SUMRIT SHAHI ON HIS WRITING JOURNEY AND TURNING HIS BOOK INTO A SERIAL
by ASJAD NAZIR
WRITERS are often unsung heroes in India despite being the creative driving forces behind films, television serials and books.
One of the country’s best kept-secrets, talented novelist and screenwriter Sumrit Shahi has been receiving acclaim for his writing since he released his first novel as a 17-year-old. Since then, he has delivered further novels and written for a number of hit TV serials that have pulled in millions of viewers. His hit novel Never Kiss Your Best Friend was recently turned into an audience delighting 10-part drama serial shot in London, and he was fully involved. With three novels, TV serials and web series behind him, the most remarkable aspect is that the prolific Indian writer is still only 26.
Eastern Eye caught up with Sumrit Shahi to talk about his remarkable journey and new serial.
What first connected you to writing?
My mother tells me I was an elaborate liar. I would cook up imaginative stories for the simplest of things. I think it was the vivid imagination coupled with the love for reading that I caught on early in life, which connected me to writing.
Which of your writing projects has given you the greatest joy?
Many people know that I was 17 when I published my first novel. What they don’t know is that I was kicked out of boarding school the same year for whatever reasons and wrote my first novel because I sat at home without a school, with judgmental Punjabi relatives consoling my mother for the son’s doomed future. In that sense, writing my novel Just Friends gave me the greatest joy, purely because it helped me find purpose again. It just made me believe in the fact that it’s okay to make mistakes, till you learn from them.
How does writing a novel compare to screenwriting for television?
When you’re writing a novel, you’re literally God. You create the world, story, characters and universe. There’s a sense of unabashed freedom. The high is different. The process is individualistic, whereas screenwriting for TV is very different. Firstly, it’s a mass consumption medium so you have to be careful with collective sensibilities. Also, there are market forces involved such as ratings, location limitations and time crunches. They are two different worlds. And both have a purpose. I am happy jumping from one to another.
What is the greatest challenge of writing for web and TV series?
The greatest challenge in writing for web and TV is that it’s very easy and tempting to follow the herd mentality, simply for numbers and to create content that is safe. The idea is to constantly strive to stay true to your gut. Also, make content that starts dialogue, shapes opinions and engages people beyond entertainment. (Laughs) My sermon is over! Amen.
Where do you get your inspirations?
Everywhere. A writer can’t function without observation. Be it a coffee shop, smoking lounge in a club or a busy marketplace like Oxford Street, I am the creepy guy lurking in the background, overhearing conversations, observing and making mental notes. But then again, a man has got to do his job.
How do you feel about your novel Never Kiss Your Best Friend being turned into a webs series?
I haven’t started a family yet, but this is the most paternal I’ve ever felt. It’s like my own baby is going to college. And it’s such an overwhelming feeling for me.
How much input have you put into the web series?
I was very particular that whenever any of my books get auctioned for any visual medium, I will have complete creative control over them. With Never Kiss Your Best Friend, I’ve written the screenplay and dialogues, along with my co-writer Durjoy, and have been attached with the project since its inception. I was in London throughout the shoot and have been involved with the edits and music as well.
How does it compare to the novel?
I’m helicopter parenting this child because it’s just so close to my heart. So, even if there are any changes from the novel, which there are, such as the setting being London or minor character traits, they have all been written by me. (Laughs) Okay, now I sound psychotic, so I should stop.
What are your other projects?
The year has started on a high. I’m doing three more web series for Alt Balaji. There is a movie I’ve signed with a studio as well, and hopefully, I should be able to announce it soon. The next book also needs to finish before my publisher sues me.
Who is your own writing hero?
That is an interesting question. If by a hero you mean any writer that I look up to, then honestly, I admire a lot of writers for their works, but do I consider them heroes? Not sure. JK Rowling, I would give it to her for her conviction. A writer is nothing without it.
Why do you love being a writer?
Simply, because I got to use my childhood habit of cooking up stories to actually fund my adult activities. On a serious note, I really enjoy the process of creating stories, which in turn (hopefully) engage, entertain and perhaps make people form an opinion. And in the dark times that we live in, connections and engagement between humans is all that we need.
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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