Promos are out, and the buzz is palpable, after 25 years Indian television classic, Kyuki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi, starring actor-turned politician Smriti Z Irani hits the small screens again for limited episodes.
In the year 2000, while the world was busy worrying about the Y2K bug that threatened to plunge us into technological darkness, India was grappling with something far more dramatic, Ekta Kapoor. Armed with her arsenal of serials, each beginning with the auspicious letter ‘K’ (Kkusum, Kasauti, Kahani, and, of course, Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi), Ekta rewired the very DNA of Indian living rooms.
At precisely 10:30 pm on Star Plus, families who wouldn’t otherwise be caught dead in the same room gathered religiously, glued to the slow-burning saga of Tulsi Virani’s trials, tribulations, and never-ending tears. Kyunki Saas Bhi… was more than a show; it was a national ritual. The plot twisted and turned with the enthusiasm of a jalebi – characters died, returned from the dead, discovered secret twins, married thrice over, and still managed to squeeze in drama.
Mihir Virani’s death was such a monumental pop-cultural moment that when Karan Johar made Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham, he couldn’t resist sneaking it in as a line for Kajol, who discusses Mihir’s death with a friend all the way in London. That’s how far-reaching the ripple effect of Kyunki Saas bhi… was.
Back then, there was no Netflix to auto-play the next episode or X to live-meme it. News of Tulsi’s tragedies or Mihir’s miraculous comebacks spread via hushed phone calls and diaspora gossip. NRIs in the UK, US, Canada, and Australia went to absurd lengths to stay connected – installing elaborate satellite systems just to watch Baa lecture her children and grandchildren on sanskaar. It was collective therapy and identity affirmation wrapped into one melodramatic package.
Then came the inevitable burnout. The repeated flashbacks, snail-paced plots, and endless rehashing of old tropes finally wore thin. The Indian viewer, ever loyal yet quietly adventurous, began exploring beyond Ekta’s kingdom. Enter Pakistani limited series: tight, realistic, and heartbreakingly resonant, these shows offered a sharp contrast to our garish domestic fare. They found audiences in India hungry for something new, something that didn’t involve a plastic baby being switched at birth for the umpteenth time.
Cut to the present. OTT platforms have stormed the bastion. Netflix seduced us with actual K-dramas, this time from South Korea, not just Ekta’s typography obsession. Indian audiences discovered subtle romances and slow-burn stories where no one threw anyone off a balcony (at least not every Tuesday).
And while all this was unfolding on screen, Smriti Z Irani, once our ghar ghar ki bahu Tulsi, pulled off a real-world arc worthy of its own prime-time slot. She traded her chiffon saris for khadi, swapped temple bells for the cacophony of Parliament, and stunned India by defeating Rahul Gandhi in Amethi—a seat so (so far) synonymous with the Gandhis. Smriti’s leap from “Tulsi Virani” to Union Cabinet Minister was perhaps the greatest twist Ekta never wrote.
It wasn’t just that Smriti won. It was how effortlessly her screen persona as the ideal daughter-in-law fed into her political rise. She was already installed in the collective Indian psyche as the moral compass of the Virani household. Watching her extend that moral authority to the parliament seemed… weirdly natural. If Zelensky could jump from a comedian to leading Ukraine against Russia, why couldn’t India’s beloved bahurani lead from the front benches?
Which is why, when whispers started about a Kyunki Saas Bhi… reboot 25 years after its premiere, people sat up straighter. The timing was simply too perfect. Smriti had just lost the last election. And perhaps the BJP, savvy about optics, might be silently pleased. Why not stoke nostalgia for the woman who once united living rooms, now hoping to reignite political imaginations too?
No sabbatical . Have worked both in media and politics for 25 years with only a decadal break due to my responsibility as Cabinet Minister. Never compromised on my sangathan responsibilities, never will .
— Smriti Z Irani (@smritiirani) July 15, 2025
Besides, with a blanket ban on Pakistani content after Operation Sindoor, the Indian TV landscape was hunting for a fresh old fix. The audience that had flirted with cross-border narratives needed a replacement comfort food. What better than Tulsi dusting off her mangalsutra, stepping back into Shantiniketan, and reminding everyone of “Indian values” handy when the next general election looms and younger voters need a gentle nudge about who once held their grandmother spellbound?
You don’t have to be an Ekta Kapoor scriptwriter to see that this comeback is loaded with more than just narrative convenience. It’s about securing relevance in a country where voter memory is as fickle as TRPs.
So whether you see it as harmless nostalgia, clever political repositioning, or simply a nation’s enduring fascination with who controls the remote, one thing’s clear: Tulsi Virani’s story isn’t done yet. Neither is Smriti Irani’s.
And as for us viewers? Pass the popcorn. Because if Indian politics is going to continue taking cues from Ekta Kapoor, we might as well settle in for Season Two.
