment intersects with social and cultural shifts, particularly through a South Indian lens.
She brings both newsroom rigour and narrative curiosity to her work, and believes the best stories don’t just inform — they reveal what we didn’t know we needed to hear.
The Cannes Film Festival this year quietly handed over its most heartfelt moment to two women who once defined Indian cinema’s golden age. Sharmila Tagore and Simi Garewal, both in their late 70s, walked the red carpet for the restored screening of Aranyer Din Ratri, Satyajit Ray’s 1970 film, now brought back to life in 4K. The screening was introduced by Wes Anderson, whose affection for Ray’s storytelling is no secret.
Anderson called the film a “forgotten treasure,” and watching the two original cast members return to celebrate it decades later turned it into more than just a screening but a living memory. “We’re the only ones left,” Sharmila said on stage, gesturing towards Simi, a comment that landed like a quiet tribute to a time now passed.
Sharmila Tagore, Simi Garewal, Wes Anderson and guests attend the "Highest 2 Lowest" red carpet at the 78th annual Cannes Film FestivalGetty Images
Originally based on a novel by Sunil Gangopadhyay, Aranyer Din Ratri tells the story of four city men seeking escape in the forests of Palamau. In the film, Sharmila played Aparna, an intelligent and reserved woman; Simi, in stark contrast, portrayed Duli, a spirited tribal girl. The characters’ contrasts mirrored the wide social and emotional gaps Ray explored between urban and rural, class and identity, tradition and change.
The film’s revival was made possible through a six-year collaboration led by The Film Foundation, founded by Martin Scorsese, Film Heritage Foundation, Janus Films, and The Criterion Collection. Original film negatives were used, with cooperation from the family of producer Purnima Dutta.
Sharmila’s presence at Cannes also sparked renewed interest in her life beyond the spotlight. A 2021 video of her son Saif Ali Khan resurfaced, where he spoke of her habit of fixing and preserving everything, from old household items to the sprawling Pataudi Palace, which she helped restore. “She runs a home like a finishing school,” he said. “Even the staff trained under her get poached by neighbours.”
Her recent return to Bengali cinema in Puratawn with Rituparna Sengupta signals that her artistry isn’t a thing of the past. It’s ongoing, evolving, but always rooted in grace.
As the Cannes audience applauded the restored film, it wasn’t just nostalgia they were applauding. It was memory, legacy, and the quiet power of those who’ve never needed to shout to leave an impression.
Bollywood horror has gone mainstream: bigger budgets, big stars, family audiences.
Roots: Mahal (1949) to the Ramsay Brothers' cult run of the 1970s–80s.
Modern hits pair folklore with comedy, as seen in Tumbbad, Stree, Munjya, and now Thamma & Maa.
Technical leap: prosthetics and CGI have "gone to the next level"; budgets now reach mainstream scale.
Remember when Bollywood horror meant creaky doors in a haunted haveli and a woman in a white sari? Forget it. We are in an era where a ghost's main ambition is not revenge, but finding a wife, where ancient mythology collides with suburban kitchens, and a mother's love can literally summon a goddess. The genre has exploded into the mainstream, and clearly everyone is buying a ticket.
The horror revolution: How Bollywood turned ghosts, goddesses, and gore into gold Instagram/thammamovie/netflix_in/maddockfilms
Where did this all begin?
The lineage is long. Kamal Amrohi's Mahal (1949), a chilly, melodramatic original, is often cited as Hindi horror's starting point. The Ramsay Brothers then carried the torch through the 1970s and 80s, churning out roughly 30 low-budget creature features that made haunted havelis a cult staple. Their old formula was simple: lurid gore, sex, and cheap shocks because "blood and sex pulled crowds."
As Deepak Ramsay puts it, "There are new stories, fresh talent, and all of this is leading to a resurgence. Films that were once niche are turning out to be blockbusters."
Kamal Amrohi's Mahal Youtube Screengrab
Why is Bollywood horror trending now?
Two things: smarter storytelling and better tech. Filmmakers stopped copying Western ghosts and started mining local myths, as seen in Tumbbad and Stree, and they mixed scares with laughs.
"The moment you get scared, your first reaction after the shock is to laugh," Ram Gopal Varma says, and that laugh is the neat trick, making scares sharable.
Aditya Sarpotdar explains the appeal bluntly: "There is a huge audience wanting to watch such movies. When catering to mass audiences, humour becomes key." His Munjya proved it: "Children pulled their parents to theatres." You cannot get more mainstream than that.
For decades, horror was the B-movie cousin no one wanted to acknowledge. Big stars stayed away, the effects were cheap, and an 'Adults' certificate locked out half the family audience. But not anymore. Maa (June 2025) saw Kajol in a mythic, bloody role that shocked and thrilled the audience. Thamma (Diwali 2025) is being billed as "a bloody love story" with Ayushmann Khurrana and Rashmika Mandanna in a vampire-romance that pairs fangs with dance numbers. Sequels and studio universes hits like Stree 2, Chhorii 2, and lighter fare like The Bhootnii keep the pipeline full.
Deepak Ramsay even points to the tech shift: "From as little as £20,000 to make a horror film, now budgets are closer to £7.2 million."
Veterans say prosthetics and CGI have "gone to the next level," so monsters finally look convincing.
Bollywood horror is having a moment, and it's brilliant
However, the quick, messy truth is the genre still trips; it suffers from a tonal wobble and silly beats, but it is honest. Horror has stopped hiding at midnight and is selling tickets at matinées. Directors joke about the next move. "I would love to see Shah Rukh Khan attempt horror," says Sarpotdar, but the point is clear. What was once pulpy trash has become a lively, profitable stretch of mainstream cinema. It is rough around the edges, loud, sometimes ridiculous, and that is exactly why it is working.
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