The latest social media darling is Vijay Sethupathi. He reportedly declined to perform romantic scenes with Krithi Shetty, telling the makers that she looked like his daughter.
Neither the actor nor the film’s team has confirmed the story. But that small detail has not prevented social media from breaking into spontaneous applause.
We have reached a stage where an actor refusing to romance a woman young enough to be his daughter is considered an act of exceptional nobility.
Age gaps in Indian cinema are hardly new. But what was once occasional has now become routine. Heroes in their 50s, 60s and, in some cases, 70s continue to romance actresses who were probably still in school when the hero delivered his first blockbuster.
Sugar, with a pinch of salt
There is, of course, nothing inherently wrong with an age gap on screen. Cinema has produced memorable films built precisely around such relationships.
Cheeni Kum, for instance, openly acknowledged the substantial age difference between Amitabh Bachchan and Tabu and made it central to the narrative. The audience was not asked to pretend that the hero and heroine belonged to the same generation. The age gap was the story.
Similarly, Hollywood and world cinema have occasionally explored relationships between older men and younger women – and vice versa – with honesty and nuance.
The problem arises when mainstream commercial cinema insists on a peculiar fiction: a hero in his 60s is presented not as an older man in love, but as an ageless 25-year-old trapped in a 60-year-old body. The script pretends not to notice what even a child in the theatre can plainly see. That is where suspension of disbelief gives way to involuntary comedy.
Audiences are perfectly capable of accepting unconventional relationships when treated intelligently. What they increasingly find difficult to accept is the industry’s stubborn refusal to let its male stars grow old gracefully.
Pancakes, wigs and wishful thinking
The Telugu film industry offers several fascinating case studies. Father and son stars have often been paired with the same actresses. Kajal Aggarwal has romanced both Chiranjeevi and Ram Charan on screen.
Tamannaah too has featured opposite both father and son. Rakul Preet Singh has been paired with Nagarjuna as well as Naga Chaitanya.
One almost expects a film announcement saying: ‘Now introducing our heroine – approved for use across generations.’
Things become even more bizarre when actors who once played father, uncle or guardian to child artistes return a few years later as their romantic interest. The industry rarely sees anything odd in this. The audience, conditioned by decades of such casting, merely buys popcorn and settles down.
Mom, did we not sing duets once?
Meanwhile, the actresses who once danced around trees with these heroes are quietly escorted to the character artistes’ enclosure.
Yesterday’s heroine becomes today’s sister-in-law, tomorrow’s mother, and the day after, perhaps, the grandmother.
The hero, however, remains frozen in cinematic amber – eternally youthful, eternally desirable and eternally enrolled in college.
This is not merely a contemporary phenomenon. Telugu cinema’s golden era had its own examples. Several actresses, including Anjali Devi, Pandari Bai and S. Varalakshmi, who had earlier appeared opposite N.T. Rama Rao and Akkineni Nageswara Rao in leading or prominent supporting roles, later played maternal characters to the same stars.
Women grow older, men grow younger
One needed considerable emotional discipline to watch a 60-year-old hero tearfully announcing, ‘Amma, I stood first in college,’ to a woman with whom he had exchanged romantic glances in an earlier decade.
To be fair, it was usually the women who showed greater professional maturity. Many legendary actresses accepted age, moved into substantial character roles and delivered memorable performances long after their days as leading ladies had ended.
The men chose another route. Wigs and hair dye. Cinema, of course, is make-believe. Nobody goes to the movies expecting documentary realism. But it is worth asking why ageing is considered perfectly natural for women and entirely optional for men.
Perhaps that is why the Vijay Sethupathi story resonated so strongly. Not because it showcased saintliness. Merely because it hinted at something refreshingly uncommon in our films – self-awareness.
