I’m sitting in an Innova, with my friend, co-writer, co-director, and mentor, Bugs Bhargava Krishna, hurtling down the Pune Expressway, recce-ing for locations. We’re making a movie, ironically called Pune Highway. His fourth, my first. It’s based on a 2004 play I wrote, he happened to also star in it. The production travelled the world, and all those years ago, Bugs thought there was a film in there, I resisted for many reasons—Wasn’t prepared for celluloid, in the early 2000s, story tellers didn’t stand a chance, the star system ruled, selling out that first critical weekend, songs preceded releases, the expectations were immense—films had to have iconic actors, item numbers, everything was bottom-line driven, imagination seemed to take second place. Nuance of any kind was at a nascent stage. But then the streaming platforms flowed in, got themselves streamlined, soon armchairs replaced plush velvet seats. Rs 499 a ticket became Rs 499 a year subscription. Box office was replaced by the idiot box in your living room… and soon content was king, audiences demanded cerebral entertainment, cinema releases suddenly had pitfalls, including boycott demands to go along with the box office ones.

The Internet became a far safer place to launch a film, and a guy like myself, felt he could dip his toes into the vast ocean of OTT and yet reach a wider audience with his offerings. So circa 2021, when Bugs suggested once again a film like Pune Highway, and the fact that he would lead the way, made it more palatable, less intimidating.