Farah Khan praises Shalin Bhanot's journey; says 'You've come a long way, from living in a rented flat to owning a 5 BHK luxurious home'
In a warm and candid episode of her podcast, Farah Khan took a nostalgic look at actor Shalin Bhanot's journey. She spoke about his early days on Nach Baliye to becoming a familiar face across Indian television.
Having known Shalin for years, Farah shared heartfelt memories from his early days in the spotlight. 'You were always entertaining, even back then,' she smiled, referring to his full-of-life presence on stage.
But beyond the entertainment, she pointed out something deeper.
'Today, you have achieved a lot,' she said, acknowledging his steady evolution as a performer and person. Shalin's path hasn't followed the usual route. From reality shows to fiction, from making headlines in Bigg Boss to showing a different side on Khatron Ke Khiladi, his career has been about pushing boundaries, taking chances, and showing up even when the odds were stacked against him.
Farah also touched upon how far he has come in his real-life. She said, Tu jab Nach Baliye mein tha toh kitne flats the.. nahi tha na.. tu rent par rehta tha. Waah kya baat Hai itna bada ghar 5 BHK ...Shalin so proud of you. (Dekho mehnat ki kamayi... (You've come a long way, from living in a rented flat to owning a 5 BHK luxurious home. That's no small feat. You should be proud of yourself),' she added, highlighting the quiet, personal victories that often go unnoticed.
The tone of the episode remained light and affectionate. Farah, known for her wit, couldn't resist teasing him, 'You always thought of yourself as the hero — and now you've truly become one!' A playful remark, but one that summed up his arc: the belief he held in himself, even before others did.
As Shalin continues to reinvent himself with each role, Farah's reflections felt like more than just compliments. They were a quiet celebration of resilience, of holding on when it was easier to let go, and of growing — not just in front of the camera, but beyond it.
Today, as Shalin finds himself in the spotlight once again, Farah's words feel like a full-circle moment. A reminder that behind every applause is a story of grit, growth, and an unwavering passion for the craft.
Ouch! Shalin Bhanot STUNG by 200 Scorpions on Khatron Ke Khiladi 14!
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Pink Villa
8 minutes ago
- Pink Villa
Amidst successful box office run in India, Mahavatar Narsimha to release in UK, Australia, Europe on July 31
Mahavatar Narsimha, the animated mythological epic, hit the big screens in India on July 25, 2025. Owing to the massive success at the Indian box office, the makers are all geared up to release it across theaters worldwide from July 31, 2025. Mahavatar Narsimha to hit big screens worldwide? The presenters of Mahavatar Narsimha, Hombale Films themselves confirmed the movie to be releasing in big screens across various international locations. The mythological epic is slated to hit big screens in the United Kingdom, Singapore, Australia, Europe, and Malaysia. The official updates were shared by the production company through their social media handles. What is Mahavatar Narsimha? Mahavatar Narsimha is based on the story of Narsimha, the fourth avatara of the Hindu god Vishnu, taking place in the Satya Yuga. Part-man and part-lion is known in Vaishnavism for ending religious persecution and calamity on earth, restoring dharma in the world. In a world set where demigods and demons exist, an asura king, Hiranyakashyap, seeks to avenge his brother, who was slain by Vishnu. Being granted the boon of immense strength by Lord Brahma, the king becomes an overlord of all three worlds, ruling as a tyrant. However, his five-year-old son Prahlad is the complete opposite of what he stood for, signaling a virtue of faith towards Lord Vishnu. When Hiranyakashyap plans to hurt his own son, the Hindu god saves him multiple times. In a moment when all hope seems lost, Lord Vishnu takes up the avatar of Narsimha, putting an end to the asura king's violence, restoring balance in the world. The epic mythological animated movie is directed by Ashwin Kumar, with Mahavatar Narsimha touted to be the first installment in the cinematic universe. In the following years, up until 2037, several movies from the interconnected universe are expected to hit the big screens. This includes ventures like Mahavatar Parshuram (2027), Mahavatar Raghunandan (2029), Mahavatar Dwarkadhish (2031), Mahavatar Gokulananda (2033), and Mahavatar Kalki in two parts (2035 and 2037). With an ensemble voice cast behind the film, Mahavatar Narsimha had music composed by Sam CS.
