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By:

Kiran D. Tare

21 August 2024 at 4:53:13 pm

From Doctor to Box-Office Disruptor

Vishal Chaturvedi has turned a deeply personal spiritual story into one of 2026’s biggest box-office surprises. In an industry where films routinely arrive with star salaries running into crores, lavish sets and multi-crore marketing campaigns, Hanuman Ansh is a striking anomaly. Made on a shoestring budget reportedly in the region of Rs. 2 crore, the ‘spiritual’ film opened last month to a modest box-office collection. Within weeks, however, audiences began taking a shine to the film with...

From Doctor to Box-Office Disruptor

Vishal Chaturvedi has turned a deeply personal spiritual story into one of 2026’s biggest box-office surprises. In an industry where films routinely arrive with star salaries running into crores, lavish sets and multi-crore marketing campaigns, Hanuman Ansh is a striking anomaly. Made on a shoestring budget reportedly in the region of Rs. 2 crore, the ‘spiritual’ film opened last month to a modest box-office collection. Within weeks, however, audiences began taking a shine to the film with the phenomenal result that its domestic collections had surged past the Rs. 150 crore mark. Whatever the final tally, the fact that a film made for a fraction of the budgets of mainstream Bollywood productions has emerged as a major commercial success has raised eyebrows. The man responsible for this is Vishal Chaturvedi, a doctor-turned-filmmaker, writer and producer whose route to cinema has been anything but conventional. Chaturvedi was born and brought up in Lucknow and completed his MBBS from Gorakhpur in 2006. While posted in Haldwani that year, he visited Kainchi Dham. It was there that he encountered the teachings of Neem Karoli Baba, the spiritual figure whose life and philosophy would eventually become the foundation of his first feature film. For almost two decades, the thought of making a film around Neem Karoli Baba remained with Chaturvedi. His journey towards Hanuman Ansh itself reportedly took nearly 14 years. Along the way, he left medicine and even gave up music before committing himself fully to filmmaking. What might appear in retrospect as an overnight success was therefore anything but overnight. Hanuman Ansh tells the story of Lakshminarayan, who would later become Neem Karoli Baba. Following his mother’s death, the young Lakshman leaves home in search of God. His journey through forests, temples and villages becomes a gradual renunciation of worldly life and a movement towards spirituality. The film also incorporates episodes associated with Neem Karoli Baba, including the famous account of a British train being stopped after he was forced off it. But perhaps the most revealing part of Chaturvedi’s story is not what he put into the film, but what he deliberately kept out while writing it. He removed digital devices from his room and wrote the story entirely by hand. His assistants subsequently photographed the handwritten pages and converted them into digital form. He spent nearly 45 days writing the first scene alone. For Chaturvedi, however, the first scene was the foundation of the entire film. Once he had found it, the rest of the screenplay came together rapidly, taking another 15 to 20 days. Hanuman Ansh was the culmination of a personal conviction that had survived for nearly 20 years. Its success also raises a larger question about the changing economics of Indian cinema. The film is unlikely to signal the death of stars, spectacle or big budgets. Nor does every low-budget film with a strong idea automatically become a blockbuster. But Hanuman Ansh, alongside other recent successes such as Dhurandhar, points towards something increasingly important: content can create its own market when audiences feel they have discovered something worth talking about. The old model depended heavily on pre-release visibility. The new one increasingly depends on post-release conversation. A film need not necessarily dominate advertising if audiences themselves become its marketing department. That is particularly significant for films operating outside the traditional Bollywood template. Hanuman Ansh does not have the conventional ingredients of a commercial blockbuster. Its subject is spiritual, its central character is not a contemporary superstar and its budget was tiny by industry standards. Yet its audience appears to have expanded precisely because it offered something different. Today, audiences are becoming less willing to accept that the size of a film’s budget determines its value. They can reject an expensive production and embrace a modest one if the latter connects emotionally, culturally or spiritually. For Chaturvedi, the irony is striking. A man who walked away from medicine to pursue filmmaking spent years chasing a story that the mainstream industry apparently did not rush to embrace. That makes Hanuman Ansh’s success more than a box-office curiosity. It is a reminder that while budgets and big-name stars may buy scale and draw attention, the belief among audiences that a particular film is telling a solid story and hence must be seen is priceless. Chaturvedi appears to have spent years building his belief around one story. Judging by the box office receipts, the audience, too, seems to have bought into it.

