Ganpati Bappa and the Movies

How Mumbai’s studios and streets celebrated cinema Mumbai: Mumbai’s Ganesh Utsav has always been more than a religious celebration. For generations, it has also intersected with the city’s other great passion-cinema. Long before photographs of stars welcoming Ganpati Bappa at home became an annual fixture on television and social media, the festival had a presence inside Mumbai’s film studios. Beyond the studio gates, Ganesh mandals were also bringing movies directly to neighbourhood...

min read

How Mumbai’s studios and streets celebrated cinema Mumbai: Mumbai’s Ganesh Utsav has always been more than a religious celebration. For generations, it has also intersected with the city’s other great passion-cinema. Long before photographs of stars welcoming Ganpati Bappa at home became an annual fixture on television and social media, the festival had a presence inside Mumbai’s film studios. Beyond the studio gates, Ganesh mandals were also bringing movies directly to neighbourhood audiences by turning ordinary streets into makeshift theatres. Veteran film journalist and analyst Dilip Thakur, who grew up in Girgaon and has observed Mumbai’s film culture over several decades, remembers both worlds. “Ganesh Utsav and cinema have had a very old relationship in Mumbai. It wasn’t only about film stars bringing Ganpati home. The studios, the workers and even the neighbourhood mandals were all part of this culture,” says Thakur. Ganpati Tradition Thakur points to V. Shantaram’s Rajkamal Studio while recalling the early relationship between Mumbai’s studios and Ganesh Utsav. The tradition, he says, can be linked to the period of Navrang, when an elaborate set involving a Ganesh idol and elephants was created at the studio. What began in the world of filmmaking subsequently developed into an annual studio celebration. “During Navrang, a grand set was created with Ganpati and elephants. That became an inspiration for the Ganesh festival at Rajkamal Studio, and the tradition continued,” Thakur recalls. The importance of the celebration lay not merely in its association with a celebrated filmmaker. Studios of that era had large permanent communities of technicians, craftsmen and other workers, and festivals became occasions for everyone connected with the premises. “Studios in those days were like families. Actors, technicians and workers celebrated together. Ganpati was not merely a celebrity occasion—it belonged to the entire studio,” says Thakur. Entry to Devotees Raj Kapoor’s RK Studios in Chembur developed its own distinctive Ganpati tradition. The studio’s Holi celebrations became legendary in the film industry, but its Ganesh Utsav also drew people from outside the film fraternity. The Ganpati was installed close to the main studio building, and devotees could enter the premises for darshan. “People always talk about RK Studios’ Holi, but its Ganpati celebration was also very special. The idol was installed near the main building, and ordinary people could come inside the studio for darshan,” Thakur says. For a movie fan, this meant something unusual: an opportunity to enter the premises associated with Raj Kapoor and some of Hindi cinema’s most famous films while participating in a festival shared by the wider city. The immersion procession added another dimension to the tradition. Different generations of the Kapoor family participated over the years, from Raj Kapoor to Randhir Kapoor and Rishi Kapoor, and later Ranbir Kapoor. The procession travelled from Chembur towards Girgaon Chowpatty, passing through parts of central Mumbai along the way. As round-the-clock television news expanded, cameras increasingly followed the Kapoor family and the procession. “The procession would travel from Chembur towards Girgaon Chowpatty through areas such as Kurla and Sion. Once television news channels began covering it extensively, the RK Ganpati visarjan became a major media event,” says Thakur. The connection survived beyond the studio’s heyday. Thakur recalls that people associated with RK Studios continued the Ganpati tradition for some time even after regular studio activity had ceased. “Even after the studio stopped functioning as before, people who had worked there continued the tradition for some time. That tells you how emotionally connected the workers were to the RK Ganpati,” he says. Mumbai Galli Thakur’s most vivid memories, however, come from outside the studios. Ganesh Utsav once provided an unusual second life for films that neighbourhood audiences had missed during their theatrical runs. During the 1960s and 1970s, local Ganesh mandals organised outdoor screenings with 16mm projectors. A screen—or sometimes simply an available wall—could transform a narrow lane into a neighbourhood movie theatre for an evening. “We called it ‘Galli Cinema’. A 16mm projector would arrive, a screen would be put up, and the entire lane would become a cinema hall,” Thakur recalls. Growing up in Girgaon, he experienced this culture first-hand. Films featuring stars such as Shammi Kapoor and Dev Anand were among those he remembers watching during Ganesh festivities in the 1970s. “I watched many films like this in the 1970s. If you had missed a movie when it was released in theatres, Ganpati celebrations sometimes gave you another opportunity to see it,” he says. There was no streaming, satellite television or instant access to a vast film library. A neighbourhood screening could therefore become an event in itself, attracting families, children and film enthusiasts from surrounding buildings. “There was a different joy in watching a film with the entire neighbourhood. Ganpati brought everyone together, and cinema became part of that celebration,” Thakur says. It was entertainment, but it was also a form of community movie-going that belonged to a particular period in Mumbai’s cultural history. Stars Power As the film industry changed, so did the visibility of its Ganesh celebrations. Home Ganpatis hosted by stars increasingly attracted media attention. Madhuri Dixit, Shilpa Shetty, Salman Khan and Sonali Bendre are among the film personalities whose celebrations became familiar to audiences. Thakur also sees the growth of television as an important turning point. As Mumbai’s entertainment industry became broader and more diverse, Ganesh Utsav was embraced by artists from different backgrounds. “Earlier, you saw the tradition particularly among Maharashtrian artists and film workers. Later, as the industry expanded—and especially with the growth of television—artists from many different backgrounds began bringing Ganpati home,” he observes. Television brought cameras into celebrations that once remained largely private. Social media pushed that transformation further, making celebrity Ganpati arrivals, pujas and immersions instantly accessible to fans. Pull of Girgaon Some film personalities, however, have a relationship with the festival that predates stardom. Thakur points to veteran actor Jeetendra and his enduring association with Girgaon, where the actor spent his early years. “Jeetendra has never forgotten his Girgaon connection. On the first day of Ganesh Utsav, he has continued to visit the area and seek Bappa’s blessings. That relationship goes back to his early years,” says Thakur. For him, such connections are significant because they reveal how a festival can link a star back to the neighbourhood and community that existed before fame. “It is not always about publicity. For many artists, there is a personal memory attached to Ganpati—the building they lived in, the mandal they knew or the neighbourhood where people watched their films,” he says. Khetwadi’s Culture Filmmaker Manmohan Desai was similarly surrounded by the sights and sounds of Ganesh Utsav. His association with the Khetwadi-Bhatkar Street neighbourhood placed him close to an area renowned for elaborate public Ganpati celebrations. “Manmohan Desai lived in an area where Ganpati celebrations were everywhere around him. Khetwadi had that energy—the crowds, decorations and huge pandals. He was also a devotee who would visit Lalbaugcha Raja,” Thakur recalls. The scale, colour and crowds of Mumbai’s public celebrations were part of the cultural environment in which filmmakers lived and worked. It was only natural that some of that energy would eventually make its way onto the screen. Silver Screen Hindi cinema has repeatedly turned to Ganesh Utsav for music, drama and spectacle. “Deva Ho Deva Ganpati Deva” from Humse Badhkar Kaun became one of the songs closely identified with Ganesh celebrations, while “Deva Shree Ganesha” from Agneepath gave a later generation a powerful cinematic Ganpati anthem. “Cinema takes from society, and Ganesh Utsav is such a strong part of Mumbai that it naturally entered our films,” says Thakur. Much of the world he remembers has changed. The 16mm projectors no longer routinely turn Mumbai’s lanes into movie theatres. The old studio system has faded, some historic studios have disappeared, and celebrity celebrations now reach audiences instantly through phones. But the larger relationship between Mumbai, movies and Ganpati Bappa has endured. “From Rajkamal and RK Studios to the gallis of Girgaon, Ganpati and cinema have travelled together for generations,” Thakur says. “The way we watch films has changed and the way stars celebrate has changed, but Mumbai’s emotional connection with Ganpati Bappa has not.”

