Jubilee: Kareena Kapoor Khan on 25 years in film

The first time she faced the camera, for J.P. Dutta’s Refugee (2000), it wasn’t polished perfection that emerged with the first take, but raw spontaneity. “It was 4 in the morning," she recalls, “and J.P. sir was like, ‘Okay, ready, action.’ And it was the shot where I had to lift up that burkha of mine and look at Abhishek (Bachchan). And the hair strand had to fall, and I had to splash water on my face." There was no room for hesitation; there weren’t many do-overs in those analogue days. “I just did that once, and he had picked up the camera and was gone, moving on to the next shot. And I was like, what? I didn’t know what to say or do, and he was like, ‘Yeah, it’s fine’."

It is possible to look back at that first take—accepted without retake or variation—as the sort of thing that may well have created a monster. Kareena is so swaggeringly self-assured that she genuinely believes she has never given a weak performance. “I’m sure there are some films where I’ve been a bit disinterested, but that’s the max, I think. Even in a bad commercial film that I may have done, I think I’ve been good," she declares, her tone more matter-of-fact than boastful.

That statement invites both admiration and scepticism. Is it hubris, or is it the quiet confidence of someone who has honed her craft the way she likes it? Perhaps this is a bit of both—a delicious blend of self-assurance and the indulgence of a star who knows that every performance, no matter how flawed, is a stepping stone toward something larger.

It may therefore be that unflinching belief in her own stardom that has propelled her forward, kept her authentic, and allowed her to evolve and even age—gracefully and defiantly. She’s taken on the industry on her own terms and thrived because, more than any of her fans, she believes in her own legend.

You see it as soon you see Kareena. She wears her stardom as lightly as if it were a tennis bracelet, shiny and diamond-studded—something that unmistakably belongs to her. She owns any room she enters, any screen she shows up on. Her startling lack of insecurity—in an industry where every performer is immediately suspicious of an unflattering camera angle—makes her stand out. I posit that the reason she, unlike most of her contemporaries and even many of her juniors, has not gotten “work done" is because she believes in herself too strongly—that Kareena Kapoor Khan doesn’t need “help".

“Absolutely," she smiles. “I think I do me really well. I’m just what I am. I’m genuinely not afraid to be seen without make-up, and I want to embrace myself at every age. And honestly, I’ve been like that right from the beginning. I think being authentic is most important to me. I am the way I am, and embracing it in each decade is making it better and better for me."

Her public persona looks as unfiltered. Unlike many colleagues, she has never hidden her relationships or her personal choices from public scrutiny. Whether her young romance with Shahid Kapoor—with pictures of them kissing splashed across the tabloids—or her high-profile marriage to Saif Ali Khan, Kareena has been unapologetic about being herself. She has welcomed even the prying paparazzi, allowing children Taimur and Jehangir to wave at photographers instead of hiding from them. (Conversely, after Saif was attacked by a burglar in their Mumbai home this January, Kareena took to social media to plead for some privacy. “Stop this now," she wrote with many a folded-hands emoji, “Leave us alone, for god’s sake.")

In Singham Again (2024), the credits listed the actor as Kareena Kapoor, without the Khan. An odd omission, especially for a Diwali release thick with Ramayana metaphors where her character was likened to Sita. “I think this question should be addressed to (producers) Mr Devgn and Mr (Rohit) Shetty," she says, insisting that she wasn’t consulted, and found it strange. She then wonders why the mainstream media didn’t question it. “I don’t know why no one has picked it up and written. You must ask them," she insists. She refuses to let it slide.

Over the last couple of years, when doing films like Jaane Jaan (2023)—opposite consummate performers like Jaideep Ahlawat and Vijay Varma—and The Buckingham Murders (2024)—an English-language murder mystery—Kareena made a declaration that she intended to focus on more “performance-oriented" cinema. I have, however, always considered her career a balancing act. Right from that Refugee debut, where she played a delicate and quietly powerful heroine, she has always alternated between commercial juggernauts and introspective performances.

She was 20 in 2001 when she followed up the shrillness of Mujhe Kuchh Kehna Hai and Yaadein, for instance, with the experimental—and striking—Asoka the same year, which took her to the Venice Film Festival. Kareena is magnificent in Santosh Sivan’s film, dramatic and dazzling and showing off her screen presence alongside Shah Rukh Khan. She had barely finished the squawky Main Prem Ki Deewani Hoon (2003) when she rang up the legendary parallel cinema director Govind Nihalani, requesting him to make something for her. Nihalani’s Dev (2004) was part of more arthouse adventures, like Sudhir Mishra’s Chameli (2003), where she was startlingly good as a sex worker, and Vishal Bhardwaj’s Omkara (2006).

