Marking 25 years since Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi reshaped Indian TV, this story reveals how the medium’s original architects—its writers—now face shrinking pay, delayed wages, AI-driven interference, and loss of creative control. Once central to storytelling, they are squeezed by marketing, remakes, and exploitative contracts, fighting for dignity, security, and a fair minimum basic contract.
On July 3, 2000, Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi debuted on Indian television, fundamentally rewriting the cultural landscape of satellite broadcast. It transformed prime-time viewing into a sacred family ritual and established television as an inescapable medium. 25 years after that watershed moment, the medium has grown infinitely larger, but its foundational architects — the writers — find themselves squeezed into a corner.
While millions still tune in daily to break bread with their favourite on-screen families, the creators scripting those lives face a grim reality.
Industry insiders tell THR India how television writing today is marked by dwindling pay scales, non-existent contracts, unceremonious exits, AI-generated network feedback, and severe mental fatigue. What was once a medium driven by creative risk and emotional resonance, they say, has buckled under corporate formulae and aggressive budget cuts.
In the early days of satellite television, TV was primarily a writer's medium. Creative visionaries and showrunners held the steering wheel, while networks trusted their instinct and storytelling integrity.
"Till the time I was in ZEE TV (1996 to 2001), we used to have a pattern where once a month, we used to meet the producers and writers... For the next four or five episodes, what will be the movement of the story?" recalls Purnendu Shekhar, the veteran writer behind iconic shows like Balika Vadhu, Astitva... Ek Prem Kahani, and Saath Phere.
"There was no channel interference at all... Creative people were driving the television channels. But slowly, marketing took over, and marketing people are not creative people, they know only about numbers."
Shekhar points to a pivotal shift around 2008–2009, when minute-by-minute research data began dictating script mechanics. "Suddenly, research became the prime factor... Channel teams grew so big that they wanted everything written exactly as they demanded. That became the worst thing for writers. Writers stopped thinking. And when a writer stops thinking, that's the most dangerous thing for any creative art."
Rajesh Joshi, veteran writer of Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi, Kasautii Zindagii Kay, Jodha Akbar, and Pushpa Impossible, echoes this sentiment on robotic writing.
"Earlier, a writer used to write from his heart. Now, a writer writes mechanically, he writes scientifically... We have assumptions and constraints on paper. The subject to select is no longer decided by us; the research group decides what people like," Joshi explains.
For Shekhar, this hyper-dramatic mandate eventually led him to walk away from his own flagship show, Balika Vadhu, in 2016. "Drama is required for television, but drama for the sake of drama kills the content," he says. "Every scene feels like it's on steroids. Today’s storytelling is so unreal that good writers have stopped writing. You cannot degrade yourself."
The financial ecosystem for Indian television writers has been severely affected, transforming what was once a lucrative creative career into a financial endurance test. According to industry insiders, pay rates have been slashed by 30 to 35 percent, forcing experienced writers to accept fees that mirror entry-level income from a decade ago despite skyrocketing production scale and living costs.
"I can say for myself that the price that I got paid for my first show as a screenplay writer 10 years ago is what has been offered to me today, when I should have been paid at least three times more," reveals Lakshmi Jayakumar, who has penned teleplays for Ghum Hai Kisikey Pyaar Meiin, Naagin 6, and story for Aladdin – Naam Toh Suna Hoga and Mangal Lakshmi.
"25 years ago, the pay scale was probably five times better than today. Broadcasters have lost advertisers. Luxury brands don't advertise on television anymore, and budgets have been slashed across the board."
Joshi corroborates this financial dip. "The pay was much better before. I was earning a much better figure than what I am earning today. Post-COVID, a producer's budget got cut by around 30 to 35 per cent, and that also affected everyone."
This devaluation is compounded by a gruelling unpaid development cycle where writers routinely invest six to twelve months reworking plots, character bibles, and pilot episodes for channels without seeing a single rupee in compensation.
Furthermore, as network budgets tighten, high-budget original Hindi narratives are systematically passed over in favour of pre-tested regional remakes, further eroding the market for original creative thought.
Adding to the instability is a credit and contract structure heavily skewed against writers. Standard agreements are often one-sided or bypassed entirely by production houses, leaving writers with zero safety nets or guaranteed rights.
Even after a show goes on air, writers face extreme payment deferrals, with compensation routinely held for up to 90 days post-telecast. Because a writer’s labour begins nearly a year before an episode ever broadcasts, this delayed payment schedule forces writers to personally cover months of living expenses while absorbing the full financial liability of a production— that is, if a show fails to be greenlit and go on air, the writers are not compensated for their work.
