After a globally acclaimed career of over three decades, composer 

 is ready to shift gears and try his hand at acting. Rahman will be seen sharing the screen with Prabhudeva in the upcoming film 

, where he was joined by the cast of the silent film 

, Rahman reflected on his experience of working on the film, which he has also composed for.

Exclusive | AR Rahman on His Acting Debut with 'Moonwalk' and Sharing the Screen With Prabhudeva

 is a director with a vision—something you can only say about a handful of directors working in Tamil cinema today. With 

, a film whose production was as complicated as its release, from title disputes and a revolving door of actors being announced and leaving, to ED searches and plagiarism charges, and eventually to Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) demands that verge on the parodic, the artistry gets lost in the noise about and around the film. 

Starring Sivakarthikeyan, Ravi Mohan, Atharvaa, and Sreeleela—making her Tamil debut—the film plots the making of the 1965 Anti-Hindi imposition agitation in Tamil Nadu in granular detail. “From the intermission to the climax, it is just 19 days, from Jan 24-25 to February 12, 1965,” Kongara tells 

In a conversation, Kongara discusses the chaos surrounding the film’s release, while breaking down the choices she made to mount this drama. 

How are you doing? You said in an earlier interview that post-release, you are going to dip into all the films you missed out this past year. Have you gotten to those films? 

Not at all. We have a long way to go before we take the film to where it needs to reach—and I have to do it in this day and age of marketing. Just allowing your film to speak doesn’t seem to be enough. I am hoping it takes off during the Pongal weekend, reaching more people. 

Do you mean the film is being misunderstood and misrepresented? 

There is slandering, defamation of the worst kind, hiding behind unknown IDs. We have to counter that. You wonder where it is coming from—and you know where it is coming from. 

Let me read something I saw yesterday on this X (formerly Twitter) handle BlastingTamilCinema: “CBFC kitta Certificate vangurathu perusu illa.. Anna fans kitta Sorry keetu, Apology Certificate vaangu.. Innum 1 week iruku, avanga manichu vitta #Parasakthi oodum” (It is not a big deal to get a CBFC certificate. Apologise to fans of Anna—Vijay—and get that apology certificate. There is one more week. They will forgive you. 

Let’s talk about the movie. The name of Sivakarthikeyan’s character, Chezhiyan, is used beautifully. The ‘zh’ sound that most Northern tongues are unable to pronounce, and the ‘Che’ reference you make. 

The name was given by Mathi (Mathimaran Pugazhendhi, credited as story) who gave me the original concept. There were many leaders at that point with that name. Even Mathi’s relative was named that. In Tamil we call it “Seriyan” but it is written as “Cheriyan”, and I liked the play on “Che”—the name becomes universal because at that time Che Guevara started becoming famous. It lent itself to the film. 

The film starts with the train fire where Chezhiyan’s friend dies. It is only after his death, in a quick flashback, that you see the friendship. Narratively, you didn’t want us to feel the grief when the friend dies?

What I needed to take forward is that there was a boy, a revolutionary, and he was happy about the success of his movement, till he realised that somebody died because of it—and this is not even the person’s cause; that was an innocent boy. I just wanted Chezhiyan to leave behind a particular path because it leads to too much violence. 

Chezhiyan steps away and with the same passion takes care of his family. 

I know that you do not feel the grief when Chezhiyan is crying about his friend. I don’t expect people to feel grief there, but to understand that something important has happened that has taken away from his cause. 

As opposed to when the man burns himself later, where you actually set that up?

There are a lot of tonal shifts in the film, from playful to threatening within the span of an arm movement, the choreography of the fight into a hug with the brothers, for example. This can feel jarring. There is a fragile craft to it. 

It is very difficult to do that. I am mercurial, I can switch from crying to hugging to laughing. I see Chinnadurai (Chezhiyan’s brother, played by Atharvaa) like me. The elder one, Chezhiyan, too, has a bit of that. They swing from one emotion to the other, I have written them as consistent and not schizophrenic. The rest falls into place. The swerve happens in the script itself. 

I struggled with this particular thing—you are making a film about a student protest, but the protagonist is a post-student; you are making a movie about a movement, but you have such a poisonous villain, it becomes a hero-villain story after a point. How much of the movement to bring in, how much of the protagonist... did you struggle with this while writing and, later, editing? 

I never had that struggle. Any revolution begins at universities. The character was a student who had to give up his studies and later, uses his alma mater to return to the movement, but this time in a pacifist way. This film is a revisionist, alternative history. I am trying to say that if the State had communicated to the Centre how much of an aggressive opposition there was to Hindi, this entire trauma and genocide would not have happened. Chezhiyan, thus, is not outside of this movement. 