Omkara , an Othello adaptation set in the dusty badlands of Uttar Pradesh, featured several A-listers. Kareena played Desdemona—called Dolly Mishra—and didn’t have any grand monologues. “She doesn’t have the character that Omkara (Othello, played by Ajay Devgn) or Langda Tyagi (Iago, played by Saif] have." Dolly Mishra is a character for the ages, immaculate and spirited, ultimately fragile. She may not have monologues, but performs soliloquies with her eyes. “Dialogue is always a crutch," she says. “I loved doing Omkara, and I’m ever so grateful that Vishal took me for this film."

This brings us back to that lack of insecurity. Kareena’s favourite performer from her family is her uncle Rishi Kapoor. “He had so much energy," she gushes. “He was a natural born actor. He was just absolutely spectacular in whatever part he played. Also, he was so entertaining in front of the camera. People loved watching him." Like Rishi, Kareena fearlessly made herself part of many a multi-starrer—from Omkara to Tashan (2008), from Three Idiots (2009) to Talaash (2012), and Singham Again—without once worrying about getting lost in the ensemble.'

“In a small film like Udta Punjab (2016), mine was a small role. People would ask why I would do it. Alia Bhatt was new and this was her film. But I felt it’s just such a brave film to be a part of, and the doctor (that she played) is also the heart of the film. And her death scene," Kareena sighs. “When I heard that scene, I said that I just have to do it because I love what (Abhishek) Chaubey had written. So I said I’m doing the part."

Confounding expectations is part of Kareena’s script. These expectations, to be fair, end up writing themselves once parts become immediately iconic—like “Poo" in Karan Johar’s Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (2001), or Geet in Imtiaz Ali’s Jab We Met (2006). After each of those unforgettable parts, the actress had to combat the perception—among both the audience and an industry too quick to label its performers—that Kareena herself is like the clueless and ditsy Poo, or as relentlessly motor-mouthed as Geet. She chose to let her work do the talking.

“I was always looking out to change the game and be known as an actor," she says, insisting that she never saw herself confined to one category. “I’ve never chased stardom, but I’ve always chased great performances." It’s this internal competition—one that pits her against her own past performances—that has made her a phenomenon: someone who believes in herself far too much, and in doing so, transforms every role into a challenge. She’s keeping herself on her toes.

Early on, Kareena recognised the simple fact that films live on. Good work lives on. This may be something she saw within her own prolific family, seeing the films consigned to obscurity alongside those that were destined for posterity. Her filmography is, therefore, a study in both inevitability and reinvention. The actresses she fawned over while watching Chhaya Geet and Chitrahaar on TV weren’t getting as many author-backed roles in their time. “Even Lolo, for that matter, till Fiza (2000) and Zubeidaa (2001)," she admits. Most of the cinema was hero-centric. “So you had to break it. I constantly wanted to find the filmmakers, find the scripts. Sure I was doing the ‘song and dance with Hrithik’, but parallel to that I was doing something that, kind of, broke away. It was a conscious decision."

Even in a film ostensibly belonging to a hero—like Salman Khan starrer Bajrangi Bhaijaan (2015) or the Aamir Khan headlined Three Idiots—Kareena finds something within. “In Three Idiots, the whole comedy angle, that drunken scene, I think it’s one of those commercial scenes that will be remembered by people. Raju (Hirani) was always very clear. He said I will have my part, and it’s important, and the love story will culminate."

“And why not?" Kareena asks. “Every film can’t just be about me, and this one is with Aamir Khan. And I wanted to work with Raju also—and it’s not like he’s going to make a separate heroine-oriented film."

That commercial delineation is clear to her. I ask her what she would look for when doing, say, a nonsensical film like Kambakkht Ishq (2009). How does she challenge herself there? “You know that these are the things I need to do within this film. These are the gears I need to hit: look amazing, get two songs out of it." She smiles wide. “Every film has a different beat. And I’m quite proud of the fact that I can do that as well. Just get those beats right."

“I’m here not to compete with anyone. I’m here to compete with myself," she insists, recognising that she’s been saying that, right from the start. That mantra has driven her to take on roles that challenge her, to constantly push the boundaries of her own capabilities. Whether a gritty film or an unabashedly glossy spectacle, she wants to deliver something authentic. Even when that authenticity is all about dress size. During Tashan, she made “size zero" such a buzzword that Sony, selling thin laptops, marketed their own form factor in comparison to her radical slimness.

There is also a fascinating dialogue between her early struggles and the later triumphs. Early days were marked by the necessity to prove herself—meeting producers, attending auditions and often, being typecast by the sheer force of familial legacy. “In those days you still had to talk to producers, and my mother would have to go to a producer’s office, go and meet Rakesh Roshan and say, ‘my daughter wants to become an actress’," she recalls. “Now this generation is doing 20 brands before they’ve even come on the screen. In those days we had to prove ourselves as an actor—and then eventually we’d get one ad. Or someday Pepsi or Coke would think we were worthy."

“Now everything is being controlled. There’s a separate department for image management, which now I’m lazy about. I’m old-school," she smiles, a gentle dig at the modern obsession with self-branding and constant positioning. “We became stars without all that."