Where Eagles Dare: India’s Deep Strike Into Pakistan’s Heartland

Shoumojit Banerjee

May 12, 2025

5 min read

Operation Sindoor played out like a Cold War thriller, as Indian fighter jets shattered Pakistani sanctuaries while whispering a warning near its nuclear vault.

There is something profoundly destabilising about knowing that every inch of your territory lies within your enemy’s reach. It is a lesson that Israel has taught its adversaries for decades—responding not just to rocket fire, but to the factories that produce them and the bunkers that shield their makers. With Operation Sindoor, India has entered that league.

What began as retribution for the April 22 Pahalgam massacre of Indian tourists has ended with the stark revelation that Pakistan’s military depth is no shield against Indian reach.

As Operation Sindoor unfolded, the hum of India’s Rafales over the plains of Punjab and the forbidding ridges of Sargodha echoed like a page torn from a Frederick Forsyth novel.

India comprehensively dismantled the myth that Pakistan’s airspace was sacrosanct while apparently giving a chilling warning that even its nuclear sanctuaries were no longer untouchable, something which had Islamabad and Washington breaking into a cold sweat.

The psychological impact of Sindoor has been such that unverified claims are flying thick and fast on social media of a supposed strike on the fabled Kirana Hills, which is believed to conceal one of Pakistan’s most secure nuclear vaults. Viral videos doing the rounds on social media claimed that the strike had kissed the tunnel entrances of a suspected nuclear storage site.

