The Storyteller's Lens

Tracing a reaction from instinct to inquiry

I’ll admit it upfront that my first reaction to A.R. Rahman’s recent comments was not calm, measured, or analytical. It was a growl.

Partly because the words were amplified and dramatized (thank you, prime-time television), and partly because I have a very instinctive response when sweeping conclusions are drawn about my country. Not because I think India is flawless. Far from it. But because it is mine. I accept it in its messiness, contradictions, and complexity, the way one accepts family.

After the growling, the scowling, and a few internal WTFs, I did what I usually do when something doesn’t sit right: I paused and asked myself why this comment bothered me so much.

And more importantly…what question led him there in the first place?

The communal angle and why it didn’t add up for me

Rahman referred, even tentatively, to the possibility that reduced work opportunities might have something to do with a “communal” climate. That word even when used cautiously carries weight in today’s India.

But here’s where I struggled with the logic.

If the Hindi film industry were fundamentally communal, would the three Khans still occupy the cultural space they do? Would Shah Rukh Khan, quite literally called Baadshah by popular consensus, continue to be celebrated across generations? Would Muslim actors, lyricists, directors, and technicians remain so deeply embedded in the industry’s creative spine?

Bollywood has always been ruthless, yes. Competitive, absolutely. But ideological gatekeeping? That argument feels weak when placed against lived reality.

A harder, more uncomfortable possibility

What felt more plausible to me was something far less political and far more human.

Music evolves. Audiences evolve. What felt revolutionary in the 90s and early 2000s does not automatically translate to today’s listening habits. Beats have changed. Production styles have shifted. Singers, platforms, and consumption patterns are entirely different.

In an industry that moves at breakneck speed, even legends are required to adapt continuously or risk being edged out, not out of malice, but momentum. That isn’t disrespect. It’s the nature of creative ecosystems.

The role of distance

Rahman has never been an industry socializer. He doesn’t frequent award circuits, talent shows, or networking spaces unless directly involved. There’s a quiet dignity in that. A commitment to privacy and inner life.

But there’s also a cost.

Those spaces aren’t just about socializing. They are informal listening rooms where artists absorb what’s changing, what’s resonating, what’s falling away. Distance protects integrity, but it can also slow responsiveness.

Staying untouched by noise sometimes means missing subtle shifts.

When legacy becomes the weight

Rahman didn’t just succeed. He reshaped the soundscape. I still remember hearing Roja for the first time and thinking, Who is this man and where was he hiding?

There was a time when films waited for his dates. When his music didn’t just complement cinema…it defined it.

That level of influence is intoxicating. And fading from that peak not abruptly, but gradually is a particular kind of pain. Not failure. Not rejection. Just…being needed a little less than before.

That kind of transition is incredibly hard for any artist to process.

Why the communal framing felt unnecessary

When personal pain meets public explanation, the mind sometimes reaches outward for meaning. Not out of malice but more as a self-preservation.

But invoking “communal” as a lens for artistic relevance felt like an overreach to me. Especially when history shows otherwise.

After all, the same audience embraced Pal Pal Hai Bhaari from Swades...a song steeped in Hindu devotion, composed by Rahman, written by Javed Akhtar, performed by Shah Rukh Khan. It was noticed, respected, and deeply appreciated.

That context matters.

Where I landed

This wasn’t about defending India. My country doesn’t need defending from one comment, however amplified.

This was about tracing my own reaction from instinct to inquiry.

Sometimes, discomfort isn’t about offence. It’s about inconsistency. About a conclusion that feels too easy for a far more complex reality. And sometimes, the most honest response isn’t to shout back but to think quietly, clearly, and without haste.

That’s all this is.

Just a thought. And my response after that thought.