But a protagonist gets clarified when there is a strong villain, and the character of Thiru (Ravi Mohan) is a pointed villain. Even though there is a quick explanation for his resentment—a backstory of being a bastard child to a Tamil father who left his mother—he embodies his villainy, and so Chezhiyan becomes the hero, responding to him, and not the state. Ultimately it becomes about muscling him down, over a train top. 

I did that on purpose. This is a very dry subject, as dry as aviation (which Kongara dealt with in her previous film 

). There are books written on it, like historical fact sheets. To make it into cinema, simplify those emotions, we have representatives of the state, and that becomes a personal battle. If you revisit the film, you’ll realise Thiru’s layered backstory. He is born in the 1940s, living in the 1960s, and the trauma of being a bastard child, born to cross-cultural parents, he has an identity that he wants to hide, and chooses the Intelligence Bureau where your identity is kept secret—he chooses this profession because he is uncomfortable with his identity. He fulminates when his integrity is questioned. He just wants to prove that he didn’t mess up. 

He genuinely believes that—you broke my trigger finger, I learned to shoot with my other hand, why can’t you learn a new language, what’s your problem? The mindset that if I can go through this difficulty why can’t you, and many monsters do believe that, by the way. He is justified in his head, so Ravi played it like a hero, like he was absolutely in the right. 

But when a villain is so rapacious, you really don’t care about his origin story—it drifts away in the shadow of the violence. Even in 'Soorarai Pottru', did the villain have to be so villainous? 

That sanitiser scene was actually based on an airline owner—I can’t name him. See, you dramatise and emotionalise things that are not emotional to reach a vast audience. 

Mani Ratnam had said that if you have a small character, you get a hero to play it so it lifts that scene. I was reminded of that with the cameos of Rana Daggubati and Basil Joseph—because their characters aren't really part of the story. Can you talk about using their stardom as perhaps a crutch to move your story forward efficiently? 

When you have two-and-half hours of screen time, if you are introducing characters and I have to invest in them, it becomes easier when you know the actors playing them. As it is, the film is complicated. I am not going to take those risks. This, I will play safe. 

Let’s talk about Sreeleela’s character, Ratnamala. Your female protagonists are “feisty”—but theirs was a rooted feistiness, belonging to that world, not a performative one just to make a character “spunky”. How do you balance this, because on the one hand, you wanted to make her conventionally elegant and regal, and then make her drive cars, jump over walls, on her feet, up and about. Did you have to make her “glamorous” in order to make her useful and important in your film? 

This was done consciously. Ratnamala is loosely based on my mum, who comes from a well-to-do family with political connections. There are certain things you need to do. Being born into a rich family, the social justice posture—wearing khadi—is just not done. She has to play the role of a pretty Telugu household girl in order to do what she actually wants. It is not for glamour. Actually, Sreeleela has no makeup on. That’s her face. She has just put on sunscreen and lip gloss and come on set, like the actresses of that time. That blue sari she wears is, in fact, a homage to Waheeda Rehman in 

Tell me about the use of music. There is a revelry and care with which you shoot the songs. How do you see the songs as fitting into the blazing narrative?

I enjoy songs. My film got selected for the Rotterdam Film Festival, and we gave them a cut without the songs, and the curator called me and said, “You will give me the entire film, with the songs, for the screening, right?” The same thing happened to Mani sir decades ago when he gave a different cut of 

 to Berlinale, without the songs, and they called and asked for the songs. It is not jarring, but the placement and way they are shot is perhaps a relief to something serious happening around. 

In a pre-release interview, you spoke of the CBFC being democratic. Do you still feel the same way, after receiving their cuts? 

When I did that interview I had not gotten my cut list. I had just been told that I would be certified but only audio cuts would be asked. Two days away from release, I got the cut list at 11 AM, and tomorrow is all I have before I cut and give the film, because the day after is the release. Where is the time to fight this cut list? 

We didn’t sleep for 70 hours. It was hell. Things like removing the word “Sirikki” was so silly, because there are songs with “Sirikki” in it. Why cut it? Because there is nothing in this film to be cut off because I was so damn careful. But at the same time, if a guy is self-immolating, and they are asking it to be cut by 50 per cent, two-and-half seconds was all I was reducing it by. Similarly with the massacre in Pollachi—from 17 to 10 seconds. 

What about the “This is fiction” statutory warning? 

It is not a statutory warning. There were three scenes where we spoke of three policies made at that time. The CBFC asked for proof. I gave them proof. But did that particular scene happen? No. But the policy happened. They asked us to put it down as “constructed”. Fair enough. They are making me say the big things. None of the cuts—basically bad words and some violence—affected my film. You choose your battles wisely. I didn’t cut any scenes, except for Annadurai’s dialogue. They asked me to mute the dialogue and so, instead, I cut it. 

