Culture is a meat grinder. We like to pretend it’s a gallery, a place for high-minded reflection and shared humanity, but usually, it’s just two sides screaming across a digital fence. The latest casualty in the ongoing war for the "Indian Soul" isn’t a policy or a protest. It’s a movie about an 18th-century king. Specifically, Chhaava, a historical epic with a budget that could probably buy a small island but instead bought a lot of CGI horses and very expensive armor.
The friction started when AR Rahman, a man who usually floats above the fray on a cloud of ethereal synth pads, dropped the D-word. "Divisive." That’s how the legendary composer described the film. It’s a heavy label for a guy whose entire brand is built on "One Love" and global harmony. Rahman isn't a provocateur. He’s the guy you hire when you want your movie to sound like God is humming the melody. So, when he admits the project he’s scoring is polarizing, people tend to look up from their phones.
Then came the retort. Rishi Virmani, the film’s writer, didn't offer a polished PR pivot. He didn't try to "bridge the gap" or "start a conversation." Instead, he told the press: “An entire mindset cannot be changed.”
It’s a remarkably honest thing to say. Also, incredibly bleak.
What Virmani is really saying is that the audience is already locked in. We’ve reached a point in the entertainment industry where we aren't just selling tickets; we’re selling validation. In the current climate of Indian cinema, the historical epic has become the ultimate ideological signaling device. It’s not just about history; it’s about whose version of history gets the loudest drumbeat. The trade-off is obvious. You trade nuance for noise. You trade historical complexity for a 150-crore spectacle that functions like a Rorschach test for nationalism.
If you’re the writer, you know the stakes. You aren’t writing for the critics at Cannes. You’re writing for a box office that demands heroes without flaws and villains without a pulse. Virmani’s comment suggests a certain fatigue with the idea that art can actually move the needle. If the mindset is fixed, the movie isn't a tool for change. It’s a product for consumption by a specific demographic.
It’s the "Coffee Shop" reality of the modern blockbuster. You don't go to Starbucks for a surprise; you go because you know exactly how the burnt roast tastes. Chhaava is the burnt roast. It’s designed to hit specific notes for a specific crowd. Rahman, meanwhile, seems to be the one guy in the room wondering if the roast is a bit too bitter for everyone else to swallow.
Think about the specific friction here. You have a composer who made his name with Dil Se and Lagaan, movies that—at least theoretically—tried to find a common frequency. Now he’s scoring a film that the writer admits is built for a fixed mindset. It’s a clash of eras. Rahman represents the old "Soft Power" dream of a unified India. Virmani represents the new "Hard Specacle" reality where the goal is to galvanize your base and ignore the rest.
The money involved makes the stakes even uglier. These films aren't cheap. When you dump tens of millions of dollars into a production, you can’t afford to be subtle. Subtlety is a luxury for low-budget indies that nobody watches. To make back the investment, you need the "divisiveness." You need the controversy. You need the headlines because outrage is the most efficient marketing algorithm ever invented. It’s cheaper than a billboard and more effective than a trailer.
Virmani’s defense is a surrender. It’s an admission that the culture has become so siloed that the very idea of "changing a mindset" is a fairy tale. If he’s right, then movies are no longer a mirror. They’re just a window into an echo chamber. We aren't watching stories to learn something new about ourselves; we’re watching them to confirm what we already hate about everyone else.
Rahman’s unease is the last gasp of a different kind of industry. One that at least pretended it wanted to bring people together. But Virmani is the one holding the pen now. He knows the room. He knows the algorithm. He knows that in the current market, a "unified" film is just another word for a flop.
Is this the new permanent setting for big-budget cinema? A world where the creators admit the audience is unreachable before the first trailer even hits YouTube? If the mindset is truly unchangeable, why are we even bothering with the script?
Maybe we should just skip the dialogue and let the CGI horses do the talking. At least they don't have Twitter accounts. Yet.
Are we actually watching movies anymore, or are we just checking our own pulses to make sure we’re still angry?