I don’t remember the first time I saw a Diwali scene in a Bollywood movie, but I remember how it felt. Lamps flickering across a sprawling set, a family gathered in crisp silks, and music swelling as though the whole country was inside that one living room. As a kid, I thought that was what Diwali looked like everywhere — choreographed, perfectly lit, impossibly grand. And then I’d look out the window of my own house, see the neighborhood kids lighting cheap rockets and my mother scolding us for wasting oil in diyas, and I’d laugh. Real Diwali was messy. Bollywood Diwali was myth.
That’s the thing. Bollywood doesn’t just use festivals as decoration. It turns them into characters, into emotional shortcuts. Holi is freedom, Diwali is reunion, Durga Puja is power, Eid is reconciliation. Even if you’ve never celebrated them yourself, you feel like you have after watching a film.
Holi: When Desire Meets Color
There’s something primal about the way Bollywood shoots Holi. Colors exploding across the screen, the thump of dhols, people drenched in bhang and abandon. It’s rarely just a festival. It’s a moment when lines blur — between love and lust, between duty and desire.
Ask anyone and they’ll tell you: Silsila’s “Rang Barse” isn’t just a song, it’s the Holi anthem. Amitabh Bachchan teasing Rekha in that crowd wasn’t just cinema, it was gossip wrapped in color powder. Holi scenes since then — from Mohabbatein to Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani — keep that tradition alive, but the tone has shifted. Where the 80s made Holi about hidden passion, today it’s often about youth and energy, a big messy party you want to dive into.
And yet, that undercurrent — the idea that Holi strips away inhibition — never really goes away.
Diwali: The Festival of Coming Home
Diwali on screen isn’t about fireworks or gambling, though that’s what you’ll find in plenty of real neighborhoods. No, in Bollywood it’s about light as metaphor. Families fractured are reunited. Couples drifted apart find their spark again. Aarti becomes a way to signal belonging.
Think of Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham. The Diwali aarti scene has become iconic — Jaya Bachchan lighting lamps as if she’s holding the entire family together with fire. When Shah Rukh Khan walks back into that house, the audience didn’t just see a son returning, they felt their own longing for reunion.
Bollywood’s Diwali is soft-focus nostalgia, yes, but it’s also deeply effective storytelling. One diya does more emotional work than ten pages of dialogue.
Durga Puja: Power, Endings, Renewal
Durga Puja doesn’t show up as often in Hindi cinema, but when it does, it crackles. The drums, the immersion of idols, the crowd surging like a tide — it’s natural theatre.
In Devdas, the grandeur of the Puja matched the larger-than-life tragedy. In Kahaani, it became the heartbeat of the climax. Vidya Balan moving through that chaos, the goddess behind her, wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t meant to be. Bollywood often uses Durga Puja to tap into myth — the goddess’s strength, her fury, her inevitable victory over evil.
It’s no accident filmmakers pick that backdrop for their turning points. Puja is not just spectacle, it’s resolution embodied.
Eid: Brotherhood, Forgiveness, Feasts
If Holi is chaos and Diwali is warmth, Eid on screen is quiet togetherness. Shared meals, neighbors embracing, music in the air. Bollywood’s Eid isn’t extravagant — it’s intimate.
In Bajrangi Bhaijaan, the Eid sequence wasn’t just about food. It was about reconciliation, about walls — literal and cultural — breaking down. Even back in the days of Amar Akbar Anthony, Eid symbolized brotherhood across religions. Bollywood doesn’t overplay it; it lets the symbolism do the work.
Why Filmmakers Love Festivals
Festivals are built-in drama. They’re collective, emotional, loud, and beautiful to shoot. You get color, music, rituals — all tools of cinema. But more than that, festivals carry instant cultural weight.
A Holi scene doesn’t need exposition. An aarti doesn’t need subtitles. Viewers know what’s at stake emotionally because they’ve lived it, or at least seen it. That’s why filmmakers keep returning to them — they’re emotional accelerators.
How Festival Scenes Changed Over Time
What fascinates me most is how the portrayal of festivals mirrors India’s own shifts.
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In the 70s and 80s, festival scenes were earthy, communal. Songs were shot in open fields, whole neighborhoods dancing together.
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The 90s and early 2000s made them glossy — choreographed, set inside sprawling mansions. Think Hum Saath Saath Hain, where every Holi and Diwali looked like a magazine spread.
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Post-2010s, the tone diversified. Some films went rawer again (Kahaani’s Durga Puja), others leaned into urban youth culture (YJHD’s Holi). Festivals now carry both nostalgia and reinvention.
| Era | How Festivals Looked | Example Films |
|---|---|---|
| 70s–80s | Raw, community-driven, musical chaos | Amar Akbar Anthony, Silsila |
| 90s–2000s | Glossy, family-oriented, choreographed | KKKG, Hum Saath Saath Hain |
| 2010s–Now | Mixed: raw, symbolic, or youthful | Kahaani, Ram-Leela, YJHD |
Global Reach: How Bollywood Exported Festivals
One of the side effects of Bollywood going global is that festivals went with it. For many people outside India, their first experience of Holi wasn’t in Delhi or Mathura, but in a Bollywood song. I’ve seen Holi celebrations at American universities that look more like YJHD than the real thing. Bollywood globalized these festivals — made them exportable, almost like cultural ambassadors.
Why It Still Hits Home
Even today, in an era of OTT thrillers and stripped-down realism, festival scenes haven’t vanished. They can be cheesy, sure, but they still work. Because festivals are collective memory. They’re moments where audiences don’t just watch characters celebrate, they feel their own nostalgia kick in.
And in a way, that’s Bollywood’s oldest trick. To make the personal feel universal. To take a diya, a handful of gulal, a plate of biryani — and turn it into cinema.
Final Thought
Festivals on screen aren’t about accuracy. They’re about resonance. Bollywood exaggerates them, beautifies them, bends them into whatever shape the story needs. But the reason they stick is simple: we see ourselves in them. The messy Holi in our own lanes. The Diwali lamps in our homes. The crowded puja pandals where you can’t hear yourself think.
So the next time you watch a Bollywood festival scene, don’t roll your eyes at the gloss. Pay attention to the way the crowd reacts in the theatre. Because in that moment — as color flies, as lamps flicker, as drums pound — you’re not just watching fiction. You’re watching India remind itself who it is.
Ajanta Mehra is a journalist and cultural commentator with a passion for exploring India’s fast-changing landscape. From politics and business to cinema and social trends, Ajanta brings a sharp, human voice to every story. She believes good writing should feel like a conversation — insightful, honest, and rooted in real life. When she isn’t writing for Desi Today, you’ll probably find her reading regional literature, sipping masala chai, or chasing down the next untold story.