An earlier version of this article was redacted.

Exclusive | 'Parasakthi' Director Sudha Kongara on Censorship and Backlash: 'There Is Slandering, Defamation Of The Worst Kind'

Nearly a decade ago, Mithila Palkar broke through the noise of the early Internet with a simple, joyful Cup Song that went viral before “content creator” was even a recognised career path. "Suddenly, people started introducing me as a singer! It almost felt blasphemous to call me that," laughs Palkar as she chats with 

The Internet may have been the launchpad for Palkar, but craft, patience and observation have defined the years since, with the actor gravitating towards theatre, collaborating closely with fellow artistes, and treating every set as a place to learn. "Irrfan Khan sir taught me the art of listening," Palkar shares about her experience of working with the actor in 

That long arc now brings her back to cinemas with 

the upcoming comedy starring and co-directed by Vir Das—her first theatrical Hindi release in eight years. For Palkar, the film marks both a return and a new beginning: her first full-fledged comedy, and a rare chance to rediscover the communal joy of making movies. 

intimidating, given it’s your first full-blown comedy?

Absolutely; comedy is scary. But having Vir Das guide us helped immensely. One thing that stuck was: don’t try to be funny. Play the lines honestly. The humour will emerge on its own. In 

, the characters fully believe their reality. It might feel exaggerated to the audience, but for us, it’s real. That grounding makes the comedy work.

There was a rule that we couldn’t use mobile phones on set, which is very rare! Secondly, we didn’t have our own teams. We were sharing doors and vanity vans. So what films are really made for — that sense of community — we had to create that as well. It does happen in cinema, but not the way it does in theatre. In films, you go on every set trying to build that friendship and camaraderie, and then of course, once the project ends, you move on, do other things, and meet more wonderful people.

But now, with phones and everything else, we’re all kind of in our own worlds. We barely sit and chat with each other anymore. That was a big realisation on this set. It’s not that our phones were locked away or anything, but because it was a rule, we all respected it. We weren’t constantly on our phones talking to someone while on set. If we needed to, we’d excuse ourselves and step out.

So the team got to spend more time together...

Exactly! We sang together, played games. It was still a community thing. We’re all foodies too, so we’d sit together and talk about food, music, and things like that. Luckily, we all seemed to be on the same page. We’d just open our vanity doors and it would feel like one big group hanging out.

When you say there were no teams on set, you mean it was just actors and crew?

There was a common crew. What I mean is, usually everyone has their own hair and makeup team, right? But on this set, there was one common hair and makeup agency, and they did it for everyone. And yeah, that’s why it really felt like it was just cast and crew.

From breaking out with the 'Cup Song' to headlining theatrical releases, it’s been nearly ten years since that moment. How do you look back at this decade?

With a lot of gratitude. I always dreamed of being an actor, but I could never have consciously planned a journey like this. The fact that I get to live that dream still feels surreal to me. The way things unfolded. I’m just thankful. The internet will always be my home. That’s where I was born, creatively.

You were almost an OG content creator before the term even existed...

 That’s interesting, because content creation was never the plan. I didn’t even know it could be a career back then. Acting itself felt aspirational, especially coming from my background. There was no one in my family from the industry. When the Cup Song went viral in 2016, it was a complete surprise. Suddenly, people started introducing me as a singer and I’d be like, no! It almost felt blasphemous to call me that. I had no formal training. But music has always been part of me. It’s never been far away.

— ended up defining a generation of Internet storytelling.

followed soon after, both released in 2016. At that time, web series as a concept was still so new. Then films started releasing online. The whole ecosystem changed in front of us. I didn’t realise it then, but I was riding the wave as it was rising. Even when Netflix India launched, 

became one of its earliest Indian originals. Looking back, it feels incredible to have been part of that moment.

You never went to acting school, but theatre played a big role in shaping you, right?

Entirely. I actually started backstage, as a stagehand. I wasn’t even on stage initially. I worked behind the scenes and helped organise youth theatre festivals. Theatre teaches you humility first. You do everything yourself. It’s a collective effort. It also teaches presence. There are no retakes on stage. You have to listen—really listen—to your co-actor. If someone forgets a line, you respond in the moment. Those skills go far beyond acting; they make you a better person. I got on stage around 2015 with a children’s musical play, then in 2018, I did 

 happened, what was the learning curve like?

Those sets were my school. I remember on 

, there was a phone call scene. I held the phone on the wrong side, blocking my face. Nikkhil Advani sir let me finish the take and then explained camera awareness, how small things matter on screen. With Irrfan sir, the biggest lesson was listening. He was such an instinctive, improvisational actor. Sometimes I’d forget I wasn’t the audience—I was his co-actor. You have to respond as your character, not as yourself. Every set taught me something.

