Cinema, at its most powerful, is not just entertainment—it is a reflection, a rebellion, and sometimes a reckoning. In the 1990s, when Bollywood was basking in the glow of larger-than-life spectacles, Pooja Bhatt—an actress at the height of her fame—chose to step into uncharted territory. She had the glamour, the hits, and the audience. Yet, she turned away from formulaic success to tell a story that needed to be heard.‘Tamanna’ was not just a film; it was a statement. A bold, unflinching look at female infanticide, a crime so deep-rooted in societal hypocrisy that it often goes unspoken. But for Mahesh Bhatt and Pooja Bhatt, silence was not an option. Inspired by the real-life story of Tiku, a hairdresser who saved and raised an abandoned newborn girl, ‘Tamanna’ became a cinematic wound—a mirror held up to a nation that often looks away. In this exclusive conversation, Mahesh Bhatt revisits the journey of ‘Tamanna’—from the moment the story found him to its quiet yet enduring impact. He speaks of conviction over commerce, of the battle to bring the film to life, and of the legacy it continues to carve decades later.
What made you and your daughter Pooja Bhatt turn to a subject so unique?
In the 1990s, Pooja Bhatt stood at the pinnacle of her stardom. She had ‘Daddy’. She had ‘Dil Hai Ke Manta Nahin’. She had ‘Sadak’. The nation watched her, admired her, and embraced her as their own. She could have chosen anything—another glamorous spectacle, another surefire hit. But she didn’t. Instead, she chose ‘Tamanna’. I remember the day I told her the story. It wasn’t just a story; it was a wound. A quiet gash in the fabric of our collective conscience. It belonged to a man named Tiku, a hairdresser in the industry.
And what was Tiku’s story?
One morning, during the holy month of Ramzan, as Tiku made his way to the Makhdoom Shah Mahimi Dargah for Sehri, he heard the faintest cry. A sound so fragile it could have dissolved into silence. But it didn’t. It was coming from a garbage bin. And inside, abandoned, lay a newborn girl. A baby left to die, her tiny flesh being gnawed at by rats. Tiku, a man with no wealth but an infinite tenderness, picked her up. He carried her to the dargah, where he and his friends, with whatever little they had, kept her alive—feeding her milk with cotton wool, shielding her from the cold hands of death. And then, as if fate had placed her in his arms, he adopted her. He called her Tamanna—desire, longing, the wish that must never be abandoned.
How did you get Pooja involved in this project?
When Pooja heard this, her eyes burned with something fierce. She said something I will never forget: She said, “Female infanticide is the ultimate act of violence against women. It is barbaric. It denies girls their most fundamental right—to exist. If we do not tell this story, who will?” And so, Tamanna was born again. Not just as a girl, but as a film.
Were you disheartened when Tamanna was not a hit?
It did not make millions. It did not set the box office on fire. But it burned its way into something deeper—the conscience of a nation.Years later, I would hear of an NGO in Rajasthan using Tamanna as a tool to educate and awaken people about the horrors of female infanticide. The film became more than cinema. It became a mirror. A wound laid bare.
The film featured brilliant actors.
Yes. Paresh Rawal, in one of his finest performances, received rave reviews for his sensitive portrayal of a brave transgender person. Manoj Bajpayee stepped into the world of cinema and made sure we would never forget him. Sharad Kapoor arrived with a brilliance that, though fleeting, could not be denied. And Pooja—Pooja bled herself into the film, making it not just her first production, but her first battle.
Looking back, where do you place Tamanna in your scheme of things?
Years later, I still meet people who speak of Tamanna with something close to reverence. They tell me it was ahead of its time. That it carried a truth so raw, it refused to be forgotten. Perhaps that is the only measure of real success—when a story, once told, never truly leaves you.