Jayakumar points out how the timeline compounds the financial blow. "You write the plot, develop characters, rework pilots — and for those months of labour, you are without pay. You get paid only 90 days after the episode telecasts. So after eight months of writing and three months of waiting after telecast, your payment arrives on the 11th month. Editors and music directors come in after an episode is shot, but everyone gets paid in the same cycle. The person who started first should be paid first."
Shekhar describes this structure as sheer exploitation, noting that while actors receive daily compensation regardless of scene count, writers work without breaks for months only to wait a quarter of a year after telecast to collect their earnings.
The operational culture within network writers' rooms has added further strain. From AI-driven script notes to an over-reliance on regional remakes, original Hindi television writing is under severe pressure.
"One of the biggest things facing us right now is AI. Even network feedback coming to us is AI-based," Jayakumar shares. "And then there are no valid contracts anymore! Some producers outright say they don't do contracts. But the most unceremonious thing is how a writer is asked to leave. You don't even get a call saying it's not working out; you just find out through industry friends that you've been replaced."
The creative vacuum has also led networks to abandon original concepts in favour of pre-tested regional remakes, writers allege.
"Few original shows are a hit on any channel today. They are all remakes of South Indian, Bengali, or Marathi shows," says Shekhar. "Channels lack the guts to back original stories. They rely on marketing and research rather than creative conviction. But television TRPs tell the real story: during Balika Vadhu, we had double-digit TRPs like 10.3 or 10.5. Today, the top-rated show barely hits a 1.9 or 2.0 TRP. There are simply no viewers left on traditional television because sensible audiences have moved away."
Jayakumar echoes the impact of this adaptation wave. "Nobody wants to take a punt on an original idea unless you have a producer like Ekta Kapoor, who has the absolute conviction to stand by a show like Naagin."
Apart from structural and narrative stagnation, visual presentation on television has seen a significant change as well. Kiran Kulkarni, a veteran writer, notes that modern television has been forced to adapt to the visual language of streaming platforms.
"25 years ago, television was about pauses, tender relationships, and long, emotional dialogue," Kulkarni explains. "Today, the pace has accelerated radically. Visual storytelling has taken over — high-end cameras, background scores, dynamic editing angles, and cinematic framing are standard. Writers today have to grab the viewer in the first two minutes and hold them through the end, competing directly with the instant gratification of OTT platforms."
Maintaining this relentless pace while navigating zero job security takes a heavy psychological toll on writers.
"It makes you question if you are even cut out for it, if you know your craft," Jayakumar expresses on the mental struggle. "You could be going through the worst personal tragedy — a death in the family or a major breakdown — and you still have to open your laptop and deliver an episode that day. There are no holidays. When you face unceremonious exits or slashed rates on top of that, it pulls you down to an extent where you lose confidence completely."
These mounting grievances are not going unnoticed by representative bodies. The Screenwriters Association (SWA), which represents nearly 30,000 active members across India, regularly receives formal complaints regarding arbitrary terminations, credit disputes, and crippling pay cycles.
Raj Shekhar, General Secretary of the Screenwriters Association, highlights that the complete lack of job security remains one of the primary crises facing writers.
"The complaint we keep getting often is that of lack of security — how a writer who was committed to a show is informed that they are no longer a part of the show. Firing a writer randomly is a big issue. This should be done with dignity, transparently, and there should be a mechanism in place, irrespective of who is wrong or right."
Credit erasure represents another significant battleground for the guild, particularly as the industry leans heavily on adaptations and digital streaming windows. "A lot of shows today are remakes, so when a show is adapted in another language, writers often struggle to get the right credit. When a show comes on OTT after TV airing, the credits are messed up," Raj Shekhar points out. "Then of course, there is the issue of payments. A writer starts their work first, but they get paid last; the delays are of 60 to 90 days. The payment structure is backbreaking for them."
To combat this systemic imbalance, the SWA is actively pushing for institutional reform through its specialised sub-committees. "Our efforts have been to resolve this, and the work on the Minimum Basic Contract is ongoing," he shares. "Our TV committee is headed by Zama Habib, senior writer and ex-General Secretary of SWA. The guild is working on resolving all these issues."
However, systemic inertia and a lack of accountability across the broadcast hierarchy remain major obstacles.
"The roadblock is in the mindset — that the way things are, let them be," Raj Shekhar stresses. "There is a lack of ownership as well. The producers say it's on the channel; the channel says it's the lookout of the producers. The most important stakeholder of this ecosystem is the loyal, dedicated audience, who shows up to watch what you have promised. The growing distance from the audience is something that needs to be thought about by everyone. People need to take ownership; only then will things be better."