Mithila Palkar on How ‘Happy Patel’ Set Broke Bollywood’s Entourage Culture: 'No Phones, No Personal Teams'

When Tom Hiddleston returns as Jonathan Pine in the second season of 

on Prime Video, he says the character begins from a place he can no longer retreat from. “I felt that the lights had been switched on inside him,” he says, describing Pine’s psychological state after the events of the first season. Fully recruited into the intelligence, Pine is no longer operating on instinct or moral panic. 

“There’s a curiosity about seeing behind the curtain, about seeing the world as it really is, not the world as it appears to be,” Hiddleston says, adding that Pine is now driven by “a desire to understand the truth, to have the courage to see every truth.”

That awareness, he says, makes it impossible for Pine to return to an ordinary life. “After the events of the first series, he cannot go back,” Hiddleston says. “He has to stay in the intelligence community because he needs to keep searching.” 

But the courage and clarity Pine displays come at a cost. Hiddleston is careful not to frame the character as healed or resolved. “I believe he’s somebody who was asked to undergo extraordinary suffering and solitude,” he says, “and withstood a lot of danger and personal pain.” The result, he suggests, is a man whose identity has shifted in ways that are not immediately visible.

“I think his identity has changed and he has suppressed that trauma,” Hiddleston says. “It sits within him like an unexploded bomb.” What interested him most about returning to the role was playing those contradictions at once. Pine, he explains, possesses “real courage, real moral clarity, real competence,” and on the surface appears “calm and capable and elegant and immaculate.” 

Internally, however, “he’s turbulent and vulnerable and passionate,” Hiddleston says. “His soul is on fire.” The tension between that composed exterior and the chaos beneath it is, for him, where the character truly begins this season. “So I would say he starts from a place of trauma,” he says, before adding, almost as an afterthought, “and courage.” A dangerous man, then, by definition.

The conversation shifts closer to home when the Indian adaptation of 

 comes up. Hiddleston confirms that he is aware of it and has watched it. “I do. I’ve seen it,” he says simply. He also speaks about his recent experience working in Nepal on a project that functioned as an Indian co-production. “It was an Indian production company, India Take One Productions,” he says, recalling that much of the crew came from the Indian film community. “It was my first time working with a largely Indian crew, and I had the best time.”

The experience, he says, left a strong impression. “We were working in Nepal on location, but essentially it was an Indian co-production,” Hiddleston explains. “And it was a great pleasure to work with all of them.” Asked whether he would consider acting in an Indian film, particularly at a moment when Indian cinema is enjoying heightened global visibility, Hiddleston doesn’t hedge. “I’ve loved Indian cinema for a long time,” he says, recalling that the first Indian film he watched was 

. Since then, he says, he has continued to follow both Indian films made primarily for domestic audiences and international co-productions.

When the idea of dream collaborations comes up, he pauses. “I have to think about that one,” he says, before the name SS Rajamouli is suggested. “Excellent,” Hiddleston responds immediately, chuckling.

Exclusive | Tom Hiddleston on 'The Night Manager' Season 2 and How 'Devdas' Was The First Indian Film He Watched 

British YouTube sensation Olajide Olayinka Williams Olatunji, more famously referred to as KSI, is on a mission to take over YouTube in 2026. With over 100 million followers across YouTube and other social media platforms, from boxing to music, KSI has done it all. He flew into India along with his brother Deji Olatunji, also known as Comedy Shorts Gamer, as well as his production crew with one major goal: to record as much content as physically possible. 

In the past two days, they have shot a 'Guess the cricketer' video with India men's cricket team's ODI and Test team captain, Shubman Gill, a 'Guess the Bollywood actor' video with Aamir Khan and Vir Das, two 'Try Not To Laugh' videos with Samay Raina, Tanmay Bhatt, Ajey Nagar a.k.a CarryMinati, and Abhishek Malhan a.k.a Fukra Insaan, in addition to Reels and shorts.

Ahead of his fan meet in Delhi, on January 10, he speaks to 

 about why he wants to focus on YouTube, taking movie suggestions from Aamir Khan, and more. 

You started your YouTube journey in 2008 with JideJunior, in 2009 you created KSI Olajidebt, 2013 was the year that the Sidemen came together. You have since had successful careers as a YouTuber, rapper, boxer, TV personality, businessman and more. We are now in 2026 and you’ve taken the decision to come back to your roots and “go ham with YouTube.” Why is now the right time for you to focus on YouTube? 