The Fighter Jet as Foreign Policy

Correspondent
Feb 18
3 min read

Canada’s fighter-jet dilemma exposes a deeper rupture in North American trust.

Canada’s fighter-jet procurement has become a proxy war for something far larger than defence modernisation. As reported by the CBC, Ottawa has quietly begun making payments for long-lead components for 14 additional F-35s, even as a formal review of the contract with Lockheed Martin grinds on. The contradiction is revealing. It suggests that Canada is trying to keep its options open in an alliance that no longer feels reliably allied.


Officially, nothing has changed. The Department of National Defence insists the review continues. Prime Minister Mark Carney has declined to specify how many jets Canada will ultimately buy. Legally, Ottawa is bound only to the first tranche of 16 aircraft, due to arrive from 2026. But money has a logic of its own. By paying now for components tied to a further 14 jets, Canada preserves its slot in a congested global production queue.


The F-35, known formally as the F-35 Lightning II, has long been a political millstone. It is the most expensive weapons programme in modern history, and Canada’s share has swollen by roughly C$8bn beyond original estimates. The planned fleet of 88 aircraft was meant to cost C$19bn; sustainment costs will dwarf that. What was sold as interoperability has come to look like dependency.


That dependence matters because Canada’s strategic environment has shifted abruptly ever since US President Donald Trump has revived trade warfare and rhetorical belligerence. Tariffs have duly been slapped on Canadian exports. Threats have been floated to decertify Canadian-made aircraft. Trump has made a bad joke about making Canada the 51st US State. His commerce secretary has mused aloud about withdrawing from treaties governing the Great Lakes, NORAD and even the Five Eyes.


For a country whose defence has been structured around intimate American integration, this is destabilising. NORAD, the bedrock of continental air defence, assumes that the Royal Canadian Air Force can field credible fighters of its own. If it cannot, then American aircraft will have to fill the gap, ironically increasing Washington’s costs while eroding Ottawa’s sovereignty. The F-35 was supposed to lock in that partnership for decades. Instead, it has exposed its fragility.


Hence the renewed interest in Sweden’s Saab and its Gripen fighter. Saab has signalled a willingness to expand production in Canada, potentially assembling aircraft not only for Ottawa but also for Ukraine, which has expressed interest in more than 100 Gripens. Such numbers would require a dramatic expansion of Saab’s manufacturing capacity, possibly on Canadian soil. For policymakers in Ottawa, this technology diversification, with its industrial offsets and a subtle rebuke to American arm-twisting is tempting.


The idea of a mixed fleet that would include some F-35s for high-end stealth missions and some Gripens for air policing is gaining currency. While it would certainly complicate logistics militarily, it would hedge risks politically. Unlike the F-35, the Gripen comes with fewer strings attached and greater latitude over software, upgrades and deployment.


Yet, Canada cannot simply walk away. Its aerospace sector, the world’s fifth-largest, is deeply embedded in the F-35’s global supply chain. Canadian firms produce components for hundreds of aircraft flown by allied air forces. A full withdrawal would endanger domestic jobs and invite retaliation.


The result is paralysis by partial commitment. Canada pays just enough to avoid losing its place, while signalling loudly that the relationship needs rebalancing. It is a risky dance. The longer uncertainty persists, the higher the costs - financially, diplomatically and strategically.


What is really under review is not a contract but an assumption that proximity guarantees partnership. For decades, the United States and Canada treated defence integration as an unshakeable fact of geography. Today, it has become a bargaining chip. Ottawa’s flirtation with the Gripen is less about Sweden than about sending a message to Washington as allies, like aircraft, cannot be taken for granted.

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