There’s a strange drama unfolding these days — not on your screens, but behind them. My name is flashing proudly in the credits of Behroopia, yet as I watch each episode, I sit there wondering: **whose story is this anyway?** Because it certainly isn’t mine.
Yes, I wrote Behroopia. I crafted the characters, built their backstories, shaped their flaws and conflicts. But the version you’re watching? That’s a distant, twisted cousin of the script I once knew. Scenes have been reshaped, characters disfigured, and intentions lost in translation — all under the magical wand of the director and the mighty channel.
When I raised the question, I was met with that familiar, dismissive phrase:
> “TV pe chalana hai, samajh aaya?”
> As if “TV pe chalana” now requires mutilating the writer’s voice into TRP-friendly noise.
I never thought I’d have to say this, but here it is:
> The drama running with my name — is not my drama.
It’s a peculiar feeling — like attending a wedding where your name is on the invitation card, but you’re just there to serve drinks.
I wish I could tell the audience, “Here’s what the story was supposed to be — before it went through the sacred rituals of channel demands, director’s ego, and the ever-glorious TRP pressure.” But alas, in our industry, the writer is just the first draft — the real “creatives” come later.
So the next time you see my name under Writer, just know: that’s just a label. The real author? Probably the director, channel head, or whoever suggested adding a love triangle at the last minute.
And somewhere, my original story still sits — untouched, unloved, and probably better off that way.