After the Tommy Fury loss in my last boxing match, I was quite lost in general. It took a while for me to get over that. I even tried to get back into boxing but my heart wasn't really in it. With anything I do, my heart has to be in it 100 per cent. I wasn't enjoying the training either and it got to a point where I had to ask myself, "What do I enjoy?" and I realised that the last time I fully focused on YouTube was probably up until 2017 or 2018. After that I got busy with the music, boxing and more. I realised that it was time for me to put all my focus on YouTube because it's what I love. I don't see it as work; I see it as fun. The enjoyment of making great content is unparalleled and seeing people's reactions to the videos brings me the most joy. That's why I had to come back to YouTube. 

It's one of my biggest audiences. I feel like I have to give back whenever I can. I always have a good time here. It's my third time now and I love it. It's like my second home. I've come here more times than I've been to Nigeria but I'm working on going there more often. But yeah, I just love India and I'll keep coming back whenever I can.

There is an old video of you reacting to Shah Rukh Khan, back then you weren’t necessarily aware of who that was. You’ve now shot a video titled 'Guess the Bollywood actor'. What has your relationship with Indian cinema been like? 

Growing up my parents showed me Nollywood (Nigerian film industry) films. When it comes to Bollywood, I definitely need to improve my knowledge, it's not really up to par. But I'm always open to watching more Bollywood films. I already have a huge list of things that I need to watch. Aamir Khan, who we shot a video with, suggested that I watch 

. I can't wait to watch that because I think it's sick that I get to get movie recommendations from an absolute legend like Aamir. I'm an open book so I'm open to learning and improving my Bollywood knowledge.

Could we ever see you in an Indian film... If yes, what’s on the wish list?

You never know. I've been in one movie called 

 which... wasn't great. But you never know. My focus right now is purely YouTube. I want to stop the distractions and make the best content with the best people and have a great time entertaining the masses.

KSI on Returning To YouTube And Filming in India with Aamir Khan: 'This is My Second Home'

(Mild spoilers for the new season of Freedom At Midnight)

Partition was the dark dawn (the spotted, night-bitten dawn, in the words of Faiz Ahmad Faiz) that loomed at the end of 

’s series, which premiered its first season in 2024, is about the complex circumstances leading up to and after Independence. Adapted from Dominique Lapierre and Larry Collins’ non-fiction book, the show, in its sombre concluding chapter premiering on January 9 on SonyLIV, wastes little time in getting down to it: the winners begin to look like losers at history’s gambling table; the price of liberation was fracture and fratricide. 

Advani, a Sindhi whose family migrated from Pakistan to Bombay after Partition, understands the deep psychic toll the event took on the subcontinent. "My grandparents were luckier than most because my grandmother’s father was quite well-to-do, so the whole family and whoever else he could accommodate were bundled up on a flight to leave from Karachi."

Advani's paternal grandfather was employed at Habib Bank Limited and was entrusted with carrying a money belt to give to the branch office in Bombay. The bank had shifted its headquarters to Karachi in 1947 at Jinnah's behest. 

"While my grandmother always told us this story to talk about my grandfather's honesty and value system, there were times I saw her lament that he could have kept the money, and it would have saved decades of hardship after they migrated." 

 was praised for its narrative density, the complex, fine-grained portrayal of historical figures like Gandhi, Nehru, Patel and Jinnah, and the grand sweep of events and emotions, while drawing criticism for its predominantly one-sided depiction of communal violence. Season 2 covers extraordinary ground, from the drawing up of the Radcliffe line to the butchery and bloodletting that led to the largest mass migration in human history. All along, a young man, angry and embittered, makes his way to Birla House.

This is, by any measure, the biggest production of Advani’s life. Both seasons were written and shot in a single stretch; Advani worked with a team of six writers, with Abhinandan Gupta leading the adaptation work. The opening episode of S2 focuses on the messy, unfathomable business of splitting a nation in two. In their book, Lapierre and Collins riff on the grotesque absurdity of the undertaking: not just rivers and railways or the army and treasury, even the smallest of public assets were bitterly haggled over. In Lahore, for instance, a Superintendent presided over the division of the police band's equipment, down to the last 'trombone'. 

"I wish I had more time to depict the full scope of the 

," Advani says. "There is a passage about public libraries, about how individual books like the 

 were ripped in two between India and Pakistan." 

The most entertaining stretch in the new season is the integration of the 565 princely states into the union—a mind-melting challenge taken on by Sardar Patel (Rajendra Chawla) and executed by VP Menon (lovingly played by KC Shankar). Advani unearths some colourful details in this stretch, like how the Nawab of Junagadh was exceedingly fond of his pet dogs, or how Menon—a teetotaller from Kerala—developed a whiskey habit while concerting with the Maharajas. 

Junagadh also echoes into the episode on Kashmir, with Mountabben pressing on Nehru's conscience to promise a plebiscite once peace was restored in the valley (Maharaja Hari Singh, under siege from Pathan tribesmen backed by the Pakistani Army, had signed the instrument of accession). India then took the dispute to the UN Security Council. 

