Many years ago, at night, on the outside of a Juhu bungalow, it was alive and may never be again, where cigarette smoke floated through dimly lit yellow lights with people laughing going down the stairs and into the crowded driveway, where music would leak out of open windows without any concern for who might record it. Cars would show up with no rhyme or reason, actors would walk into a room without their entourage, and conversations would happen naturally without the pressure of an invisible audience waiting to post them online.

When the word “industry” had not yet become a brand, it seemed a coterie of friends who shared ambition and chaos, and the evenings were not networking events or strategic appearances dressed up to look like good times. They were messy, noisy, and generous events. Old Bollywood, at the time, was a family unit. The memories of that time are so different from today, where everything seems calculated, attendance is measured, alliances are drawn up, and celebration and marketing are the same.

The Hosts Who Became Institutions
Chunky Panday is a name that often comes up regarding that time in history, and he is quoted as saying in one interview, "That's an obvious answer! No one threw parties as I did!" He described how, to him, sometimes while hosting a party, he could have drinks flowing until the sun came up, the guests were laughing with no regard for how late it was, and guests would sometimes leave later than was unreasonably late to leave and that it just felt wrong to leave at that time when the evening felt like it still had a lot of time left to run (the night, even though older in nature, felt like it didn't want to end).

The stories may all be a little different depending on who shares them, but the reputation remains the same: they weren't planned out, cleaned up, or orchestrated; instead, they were messy, crazy, and full of life. The people who attended were there on their own terms - not because they were told to; it was about creating an experience through the environment that made you want to come in and be part of what would happen.

At RK Studios, there were so-called "legendary get-togethers" thrown by Raj Kapoor, of whose parties there is much documentation in film archives, interviews, and in passion projects where you might see the fine line between myth and memory become truly grey with time. The legendary Holi celebrations at RK Studios have been covered in many publications, various retrospective accounts, and examination of their connection to film through the ages show us how less of an actual "industry" event they were than they were just another attempt to create an actual physical experience representing the film itself - with the colours of Holi colour bursting through the atmosphere, music permeating all around the lawns of the studio. The line dividing the "employee" or "star" from "guest" disappeared as people celebrated together.

These were gatherings where attendance was more about being part of Raj Kapoor's world than of the film industry. People attended because it was Raj Kapoor's house, and the emotional weight of his presence was enough that they just couldn't not be there; they were there because of the strong emotional connection to him and the sense that films had physically entered their day-to-day experience.

The mythology of those parties is not entirely innocent; reports and recollections have described the excesses of the 1970s with candid detail, from heavy drinking to chaotic mornings where shoots began without key participants, and actors have spoken about how some stars could drink astonishing amounts without consequence, revealing that indulgence and irresponsibility were often intertwined with the glamour.

Yet even within those excesses, what lingers in collective memory is not merely the decadence but the togetherness. The industry’s flaws were visible, sometimes glaring, but they were lived through collectively. The laughter, even when loud and reckless, was shared.

When Premieres Felt Collective
Until recently, premiering films felt like a celebration of culture—it was more than just promoting something; it was about creating a community, about sharing an experience as a generation. Jab Tak Hai Jaan’s premiere is considered by many to be one of the last few times that a premiere felt like a community gathering rather than just an obligation to promote a product. This particular premiere brought together people from all walks of life to pay tribute to Yash Chopra, whose influence extended beyond age, status, and profession.

It was steeped in respect for the director and the history he created. Like Jab Tak Hai Jaan, the premiere was about more than just the film; it was about the man who made it and everything he represented, and, in this way, it marked a turning point—the last memory of what togetherness felt like before technology took over.

Going back a decade, the premiere of Devdas was itself grand, lavish, and highly emotional. It transformed Mumbai's movie theatres into actual celebration venues where art, spectacle, and celebrity merged before a highly excited nation. Directed by Sanjay Leela Bhansali and starring Shah Rukh Khan, Aishwarya Rai Bachchan, and Madhuri Dixit, the premiere had a historical quality in addition to being a typical promotional event; everyone wore silk and sherwani outfits that mimicked the film's opulent aesthetic. The atmosphere at the Devdas premiere was filled with pride; this is not just another expensive film but an extraordinary, grand, almost operatic, and totally collaborative experience–the entire film industry was there, working in concert with one another, to watch a movie that aspires to transcend time.

The Quiet Shift: From Warmth to Strategy
The quiet change that occurred afterwards had no single start, but rather happened slowly and, in some sense, politely, with brand relationships deepening; influencer culture becoming more accepted; and social media evolving from something new to something we needed in our daily lives. Managing guest lists became increasingly important; guest lists sometimes involved both cross-marketing value and personal affection.

