Money talks. It’s the only language that doesn’t require a translator in the air-conditioned offices of Bandra.

Vipul Amrutlal Shah, the producer behind the box-office juggernaut and cultural lightning rod The Kerala Story, recently went on the record to say his industry friendships haven't suffered a scratch. He’s out there painting a picture of a polite, professional circle where everyone can disagree over a ₹300-crore windfall and still share a plate of kebabs at the next wrap party. It’s a nice story. It’s also probably a load of crap, or at least a very convenient version of the truth.

In the entertainment business, "friendship" is a loose term for a non-binding agreement not to sue each other before the next fiscal quarter. When Shah claims the polarized reaction to his film didn’t cost him his social circle, he’s not talking about deep, soul-searching bonds. He’s talking about the cold, hard reality of the "Hit Economy."

Let’s look at the friction. The Kerala Story wasn't just another Friday release. It was a tactical strike in an ongoing culture war, fueled by a trailer that originally claimed 32,000 women from Kerala were being recruited by ISIS. That number eventually got walked back to three after a flurry of legal threats and a very public shaming by anyone with a basic grasp of data. The film was banned in West Bengal, tax-exempted in Uttar Pradesh, and debated in the Supreme Court. It was a mess. A profitable, screaming mess.

Usually, that kind of heat makes you radioactive. In a world where brand safety is the new religion, you’d expect the "liberal elite"—the target of the film’s subtext—to stop taking Shah's calls. But they didn't. Why? Because the film turned a modest ₹30-crore budget into a global monster. In the math of the movie business, a 1,000% return on investment buys you a lot of friends. It might even buy you a few enemies who are willing to pretend they’re your friends just in case you have another hit in the chamber.

Shah’s defense is that the industry is "mature" enough to handle different viewpoints. That’s a charming sentiment. It’s also the kind of thing people say when they’ve won. It’s easy to be the bigger person when you’re standing on a mountain of cash. The real test isn't whether the stars still show up to your Diwali party; it’s what they say about you in the WhatsApp groups you aren't invited to.

The trade-off here is obvious. Shah traded social capital in the "prestige" circles for raw power in the "market" circles. He gambled on a narrative that alienated half the country but obsessed the other half. It’s the same playbook used by tech CEOs who pivot to "free speech" platforms when their user growth stalls. You stop trying to please everyone and start super-serving a specific, angry demographic. It’s a solid business move. It’s just not a very friendly one.

We see this same friction in Silicon Valley every day. A founder says something objectively inflammatory on a podcast, the stock price dips for a week, and then—miraculously—the board of directors remembers they actually quite like the guy's "bold vision." It isn't maturity. It isn't an embrace of diverse perspectives. It’s a collective decision to ignore the smell of the trash because there’s gold buried at the bottom of the bin.

Shah’s "industry friends" aren't staying quiet because they value his right to artistic expression. They’re staying quiet because they’re waiting to see what he does next. If his next project flops, you’ll see how quickly that "maturity" evaporates. The moment the checks stop clearing, the moral high ground suddenly looks a lot more attractive to the people currently sitting on the fence.

For now, Shah gets to play the role of the misunderstood bridge-builder. He gets to pretend that Bollywood is a giant, happy family that agrees to disagree. He can ignore the fact that his film became a shorthand for a specific kind of divisiveness that makes life harder for a lot of people who don't have a producer's credit to protect them.

It makes you wonder. If the movie had made zero rupees and still caused the same amount of social chaos, would those friendships be quite so resilient?

Probably not. In this town, the only thing more offensive than a controversial opinion is a box-office failure. As long as the numbers stay green, you can say whatever you want and still find a seat at the table. Just don't expect anyone to pass the salt with a smile.

Does a bridge actually exist if the only thing keeping it up is the weight of the toll money?