"The United Nations resolution mandated demilitarisation from both sides for the plebiscite to take place. As Menon reassures Patel at the end of the episode, Pakistan will never leave their occupied territories in Kashmir, so the plebiscite will never happen." 

's biggest blind spot remains its riot sequences. Critics had pointed out how, despite the supposedly neutralising use of black-and-white, the show's depiction of violence remained skewed against a single community. In Season 2, there is a scene where Gandhi's car is pelted with stones upon his arrival in Calcutta on August 13, 1947. Yet, we never see the miscreants. This is not the case in the book, where the aggressors are clearly identified. 

"It's not about me not wanting to show it," contends Advani. "You can tell the locality that has been destroyed is Muslim. The slogans being shouted are in plain Bengali (spoken by Hindus). Furthermore, in historical accounts, when Gandhi's grand-nieces Abha and Manu were asked about the attack, they said they did not see who did it and where it came from." 

Advani denies charges of dialling down majority aggression, a pattern of willful evasion observed in recent historical dramas. "In Season 1, the violence of Direct Action Day was shown as a combination of both communities. One took off and then the other took off in retaliation. In Bihar, we show the 100 bodies which were all Muslim.  There was a cycle of retribution that started after the League and Jinnah's aggravations. "

Season 2 culminates with a tense buildup to the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi. However, instead of Nathuram Godse, the conspiracy to kill the Mahatma is relayed from the perspective of a lesser-known figure — Madan Lal Pahwa, a Punjabi refugee who unsuccessfully threw a bomb at a prayer meeting at Birla House on January 20, 1948, ten days before Gandhi was eventually assassinated by Godse. 

"The world already knows who killed Gandhi. Wherever one may stand politically, the facts are undeniable. I did not want to give a figure like Godse the platform of my show. In fact, he stays out of the focus in the scene of the assassination. You just see his gun, the instrument that was used to kill the Mahatma."

, slated to stream on Prime Video, is a tonal about-turn from 

. Adapted from Sanjeev Sanyal's book on armed revolutionary movements against the Raj, the series is a grand action epic spanning continents. 

"It's about young, audacious revolutionaries like Rash Bihari Bose and Sachindra Nath Sanyal who took up the gun to overthrow the British," Advani says. "I am directing full-scale action after a long time. But the show is much more than that. These boys were extremely well-read and academic. There are beautiful nuggets about the Irish revolution and the intellectual and literary movements of that time." 

This, Advani confirms, will be his last historical for a good while. 

, if successful, might get a second season, while the curtains have surely fallen on 

Nikkhil Advani on 'Freedom At Midnight' and 'Revolutionaries': I'm Historied-Out' 

Mr. Faisu doesn’t fuss about anything. When you meet him, you’re struck first not by his internet stardom but by his stillness. There’s a calm, almost old-world politeness about him that feels out of place in the restless digital age. 

At his Goregaon high-rise apartment with a stunning view of a sprawling Mumbai from his 12th-floor balcony, he offers dates and tea. During the photoshoot, Faisu, whose full name is Faisal Shaikh, listens carefully to the photographer’s directions and quietly slips into each outfit. He doesn’t hover around the monitor to inspect his angles. When he finally glances at the shots, his only response is a soft “Okay.”

This is, after all, a man with over 36 million followers across Instagram and YouTube — one of India’s earliest internet success stories. But the 31-year-old isn’t chasing virality anymore. “The biggest success for me isn’t what people think it is,” he says. “It’s the sound of my mother laughing in the other room. The fact that I could make that happen, give my family this lifestyle —that’s enough for me.”

Faisu’s rise mirrors India’s digital evolution. Around 2018, when micro-content platforms like TikTok and Dubsmash transformed the very idea of a celebrity, a young Faisu and his cousin uploaded a one-minute video lip-syncing to a line from 

(2010), which he had tweaked using an editing software.

“Everyone was making 15-second videos, but we went for a full minute,” he recalls. “Within two months, my friends in (Mumbai’s) Rizvi College started calling us ‘stars.’ That was the first time I realised something had changed, that maybe I was ‘famous,’” he says.

Soon, around 2017, he and his friends formed Team 07, a content collective that became a cultural phenomenon among early TikTok users. Fame arrived fast and stayed. It allowed him to move from Mumbai’s Bandra East to Goregaon West, where his neighbours now include Bollywood’s familiar faces (including actor Taapsee Pannu). But comfort was never the endgame.

(2022), Khatron Ke Khiladi the same year and this year’s 

 — along with music videos (“Bewafai,” “Lehja,” “Tera Kasoor”) and the ZEE5 series 

, Faisu is preparing for his next chapter: a full-time transition into acting and entrepreneurship.