At parties or premieres, we could now measure how “big” a star was based on their engagement metrics and how visible their brand would be in photos; what was once taken to commemorate an occasion was now about making a calculated, scheduled posting that was made to reach as many people as possible (maximise reach).

All of this was not done with malice; it was the natural progression of an industry that has to operate in a largely digital economy, where being visible means selling more products. While some spontaneity remains in social interactions, our greater awareness tempers it, and that awareness affects our daily social rhythm.

Though the transitions have been subtle yet distinct, they have nonetheless been made. In the past, events could be a mess because there was no requirement to maintain a curated image/brand. Now there is no distinction between these two aspects of an event; an event and its curated image have become one. The behaviour between instinctual and calculated also shows this evolution; previously, attendance at events may have been determined by love or friendship, but today it often depends on business alignment, career advancement or image, and overall brand messaging.

The evolution is evident in other ways, too - we can see this evolution when comparing launch parties, red carpet choreography, designer credit alignment, and tagged partners with the new branding. The most defining way in which both the individual and the brand have progressed is a much greater tendency to identify individuals not just as entertainers but also as ambassadors, entrepreneurs, content collaborators, and creators. The industry has matured, become more global, and been made more professional in the process of formalising social rituals.

What Was Lost, What Remains
To idealise the past is disingenuous; there was indeed a strategy back then, though perhaps not so clearly identified. According to some scholars, there were societal structures (or hierarchies) in place to enforce social behaviour, and some were more rigid than others. Also, some individuals had more access to resources than others, and just because you were treated nicely, does that make you equal? Not every gathering was open to everyone, nor was every friendship real.

Some friendships were built on rivalry and/or planned through a secret agreement that would ultimately advance a person’s career. The possible difference is not that ambition or calculation were not present back then, but rather how those two have become publicly recognised over time through celebration and/or other forms of expression.

Then, a strategy could be covertly funded by another strategy. In contrast, now a strategy is often overtly funded through sentimental means, though the act of displaying sentiment is done without any recognition of those who assisted.

What was lost, then, is not innocence, because innocence was never fully real. What feels lost is a certain looseness, a sense that cinema’s custodians were bound by something more intimate than contract and collaboration. It is the feeling that people showed up because they belonged, not because they needed to be seen belonging.

It is the memory of premieres where applause echoed without the hum of live-stream comments, of parties where photographs were taken for albums rather than algorithms, of conversations that remained private because privacy was still possible. Social media, for all its connective power, has altered the architecture of presence; it has ensured that no gathering is ever entirely off-stage.

The warmth of these shared memories lingers even after changes and alterations. Many veterans still reminisce about the excitement and community of the glamorous RK Studios Holi celebrations; they remember those nights to this day because they were so powerfully felt and shared that they remain in our memories even several decades later.

The nostalgic and exciting memories of those RK Hollywood Studios Holi/Diwali celebrations, along with stories from parties during the chaotic 1970s, serve as a reminder of the filmmakers’ connections with one another and of how they existed together as a community, allowing cinema and its creators to be experienced outside the theatre as well.

The Takeaway
The goal of revisiting that form of Bollywood is not to criticise what is happening in the industry today; it is to acknowledge an emotion-based shift in how people feel toward the industry and their experiences with it, whether or not they agree with it.

The industry itself has evolved and grown into a bigger, more global, accountable, and image-conscious place that has changed positively for everyone involved, regardless of whether or not they supported these changes.

Aside from increased professionalism (more professionalism than before), improved safety standards (better safety standards than in the past), and the emergence of new voices through the democratizing power of digital platforms, the progress of this evolution deserves to be recognised and acknowledged; however, nostalgia does not prevent progress from co-existing with nostalgia. One can appreciate the efficiency (in today's world) while still cherishing the inefficiencies of the past; therefore, one may experience uncertainty in their social life and still create a warm, welcoming environment.

Cinema's warmth was not just in the films but in the invisible connections formed between actors, directors, musicians, and crew members who became a kind of family. There were definitely flaws within this family, as it could be cliqueish, chaotic, or disorganised; however, they were still all connected.

Now that launches have become more organised and social interaction has been greatly documented, the memories of those early times of warmth are becoming even warmer because they were lit up by the same yellow light bulbs that lit the crowded balconies and all the different sounds in the drive-in.

The version of Bollywood that people believe no longer exists has not entirely vanished; perhaps it survives in fragments, in private dinners away from cameras, in quiet gestures of solidarity, in reunions that are not broadcast. But in the public imagination, it belongs to a different era, one where cinema did not feel like a strategy deck, and where belonging was not measured in impressions.