While the claims have since proven untrue, the gesture suggested India was taking a leaf straight out of Israel’s playbook, particularly during the latter’s Osirak strike on Saddam Hussein’s nuclear reactor in 1981. India’s strikes into the Pakistani heartland also echoed Cold War-era brinkmanship, of Cuban missiles and DEFCON alerts and the whispered hotline calls between Washington and Moscow.

But Sindoor showed a regional South Asian power making a point before the world with French Rafales, SCALP missiles and HAL-integrated BrahMos cruise weapons, asserting that India could, and would, operate on a new doctrine where even the enemy’s nuclear command and control nodes are no longer sanctuaries.

Since the days of Zia-ul-Haq and Rajiv Gandhi, the idea of deep strikes into Pakistan had been checked by the spectre of escalation. That calculus changed in 1999 with Kargil when Pakistani regulars intruded into Indian territory and the two countries fought a limited war under the nuclear overhang. The pattern was repeated with every provocation, from the Parliament attack in 2001 to the horrific Mumbai terror attacks of November 2008, to the Pathankot and Uri incidents in the following decade.

But as forewarned by Prime Minister Modi after the Pahalgam terror attack last month, Operation Sindoor, unlike the Balakot strikes of 2019, would be far bigger and more precise.

While Balakot sent Mirage jets across the Line of Control (LoC) to bomb a terrorist training camp in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Sindoor struck deep into Pakistani Punjab, hitting Sialkot, Bahawalpur and beyond.

Besides terrorist training centres, Indian jets struck Pakistani military assets in eleven locations, damaging up to 20 percent of the Pakistan Air Force’s (PAF) infrastructure as per estimates. At least one squadron leader, several airmen, and fighter jets were reportedly killed or destroyed at Pakistan’s Bholari air base.

By bypassing or jamming Pakistan’s Chinese-built air defence systems, Indian jets demonstrated that Beijing’s exports were not as impenetrable as advertised. Indian Rafales, armed with SCALP cruise missiles and supported by a homegrown digital warfare ecosystem, flew unchallenged into the heart of Pakistan’s defences.

Pakistan, encumbered by outdated Soviet-era doctrines and Chinese systems stitched together, found itself utterly outclassed during Sindoor.

Much of the credit lies not in foreign acquisitions but domestic innovation. The Akashteer system, built indigenously, intercepted hundreds of Pakistani drones and missiles during the retaliation, confirming its layered, network-centric preparedness. In doing so, it underscored a broader point: defence is not about what you buy, but what you integrate. The Hindustan Aeronautics Limited (HAL) -led development of the BrahMos cruise missile, (launched from Su-30 MKIs) once thought too ambitious, had finally come of age. Where Russia had quoted exorbitantly for adapting BrahMos to air-launch platforms, India built it in-house at no profit. That engineering leap turned Indian fighters into long-range precision platforms.

What does it mean to live beside a nuclear-armed enemy? For decades, the answer has been paralysis. Yet the message that India sent out to Pakistan by Operation Sindoor was the opposite one, that proximity no longer protects.

Pakistan has long operated on the assumption that its nuclear umbrella allows it to wage a low-intensity conflict through terrorist proxies, irregulars and rogue elements within its military without facing conventional retaliation. That assumption has now been shredded to bits.

This shift is reminiscent of how Israel has treated Syria and Iran. For years, Israel has conducted strikes within Syrian territory and against Iranian nuclear scientists without triggering full-scale war. Its strategy: hit hard, hit surgically and communicate its red lines clearly. India seems to have borrowed a page from that playbook when it targeted terrorist networks like the Jaish-e-Mohammed in Bahawalpur, a region even American drones had avoided.

It is also reminiscent of American doctrine post-9/11. After the Taliban refused to give up Osama bin Laden, the US not only struck terrorist infrastructure in Afghanistan but dismantled the regime that sheltered it. India has not sought regime change, but it has erased the distinction between ‘non-state actors’ and the state that harbours them.

Perhaps the most significant fallout of Operation Sindoor has been strategic, and not tactical. For the first time, India and Pakistan’s friction was not framed through the lens of Kashmir. By striking targets across Pakistan’s geography, and not just in PoJK, India clearly declared that its grievance was with the state’s support of terror, not mere territorial disputes.

This de-hyphenation has been a long-standing goal of Indian diplomacy. Operation Sindoor may have achieved on the battlefield what years of white papers could not.

With the endgame far from over, this doctrine is still being written. But its outlines are becoming clear: zero tolerance for terrorism, a readiness to strike deep inside enemy territory and a belief that precision can prevent escalation. Operation Sindoor has redefined the Indo-Pak dynamic by effecting a psychological shift from reaction to anticipation.

India, by demonstrating that it can target even the most sensitive parts of its neighbour without triggering war, has upended the strategic balance. Whether this deters Pakistan or provokes new asymmetries remains to be seen in the coming days. But one thing abundantly clear post the launch of Sindoor is that the red lines are not where they once were. And for the first time in decades, it is Pakistan that must count the cost of crossing them.

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