His ambition finds its roots in 2019, when he launched ‘2407’, his own deodorant line. It sold over 35,000 units on pre-order, crashing the website in the process.

“That was when I realised my audience didn’t just watch me for free but were rooting for me in real life,” he says. “They wanted to be part of my journey. That’s when I knew I had to think beyond the smartphone screen.”

Which is why, for Faisu, the label “content creator” now feels limiting. “Whoever called themselves ‘content creators’ in 2019-2020, are now calling themselves entrepreneurs,” he observes. “Simply content creation is not enough. What will you do if you have 33 million followers in the digital world? You must do something bigger, aim higher. I am very ambitious that way.”

He’s currently working on a new accessories brand and has already shot a 60-episode micro-drama titled 

. Still, he’s candid about the pressure that comes with being a digital public figure.

“What few will tell you is that being a digital creator is a (high) pressure job,” he admits. “Maintaining those numbers is not easy. Fighting the algorithm, putting out non-vulgar content, not letting trends dictate you — it takes a lot, especially when the stakes are so high. You have to be better than your last post, which could have been just three days ago. In the race to be relevant, I want to focus on upgrading myself.”

And this, Faisu says, isn’t only to uplift his family but also to let himself enjoy the perks of fame. He wants a film award trophy. He’s manifesting being cast in the next season of Aryan Khan’s

 and aspires to own a collection of the most luxurious watches in the world.

“If I keep my head down and work but reach for the stars, it can happen,” he says, echoing the philosophy that lives in his YouTube bio: ‘Started from the bottom now we here.’

For someone who built their empire on 60-second clips, Faisu seems unbothered by the speed of change around him. Perhaps that’s the secret to longevity in the digital age — knowing when to move fast, and when to stay perfectly still. 

To read more exclusive stories from The Hollywood Reporter India's December 2025 print issue, pick up a copy of the magazine from your nearest book store or newspaper stand.

Mr. Faisu: The Rise Of An Unlikely Digital Powerhouse

, only the eyes are enough. That understanding guided the making of 

, cut under near-secrecy, with barely any footage, and against a ticking clock that couldn’t be moved. Dropped on Khan’s birthday last month, the debut visual unit for Siddharth Anand’s much-awaited 2026 actioner was assembled in a blur of instinct, restraint and trust, by a team that knew exactly what not to reveal.

spoke to the team of the creative agency MA&TH, which also designed Khan’s intense first look poster from 

. Rajeev Chudasama (Director & Chief Creative Officer at MA&TH), 

Ravi Dsilva (Business Head) revealed how the 

assets were put together amid huge expectations (and a sea of fan edits).

Chudasama and Kataria were already deeply embedded in the film’s visual conversations long before the pre-teaser came into play. Chudasama, a close collaborator of Anand’s, says the discussions around 

 began early, evolving alongside the film itself.

“Sid and I are friends, so whenever he’s working on something, I’m usually sitting with him, talking through the approach. There’s a constant back-and-forth,” he says. “When we first started talking, the film was slightly different. Some big decisions were taken along the way, and the outlook changed. I was part of all those conversations, so I knew exactly where we were heading.”

But nothing about working on a project headlined by Khan is ever “easy” as the bar is set impossibly high with expectations. “If that was not enough, today you also compete with AI!”

He recalls how, months before any official assets were out, fans were already making AI versions of 

. “Every day, you’d see something new. Some of it was interesting,” he admits. “So you’re not just creating curiosity anymore. You’re also competing with all of that, while keeping the intensity intact!”

Complicating matters further was a very real, very human limitation when Khan had injured his shoulder, ruling out any elaborate photo shoots. A larger campaign had been approved, but only a portion of it was suddenly usable.

“We had a locked campaign, but because of what happened, nearly a third of it was off the table,” Chudasama explains. “So we focused on what we could do. We shortlisted six strong ideas. Each had a different layer of storytelling.”

All of them were developed and explored. But as Chudasama puts it, when you’ve worked with a star for this long, you instinctively know which image will carry the weight.

has been around longer than all of us. At that moment, Sid, Shah Rukh and I all knew which poster would cut through. Still, you always question yourself. What if you’re wrong?”

What finally emerged was striking in its restraint. A minimalist poster. Folded hands. A steady gaze. No excess. That decision was also a conscious pushback against the visual noise dominating film marketing today.

“There’s a lot of drama in posters right now. Too much of everything. Heavy Photoshop, plasticky textures, visuals that almost look AI-generated...” he says. “We were very clear we didn’t want that. We wanted his skin texture to be visible; we wanted him to feel human. The more real you keep it, the easier it is for people to connect.”

Chudasama, who has designed posters for over 750 films, says the calls he received for 

 were unlike anything he’s experienced. “And this was a very simple execution. I wasn’t trying to show my skills. When your subject is this strong, why should you shout over him? That understanding comes from experience.”

