Shashwat Dwivedi Talks ‘Bobby Beauty Parlour’ & Homegrown Coming-Of-Age Cinema

I was hesitant to write it because I was afraid I would end up projecting my own experiences onto the characters. So I decided to focus on emotions that felt universal rather than trying to gender them. The characters were always meant to be female because Janhavi, my co-writer, brought the story to me, and her own experiences inspired it.

What struck me was how similar my experiences of leaving my hometown felt to Janhavi’s. Maybe growing up is a pain for all genders. I remember the friends I left behind in pursuit of my “calling”, and that gave me the confidence to tell the story of these girls. As much as they’re women, they’re also children, trying to make sense of the world. I leaned into my own memories of being that confused child while writing them.

Whenever I was unsure about the gender dynamics, I would fall back on Janhavi to guide me. My elder sister, who was my first and only best friend for the longest time (she still is, if she’s reading this), also shaped the way I understood female friendships. I’ve spent years watching her, and many of my own female friends, navigate conflicts that are similar to the ones in the film.

At the end of the day, I’m a man, and no matter how hard I try, I’ll never know what it is to be a woman. When you’re telling a story like this, the best thing you can do is listen to the people who’ve lived it. Janhavi, Adrija and Parul constantly helped me keep my assumptions in check. Wherever I couldn’t fully understand their world, I tried to observe it with honesty instead of pretending that I did.

With that being said, I don’t think we should shy away from telling stories that excite us. If I only told stories about me and my experiences, I would bore myself to death. The joy of writing lies in trying to understand people unlike yourself, their worlds, their perspectives, their culture, their genders. That’s what makes writing so much fun.

The fact that I was “Eelu” to so many of my friends.

I’ve made so many fake promises of “I’ll stay in touch,” “I’ll keep calling,” “I’ll be back soon”, knowing fully well that things would never really be the same.

And in other situations, I was Manu.

My sister left to study in the US, making me the same promises. But it hasn’t been the same. There’s no one to fight over equally splitting a bowl of Maggi, taking turns watching TV, or conspiring against our parents together. I’ve both left people behind and been left behind. And I truthfully report, it hurts on both sides.

Growing up is a game of compromises. Some of us get to fight a little harder for the lives we want because of the opportunities and resources we have, while many others make peace with what life allows them. I am sure this has broken countless friendships. It’s almost like life decides one day that you can’t be friends with this person anymore.

That feeling of departing from a place while never truly arriving somewhere else really fascinates me. We leave in pursuit of our passions while someone else waits for us. Time passes, and when you finally go back, you realise they’ve moved on while you’re still holding on to the version of them you left behind. But you never find it again.

It’s heartbreaking, and it’s a theme that really intrigues me.

That we do not want to be told. We want to be heard.

A lot of our films still operate on the “moral of the story” model. They become so eager to teach young people something that they forget to listen to them first. Many stories centre around one system/institution  (coaching classes, college entrances) and then try to force a social commentary, while ignoring the much richer, messier world that exists inside a teenager’s mind.

Very few films show teenagers as they really are: confused, angry, deeply insecure, yet delusionally optimistic. Most of the films are an older adult’s idea of a young person. If you make the old ghisi-piti story but use the words Sigma, Yolo, rizz, it suddenly won’t become a younger story. The makers need to sit down and listen to what we want and stop telling us how to live our lives. If there’s one thing about being young, it is meaningless rebellion. The more you try to ‘appeal’ to the young audience, the more you will repel them. It’s like telling someone a joke and then telling them to laugh. Just tell a joke and wait... if they don’t laugh, tell another one.

Hot take but I also think the median age of makers needs to come down in Bollywood. I think we’ve had enough of men fighting each other to death while a loud BGM assaults our ears. Let’s include some simple stories of young people dealing with youth. I think there’s an audience for that.