Like the most intriguing performers, she is all contradiction: She would love to do a horror film; she may never do a horror film. “I’ve always wanted to do one," she explains, speaking of her abiding love for Ram Gopal Varma’s Bhoot and Kaun, “but now the horror genre is doing well, and so people will think that now I want to do horror because of that. I don’t want to get on a bandwagon."

Her process is that of disciplined spontaneity. “I know my lines. I know my scene. I’m aware not just of what I’m saying, but of what you are saying, what other characters are saying," she explains, underscoring the collaborative nature of cinema—while simultaneously pooh-poohing actors who take their process too seriously. “Main paagal nahin hoon (I’m not mad)."

She’s prepared enough to tick all the boxes in her first couple of takes. “I like one rehearsal, one take. If I’m not getting it, or if the director is not happy with it, I’ll give a director 35 takes if he wants. I am a director’s actor. I believe that, and I believe most good actors are. I completely give myself to the director. I don’t want to discuss or argue with them. I feel the director is the captain. You are a hired gun, you have to do what he says."

Kareena considers selecting a film almost as important as performing in one. “You must take the narration from the director," she says. “To figure out what his idea is, what his take is, and then you can read the script yourself to know the dialogue, and understand how you feel you’re going to do it, and if it’s working for you."

She prides herself on figuring out—within the first week—how a film will turn out. “I am too sharp," she smiles. “On the fourth day of the shoot, I can tell you what’s going to happen to the film. 99.9%. Very rarely do I get it wrong. It’s scary." The idea of going on with a project while aware its going off the rails does seem scary. “Now toh I leave the film. Picture hi chhod deti hoon. Because it’s also about the journey, it’s not just about proving myself. So now it’s about the films where I will have a good time. I will work according to my own terms and I will stretch the rubber a little more."

This talk of the way she does things differently “now" makes me question whether—since she has always done “performance-oriented" work—her declaration means there is now less pressure to do the glossy stuff. “Crew (2024) was glossy and commercial. I love doing those parts too," she corrects. “I thought the audience would love to see me in it. Now, it’s all about doing things that I’ll have fun doing. Because I will have to hustle another 25 years."

“And I am a hustler, so I will do it. The whole idea is to keep going."

The only director on her Hindi film wishlist is Zoya Akhtar. “Her language, her whole vibe of every film is so different from the other. She’s also had, I think, a huge impact on Indian cinema, in a very modern way."

“I would love to do a great show. You know, something really interesting. Like how Nicole Kidman has done a Big Little Lies, that’s so exciting with all these powerful actresses." She sighs. “We need the writers to write something like that." Of the Indian shows, she liked Avinash Arun’s School Of Lies, and hopes thrilling, radical scripts come her way. “I want to listen to more different kinds of stuff. Maybe an eight-part series," she wonders aloud.

Kareena is clear that new voices will come to her with their stories. “I think they know that if the story is good, if it excited me, I’m the person to just go ahead and do it." The script and the part is more important than who’s making it. “There’s no guarantee that the biggest director of the country is going to make the best film ever."

I ask if she has ever considered acting on stage. Her family has a longstanding relationship with theatre, and this would be both a creative swerve and a massive challenge. “I’ve never really thought how I would be on stage. I think just memorising the whole play is quite daunting and terrifying," she says, eyes wide. I remind her that there is no second take. “Not that I want a second take," she snaps, instantly stung and challenged. “I feel somewhere we are used to ‘I’ll do this, then I’ll do that.’ There’s a safety. What if someone else messes up a line? What then? But then obviously they rehearse so much for months on end… And so many actors in Hollywood are doing theatre," Kareena trails off, visibly considering it. “Yes, but I would definitely want to do a show first, before theatre." So a plan is being formed? “I’ll think about it," Kareena promises, with a smile.

That sting, that challenge. Back when Saroj Khan had told a young Kareena that her limbs were too stiff, other actors may have been discouraged. Kareena, precocious and aware, had an answer for the legendary choreographer: “Haath pair chalaana nahin aata, par face chalana aata hai," she remembers saying, with a grin. (“I might not be able to move my hands and legs, but I know how to move my face.") This is true. Her eyebrows alone deserve co-star billing—expressing irony, wrath, lust or joy, with the precision of a calligrapher. That’s Kareena Kapoor Khan, playing to her strengths—because she knows precisely what they are.

Here is a star who, on screen and off, reminds us that authenticity, combined with a frightening confidence and a willingness to defy norms, can light up the screen—and the public imagination—in ways that no manufactured image could. With every bold performance, every defiant retort, every moment of unfiltered reaction, she reaffirms that true stardom is not about perfection—it’s about having the courage to be unmistakably, irrepressibly yourself.

Twenty-five years. This industry is built on shifting sands —sands that shift quicker for leading ladies than for leading men—and this relevance is a staggering achievement. Yet this performer may merely be getting warmed up. We had better buckle up for many more years. If there’s one thing I can say about a Kareena Kapoor Khan jubilee, it’s that she can’t possibly settle for a silver.

Raja Sen is a Lounge columnist.