Blind item: When Bollywood stars fear tough questions more than scathing reviews

Dubai: Here’s the new reality of Bollywood press junkets—journalists walk in with a gag order thicker than the script itself.

I know, because I was just handed one. The list of forbidden questions for two different Hindi-language projects was laughable: No fatherhood questions, no Malayalam community backlash, no comparisons to the Hollywood film it’s clearly inspired by. Translation? Don’t ask anything remotely relevant.

Now, let me be clear: I couldn’t care less about how a hero is handling diaper duty or what colour his baby’s poo is. That’s gossip fluff, not journalism. But when the question is about the film—about the backlash from a certain Indian community that’s already shaping the conversation—that’s context. That’s relevance. And that’s exactly what we’re told to cut out.

The Hollywood bit? Even more absurd. We all remember a certain “perfectionist” superstar launching a feel-good film about specially-abled kids. Yet the rule then was: no mention of the iconic Hollywood movie it was so obviously borrowing from. Imagine celebrating his “craft” but banning any reference to the actual inspiration. That’s not protection—it’s paranoia.

The PR machinery amps it up like they’re protecting state secrets.

Multiple calls, repeated reminders, and the constant undertone of “behave, or lose your slot.”

By the time the stars arrive, they’re less actors and more heavily media-trained robots in designer clothes. Watching them speak is like watching AI in couture—perfectly programmed to deliver safe, sterile soundbites.

And when a few of us dared to push back? Boom. Interviews cancelled. Just like that. Apparently, it’s easier to ghost the press than to handle a question with actual teeth.

This isn’t journalism anymore; it’s stagecraft.

The “bravery” of a film is celebrated in press releases, but the moment you ask about the context that gives it meaning—like the Malayalam community backlash—you’re shut down. The irony is almost comical.

So what do we get instead? Six or nine minutes of fluff. “It was magical.” “We had so much fun.” “We can’t wait for audiences to see it.”

Pulitzer-worthy stuff, truly.

Bollywood may still shine on screen, but off it, the conversations are dimmer than ever. And PRs? They’ve become the real directors here—editing questions before they’re even asked.

Next time you see a sugary puff piece from a junket, remember: the juiciest part of the story is what they told us not to ask.