Hans India
8 minutes ago
- Hans India
ZVEZDA Atelier Debuts in Hyderabad with Immersive Fashion Showcase Celebrating Womanhood
ZVEZDA Atelier, a women-led fashion label founded by Bindu Reddy, has officially launched in Hyderabad, marking its entry with a captivating and immersive fashion showcase. The debut event broke away from convention, opting for a narrative-led presentation that traced the diverse phases of womanhood through striking silhouettes, expressive movement, and emotion-driven storytelling. Attendees—including stylists, editors, creatives, and close friends—were guided by a live MC who narrated each segment, seamlessly connecting intimate portrayals of friendship, coming-of-age moments, the journey into partnership, and self-discovery. The fashion show's highlights included a Victorian-inspired gown symbolizing adulthood, a waltz scene evoking partnership and mutual respect, and a showstopper red cape unveiling a gown adorned with hundreds of red flowers—an emblem of transformation and confidence. ZVEZDA's debut collection blended sharp tailoring with fluid drapes, selecting materials and colors for their emotional resonance rather than passing trends. The launch positions ZVEZDA as a brand committed to authenticity, strong design, and narrative depth, ushering in a fresh voice to Indian fashion. Delete Edit
Indian Express
8 minutes ago
- Indian Express
‘Holes in dosas in everyone's house': What ‘Ghachar Ghochar' taught me about the Indian middle class
There are books that yell their message out loud. And then there's Ghachar Ghochar (2015) – a whisper that gets under your skin and stays there. Vivek Shanbhag's slim, devastating novella, translated from Kannada to English by Srinath Perur, charts the rise of a Bengaluru family from modest means to quiet affluence as it peels back the polished veneer of a 'successful' Indian family made and unmade by money. The tale is not of triumph; it is an eerie, delicate dissection of how prosperity and upward mobility, so often seen as the reward for hard work, can slowly dissolve the very foundation it was built on: love, loyalty, and the ability to distinguish right from wrong. The unnamed narrator, mostly inert and almost invisible in his own life, sits in a cafe, retracing the arc of his family's transformation – from scraping by on a modest salary to riding high on the profits of the so-called head of the family – the uncle and his flourishing spice business. Their house is larger now, the money flows freely, and yet, something is rotting beneath the surface. The arrival of wealth brought a strange entropy: the family's moral compass begins to spin out of control, and the same people who once struggled together grow increasingly isolated, insular, manipulative, and morally opaque. The house is larger now, but darker; conversations are quieter, but heavier; love remains, but it has curdled. Shanbhag doesn't use overt confrontation or melodrama to depict the subtle reconfiguration of it. He does it in glances, silences, and most effectively, in the narrator's growing discomfort. The family members, now cushioned by privilege, begin to shift in subtle but alarming ways – exerting power, drawing boundaries, and rationalising every questionable action as justified or necessary. And crucially, they don't even realise it. They believe they are still good people. The narrator, however, does know. He watches this mutation unfold with an unease he cannot name and a complicity he cannot shake. It's this tension – between knowing and doing nothing – that gives the book its haunted pulse. The family's transformation is neither sudden nor shocking – it is slow, almost graceful. That is what makes it unsettling. One of the most haunting aspects of Ghachar Ghochar is how normal everything feels. The family never indulges in overt displays of power. There are no villains here, no screaming matches. Just a slow, insidious reshaping of values as money replaces meaning. Conversations become colder. People are kept in check. Everything is done 'for the family' – a phrase used as both shield and weapon. At one point, when the family discusses someone who challenged their ways, the ease with which they speak about manipulation – of protecting themselves, of silencing threats – is chilling. Nothing is said outright, but it doesn't need to be. Shanbhag excels at creating tension through what is not said. The story plays out largely within the walls of the family home and a small cafe where the narrator retreats for solitude. It's there that he encounters Vincent – the cafe's calm, enigmatic waiter who offers the only real wisdom in the book. Vincent doesn't say much, but his words are razor-sharp. Through one-liners and quiet observations, he functions as the narrator's unacknowledged conscience. The narrator's passivity becomes the book's greatest tension. He is not the instigator of harm, but he is a silent witness. He benefits from the system he knows is rotting. It's in this cafe that we also sense the narrator's internal split: he knows his family has lost its way, that the wealth has contorted their sense of right and wrong, but he cannot – or will not – stand apart from it. He is not evil, not cruel, but complicit. 'Holes in dosas in everyone's house, sir,' Vincent says early on. The narrator keeps connecting his one-liners to his life. Later, his final words to the narrator cut like a knife – not a rebuke, but a truth so clear it's impossible to forget. 'Sir, you may want to wash your hand. There's blood on it.' In a book filled with half-truths and rationalisations, Vincent's voice stands out: unambiguous, honest, and terrifying in its clarity. He never accuses, but he sees. It's a discomfort that mirrors the larger Indian middle-class condition: caught between old-world ideals and new-world aspirations, clinging to the illusion of moral high ground while making peace with transactional realities. The narrator's family is not unlike many real ones – seeking success without scrutiny, comfort without consequence. Their rise is not unusual. What makes it remarkable is how carefully Shanbhag shows its cost. The title itself, Ghachar Ghochar – a nonsensical phrase in the narrator's marriage, meaning 'tangled beyond repair' – is the perfect metaphor for what transpires. The characters are caught in a web of their own making, emotionally and ethically ensnared, but too ensconced in comfort to break free. Their wealth doesn't liberate them; it quietly erodes them. And worse, it convinces them they're better than they are. This is not an unfamiliar story in contemporary India, where class mobility often arrives with an invisible price tag. The nation's economic rise has birthed a new middle class eager to distinguish itself from both its working-class roots and the elite circles it now courts. Families like the narrator's became the new elite – not through lineage or education, but through enterprise. Yet with wealth came the fear of loss, the tightening of control, and the need to protect status at any cost. Shanbhag captures this with quiet brilliance: a family that once huddled together in adversity now builds walls to keep others out. The novella also offers a stark portrayal of how women are treated when they defy these invisible codes. The narrator's wife Anita – an outsider, observer, and moral compass – questions the family's choices, pushing him to confront what he's ignoring. But her voice becomes increasingly unwelcome in a household that has no appetite for dissent. Her honesty is a threat; her clarity, an intrusion. And eventually, like all inconvenient truths in tightly sealed worlds, she is pushed to the margins. A woman who arrives at the family home, seeking acknowledgment and dignity, is quickly painted as a threat. She is mistreated, but not violently – she is simply erased. That, Shanbhag seems to suggest, is often more dangerous. Violence leaves bruises, erasure leaves nothing. And so, when the climax comes, it is quiet. No confrontation, no moral reckoning. Just a moment of shattering realisation for the reader and the narrator, while the characters carry on, unaware or uncaring. It is a brilliant, brutal twist – one that lingers long after the last page, even a decade after the novella was published. Shanbhag's distinct Indian tragedy interrogates the costs of comfort, the ways we rationalise moral decay, and how the pursuit of wealth can make us strangers to ourselves. But it also asks: when the damage is done, when the knots are too tight to undo – what then? Some families fall apart. Others, like this one, stay together. But they become ghachar ghochar.
