Taapsee Pannu is tired of your tweets.

Specifically, she’s done with the digital hand-wringing over why Indian cinema doesn’t "measure up" to the global stage while the same critics ignore the very films trying to do the heavy lifting. Her recent ultimatum was simple: support rooted stories now, or stop "cribbing" when we lose our seat at the table. It’s a blunt reality check for an audience that treats international prestige like a birthright but treats local, gritty storytelling like a chore.

We’ve all seen the cycle. A small, hyper-local film drops. It’s got texture. It’s got dirt under its fingernails. It deals with the specific, messy friction of living in a country that’s moving at three different speeds at once. And instead of buying a ticket, the "cinephile" crowd waits for it to hit a streaming service so they can half-watch it while scrolling through TikTok. Then, the next day, they’re back on X, demanding to know why we haven't produced our own Parasite yet.

Pannu isn't just venting; she’s pointing at a broken business model. Making a film that feels "rooted" is a massive financial gamble in an era dominated by the algorithm. When a studio puts up ₹40 crore for a mid-budget drama, they aren't just fighting for eyeballs; they’re fighting the math. The math says that a mindless, shiny action flick with a bankable lead will always have a higher floor than a nuanced story about a village athlete or a domestic struggle. If the "rooted" film flops, the data tells the suits to never make one again.

That’s the trade-off nobody wants to talk about. We want the cultural capital of being a "global cinematic powerhouse," but we aren't willing to pay the entry fee. We want the gloss of Hollywood but complain when our films lose their soul to mimic it. You can't have it both ways. You can’t demand "world-class" art while starving the local ecosystem that’s supposed to produce it.

The friction here is visceral. It’s the ₹500 you spend on a popcorn tub for a franchise sequel versus the ₹500 you won’t spend to see a film that might actually make you feel uncomfortable. Pannu’s point is that "world cinema" isn't a genre; it’s just rooted cinema from somewhere else that got lucky enough to have an audience that cared. Bong Joon-ho didn't make Parasite to please an American audience. He made a deeply Korean film about class that was so specific it became universal.

But specificity requires a safety net. In the current market, that net is fraying. Streaming giants like Netflix and Amazon are tightening their belts. They aren't looking for "prestige" as much as they’re looking for "retention." If the data shows that Indian audiences only turn up for massive spectacles or generic thrillers, that’s all the budget will go toward. The "rooted" film becomes a charity project, and nobody in Mumbai is running a charity.

It’s easy to blame the producers or the stars for playing it safe. It’s much harder to look at our own watch history and realize we’re the ones feeding the beast. We’ve become a culture of complainers who want the result without the process. We want the Oscar-heavy shelf, but we want to stay in our comfort zone.

Pannu’s "don’t crib" comment hits hard because it’s an indictment of our hypocrisy. We’ve outsourced our taste to the trending tab and then act surprised when the content feels soulless. If you want films that compete with the world, you have to stop treating local stories like a backup plan for a rainy Tuesday night. You have to show up when it matters.

If the "rooted" film dies, it won’t be because the talent wasn't there. It’ll be because we were too busy waiting for the "next big thing" to notice the great thing standing right in front of us.

Maybe the reason we don’t have a seat at the global table isn’t a lack of vision, but a lack of a pulse. After all, it’s hard to build a cinematic legacy on a foundation of "I’ll watch it when it’s free."

How many more wake-up calls do we need before we realize the algorithm doesn't care about our cultural pride?