From Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge to Assi: How Bollywood transformed heroes from romantic saviours to respectful partners in modern feminist cinema

From Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge to Assi: I walked out of Assi with an unfamiliar calm rather than the agitation such narratives usually provoke. The reason was not the brutality of the incident the film revolves around, but the stillness of Zeeshan Ayyub’s character. His wife survives sexual violence, and he does not roar, threaten or declare revenge. He simply stands beside her — not as a saviour, not as a judge, not as a moral lecturer. He allows his son to witness grief without instructing him what to think. It is one of the most quietly radical male portrayals Hindi cinema has offered.

For decades, our films taught audiences that masculinity meant action. Assi suggests masculinity may instead mean restraint. That shift did not occur overnight. It is the result of a long cinematic evolution shaped by social change, feminist discourse and audience maturity.

The 1980s Blueprint: Protection as Possession

The dominant male archetype of the 1980s Hindi film industry was the protector-provider. In Himmatwala, Tezaab, Ram Lakhan and Mr. India, heroes fought villains to “save” women, often culminating in marriage as a reward for bravery. Love was framed as rescue. Consent was rarely verbal; it was assumed once the hero proved worthiness.

Women asked fathers, brothers or husbands for permission before major decisions. Their narrative value lay in motivating male revenge or sacrifice. Even sympathetic heroes equated love with guardianship. Protection was portrayed as devotion, yet it subtly reinforced ownership.

The 1990s Romantic Hero: Softer Tone, Same Structure

The 1990s softened masculinity but did not dismantle its hierarchy. Films such as Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, Hum Aapke Hain Koun..!, Raja Hindustani, Dil, Beta, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai and Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam replaced aggression with charm but retained male control of romantic destiny.

The hero now sang instead of fought, but he still decided the relationship’s course. He persuaded reluctant heroines, convinced strict fathers and orchestrated happy endings. Even when respectful, he remained the narrative engine while the woman functioned as emotional terrain.

These films mirrored a liberalising India fascinated by romance yet still rooted in patriarchy. Men could cry and apologise, but they still led; women could protest, but they still followed.

Early 2000s: Style, Spectacle and Subtle Stagnation

With globalisation came glossy storytelling. Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham, Devdas, Dhoom, Wanted and Dabangg celebrated swagger. Male protagonists grew more flamboyant, but their worldview rarely shifted. Women were stylish, confident and vocal — yet still orbiting male arcs.

Cinema reflected urban India’s rising consumerism: modern clothes, foreign locations, westernised dialogue. But gender dynamics remained largely decorative modernity rather than ideological change.

The 2010s Disruption: Women Claiming Narrative Authority

The real rupture arrived in the 2010s. Female-centred stories stopped being labelled “experimental” and started succeeding commercially.

In Queen, a rejected bride discovers autonomy without needing romance. Kahaani presents a pregnant protagonist manipulating an entire investigation. NH10 turns a traumatised survivor into an avenger. Pink makes consent its central thesis. Badhaai Ho normalises female desire within middle-class domesticity. Raazi portrays patriotism through a woman’s moral conflict. Gully Boy includes a girlfriend who is possessive yet unapologetically ambitious. Article 15 shows a male lead learning rather than teaching. Tamasha frames the heroine as the one who pushes the hero towards self-realisation.

Then came Thappad, perhaps the clearest declaration that respect, not love, defines partnership. A single slap dismantles a marriage because the film insists dignity is non-negotiable.

These films coincided with India’s expanding feminist conversations — workplace equality debates, campus activism, online discourse and legal reforms. Cinema did not initiate these changes; it absorbed them.

The 2020s: Men Learning to Listen

Recent films show not just strong women but transformed men. Gangubai Kathiawadi presents male allies who support a woman leader without overshadowing her. Darlings dismantles toxic masculinity through dark satire. Gehraiyaan explores emotional accountability rather than heroic dominance. Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani flips gender stereotypes by making the hero embrace vulnerability and domesticity.

In recent films like Dhurandhar, Rehman Daikait, portrayed by Akshaye Khanna, may be a feared gangster, yet he consistently places his wife above everything else. Similarly, in O’ Romeo, Shahid Kapoor’s Hussain Ustura refuses to play the saviour in Afshah’s life; instead, he simply stands beside her, allowing her to take the lead.

The male protagonist is no longer automatically correct. He is questioned, challenged and sometimes sidelined. Importantly, audiences accept this without resistance. That acceptance signals cultural transition.

Viewers exposed to global storytelling through streaming platforms now expect layered characters. Simplistic heroism feels dated.

2. Women Behind the Camera

More female writers, editors and directors have entered the industry. Narrative perspective changes when storytellers diversify.

Public conversations about harassment, consent and equality reshaped expectations. Cinema, being a commercial medium, adapts quickly to ideological currents.

Female-led films began earning profits. Once the box office validated such stories, studios recognised that respect sells as effectively as spectacle.

Cinema as Social Mirror, Not Social Teacher

Hindi films rarely lead social reform; they crystallise shifts already underway. The obedient heroines of the 1980s reflected a society where women’s autonomy was limited. The self-aware protagonists of today mirror a generation negotiating equality in workplaces, relationships and law.

What is fascinating is how masculinity has transformed alongside femininity. Earlier heroes proved love through sacrifice or violence. Today’s strongest male characters prove love through listening. The dramatic gesture has been replaced by emotional literacy.

The Significance of Zeeshan Ayyub’s Stillness

Which brings me back to Assi. A decade ago, a husband in that situation would have hunted the perpetrator, delivered monologues about honour and restored dignity through vengeance. Instead, Ayyub’s character understands that his wife’s trauma is not his battlefield. He refuses ownership of her pain. His presence communicates solidarity without spectacle.

That stillness is revolutionary because it rejects the oldest cinematic lie — that women need saving. The film suggests they need believing, standing beside, and sometimes simply silence.

Across three decades, Hindi cinema’s hero has travelled a remarkable distance:

This transformation is not cosmetic; it is philosophical. The narrative centre has shifted from male action to mutual understanding.

If current trends continue, the next frontier will not be “strong female characters” — that phase has already begun — but ordinary relationships built on parity. Future heroes may not need dramatic arcs at all. They may simply be decent men.

Watching Assi, I realised that Hindi cinema has quietly rewritten its definition of heroism. Strength is no longer measured by how loudly a man can fight for a woman, but by how respectfully he can stand with her.

And that, perhaps, is the most profound plot twist Bollywood has ever written.