If the poster was about restraint, the teaser, set to a catchy background score by Anirudh, demanded precision under pressure. “Because it was extremely hush-hush, not many people knew about it. There were just four of us,” Chudasama reveals. “Shah Rukh sir, Sid, Nilesh and I.”

The footage couldn’t even be sent across. They had to work out of Anand’s office, focusing on storytelling without giving away too much of the plot. Kataria recalls how they had two days and one night to work on it, as the teaser had to be dropped on November 2.

“It was just after Deepavali, when Sid called and said, ‘Come over, watch this footage.’ I asked when he needed it. He said, today or tomorrow!” Kataria laughs and says, there was no room for overthinking, either they had to crack it, or nothing would go out on his birthday.

Khan joined them that very evening, articulating exactly what he wanted the teaser to do and, more importantly, what it shouldn’t. With the film still a year away, the mandate was to not reveal too much about 

“They were clear they wanted to reveal the first look, but it wasn’t clear which look it would be! There was one shot that stood out to everyone,” Kataria says. “The bloodied card in his mouth. That became the reveal.”

Interestingly, that same image had also been shortlisted as a poster option but was eventually dropped to avoid repeating the same impact across formats. “We didn’t want to dilute it,” Chudasama says. “Once it existed in the audio-visual space, it had to live there. This was just a peek into the kingdom. For the rest, you have to wait.”

Shah Rukh Khan's 'King’: Inside the Secretive Race to Cut The Epic Teaser

Fear, when done honestly, is never about what jumps out at you. It is about what follows you home. That idea sits at the heart of 

, and it is also what drew Karan Tacker to the series. This was not a conventional horror project to him, but a story about a man who spent his life walking into the unknown.

Tacker initially describes the show as a ‘paranormal biopic’, but then offers a more layered perspective. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a biopic, because when you say biopic, you’re trying to look the part, behave like the part and talk the part.” 

 is instead inspired by the life and work of Gaurav Tiwari, the real-life paranormal investigator whose brief, intense career ended with a mysterious death at 32.

When the project first came to him, Tacker admits he knew little about Tiwari. “The first thing they asked me was, ‘Are you scared of horror?’” he recalls. “I said, ‘I’m petrified,’” he says with a laugh. The response was simple. Look up this name, Gaurav Tiwari, and call us back.

That late night Google search changed everything. “Here was a guy from a decent family who came to Bombay to become an actor. Then he went to the US, studied flying, became a pilot, had a paranormal incident that irked his curiosity, studied metaphysics at a church there, came back to India to practice it, and died a mysterious death at 32. I was like, wow. This is a banging story,” Tacker says.

Playing someone who once existed brings a weight of its own. Tiwari’s story is well-known, his death unresolved, and his family very much present. “There’s a sensitivity you carry when you’re playing a real person. His parents are still around. His wife is still around. You don’t want to disturb their state of being by doing something just for a gimmick,” Tacker says. 

That sensitivity shaped the show’s creative approach. From the start, the team decided they were not interested in chasing fear for effect. “We were very clear that we are not trying to do horror. Horror hasn’t been interestingly done in India for a very long time,” Tacker says.  Instead, 

 wants to allow fear to emerge organically. “What he did was scary for a layman. If you get scared in the journey of his life, that’s a win for us. But we are not using every tool just to freak you out,” he says.

For Tacker, the project also became his most immersive experience as an actor. He joined early, long before the shoot, spending months in pre-production. “It wasn’t about coming on board, doing your 60 days and leaving. We were constantly building. Deciding tonality, deciding how it would be shot, deciding what it should feel like,” Tacker says.

, Tacker’s choices have resisted easy categorisation. Genre, he insists, has never been the deciding factor. “I’ve never really looked at a genre before doing a part. It’s always been the intrigue of the life of the character,” Tacker says. 

 was not about espionage but about relationships. 

 was not about the uniform, but about the paradox of power and bureaucracy. “You are always trying to find characters that are far from you as a human being. That’s what excites you to get on set every day,” he adds.

Even as the show does well, Tacker is already thinking about what comes next. “It’s a very funny place. You’re promoting, shows are doing well, but you’re already hunting for the next script. You’re enjoying success and feeling like a struggling actor at the same time,” he says.

Asked what he is craving next, his answer is unexpected. “I really want to do a mature love story. I feel old enough now to bring a certain emotional maturity to it. Maybe the romance that’s missing in my real life... I’ll go and find it on screen,” he says with a laugh.

Karan Tacker on Playing a Man Whose Life Ended in Mystery, Finding Fear in ‘Bhay’, and Searching for Love On-Screen

 is persistent. He is persistent with his drive

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