‘People Want To Feel Happy Again’ says Pooja Hegde On Bollywood’s Lost Entertainers, 90s Music And Why Joy Matters In Cinema

Before algorithms began deciding viewing habits and streaming platforms changed the grammar of how stories are told here, Bollywood had a simpler promise to audiences – Entertainment, entertainment and entertainment. The songs were louder, the colours brighter, the emotions uncomplicated. Families entered theatres expecting three hours of escape, and often left humming the music for months. For Pooja Hegde, that memory remains personal.

“I grew up on 90s Bollywood music,” she says. “Those songs weren’t just part of films, they became part of people’s lives. Weddings, festivals, road trips, everybody knew the choreography, the lyrics, the energy. There was a certain joy attached to them.”

That joy forms the emotional backbone of Hai Jawani Toh Ishq Hona Hai, David Dhawan’s upcoming comedy entertainer that consciously leans into the spirit of old-school Bollywood. At a time when mainstream Hindi cinema is increasingly divided between high-concept spectacles and dark realism, the film attempts to revive something many audiences feel has quietly disappeared – uncomplicated fun.

Pooja believes that absence is precisely why viewers are becoming nostalgic for colourful entertainers again. “Life already feels stressful and heavy most of the time,” she says. “After the pandemic especially, people emotionally changed. Audiences still want meaningful cinema, of course, but sometimes they also just want to sit in a theatre, laugh, dance, listen to good music and forget their problems for a few hours.”

The actor points out that classic Bollywood entertainers demanded far more discipline than people often acknowledge today. Song picturizations, especially during the 1990s and early 2000s, were treated almost like events in themselves. Actors trained rigorously for rehearsals, expressions, lip-syncing because songs carried the memories of the film. “Earlier actors approached songs almost like performances on stage,” she says. “There was rehearsal culture. Every expression, every hook step, every movement mattered because songs had storytelling value. I think that training still exists, but maybe not with the same intensity everywhere.”

As someone who has built much of her own popularity through music-driven commercial cinema across Telugu, Tamil and Hindi films, Pooja understands the cultural power of song picturization better than most contemporary actors. Tracks like Butta Bomma and Arabic Kuthu became phenomena. “Songs create collective memory,” she says. “People may forget scenes sometimes, but they remember how a song made them feel.”

That, perhaps, explains why Bollywood’s old-school entertainers continue to survive. In an era that’s all about doom-scrolling, streaming fatigue and emotionally exhausting headlines, audiences increasingly crave cinema that feels generous rather than psychologically draining.

Pooja believes feel-good films should not be mistaken for shallow cinema. “Making people feel light, optimistic and happy is also important,” she says. “Joy is not a small emotion. Sometimes it’s exactly what people are searching for when they enter a theatre.”