In the great gladiatorial arena of Indian public life, few figures have fought harder, flared brighter, or fallen faster than 49-year-old Smriti Zubin Irani. Fewer still possess the gall and guile to return with such operatic flair. The reboot of Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi (KSBKBT), premiering July 29, marks Irani’s renaissance. It’s not regression; it’s re-entry. A recalibrated cultural conquest.
Comebacks in politics arrive cloaked in symbolism, charged with subtext, and choreographed for resonance. Hence, the Tulsi-Irani redux isn’t nostalgia; it’s narrative warfare. Once Tulsi was the sanskari sovereign of Indian television. Now, back to being Tulsi again, Irani is showing off a shrewd recalibration of power, presence, and persona.
Born in 1976 in a modest Delhi household, her political ascent was not bestowed; it was built by her from scratch. From wiping tables at McDonald’s to ruling the primetime as Tulsi Virani in Ekta Kapoor’s cultural colossus, she embodied middle-class mythos with magnetic precision.
But ambition is a hungry beast. Irani, never one to be typecast, pivoted to politics in 2003, entering the BJP without pedigree but with panache. The nation scoffed. The party watched. And she worked relentlessly, rhetorically, ruthlessly.
At 49, Irani is reclaiming her reach. The sari-draped storyteller has stepped off the Lok Sabha stage onto the soapbox of the small screen. Irani, once Bharat’s beloved bahu, became a policy bulldozer in Modi 1.0 and 2.0. Unlike the dozens of television faces who flared and faded, she fused charisma with consequence. She wasn’t just a screen queen but was a symbol of saffron resilience. And yet, politics, as unforgiving as ever, made her taste both triumph and truncation. However, this time she is armed not with tears and tantrums, but a script steeped in subtext, strategy, and subliminal seduction.
In the beginning, cynical BJP watchers wrote her off her as yet another television actress joining vote hunters. But Irani turned her oratory into artillery. She lost her first election, but didn’t lose heart. In 2019, she executed what many deemed impossible: dethroning Rahul Gandhi in Amethi, the dynastic fortress of the Congress. With one brutal ballot box blow, she was crowned ‘giant killer’, and a thunderclap echoed across Indian politics.
From 2014 to 2024, she helmed portfolios that mattered—education, textiles, minority affairs, and women and child development. She helped craft the National Education Policy 2020, redefined handloom pride, reformed waqf boards, and reshaped conversations around child welfare. She wasn’t ornamental; she was operational. But politics punishes more harshly than it rewards. Like primetime, it is fickle. In 2024, the tide turned. Kishori Lal Sharma, a quiet Gandhi loyalist, wrested back Amethi. Irani lost by a staggering 1.67 lakh votes. While some defeated colleagues were shielded and retained in Modi 3.0, Irani was visibly and perceptively sidelined.
But Smriti Irani doesn’t sulk; she scripts. And she knows that in a country where politics is theatre and television is theology, screen time is soul time. Her announcement of Tulsi’s return wasn’t a whimper; it was a war cry.
She called it a “side project”, but scheduled it to wrap up just before the 2029 elections. Coincidence? Or calculated cultural choreography?
By collaborating with designer Gaurang Shah, re-anchoring herself in Bharatiya couture, and rewriting Tulsi’s arc as a crusader for climate, gender justice, and social equity, the former minister is fusing fashion with function, drama with diplomacy, television with transformation. And it works.
Irani speaks five languages. She straddles five worlds—Bollywood, bureaucracy, Bharatiyata, business, and big tech. Her alliances with global thought leaders like Bill Gates made her more than a minister. They made her a multilateral magnet. While many BJP stalwarts edge toward irrelevance or retirement, Irani remains electrifying, eloquent, and entirely unpredictable.
But make no mistake. Whether as BJP bahu or saffron saans, Irani is not universally adored. Her aggressive style, her unyielding ambition and her public skirmishes with the Gandhis are all calculated to polarise politics. Why has the BJP, a party that needs charismatic female firepower, inexplicably benched its brightest? Is this a temporary break? Or is Tulsi 2.0 being a canny Trojan horse by slipping Irani back into living rooms? Could her cultural resurrection become a political resurrection? After all, since many saffron seniors are nearing sunset by 2029, who better than younger Irani to shoulder the party’s projection of an ideologically aligned female leadership, combat Rahul Gandhi once more, and craft a story of comeback soaked in symbolism?
In a party starved of women leaders with gravitas, Irani may yet become a more assertive Sushma Swaraj’s successor the BJP doesn’t know it needs.
The return of Smriti Irani to the national limelight is not just a nostalgic indulgence. It’s a narrative intervention. Even the details are thought out. Designer Shah, known for hand-woven heritage saris, will costume Tulsi’s character by tying her television persona back to her textile ministry days. Here, attire becomes agenda. Her presence becomes performance. Her legacy becomes layered.
Irani isn’t just playing her beloved television character again; she is playing a long game. This isn’t the story of a sidelined star seeking attention. It’s the calculus of a cultural capitalist who understands the currency of screen time in a democracy driven by drama and recall. She’s leveraging India’s vast ‘cultural economy’—a phrase she now uses un-ironically to reposition herself not just as politician or performer, but as a public philosopher. She did lose a seat, but not her script—as her role exchange from the great Indian political soap opera to a television tearjerker shows.
Now, as the cameras on the set roll, Irani writes a new chapter that is part redemption, part reassertion. The show is no longer a melodrama; it is metaphor. Tulsi is no longer just a daughter-in-law, but a delivery device for social dialogue. Gender equity, environmental ethics, and cultural continuity are Irani’s real scripts. By anchoring herself once again in India’s cultural core, the living room TV, she ensures she isn’t forgotten. But with over 20 million followers on various social media platforms, she will remain copiously conspicuous with her presence on the small screen.
As KSBKBT relaunches for 150 episodes that would wrap up just before the next general election, Irani’s political timing couldn’t be more precise, as if it were polling data. What Irani has called a “side project” is the centre-stage in a broader symphony of strategy.
As Indian democracy barrels toward its next big showdown in 2029, Irani seems ready to reprise the role of a lifetime—not just as Tulsi, but as a titan. Not just as actress, but an architect. Because if there’s one thing Irani understands better than most is that in India, image is ideology. And sometimes, a sari says more than a speech. In the end, Tulsi was never just a character—she was both the medium and the message.
Read all columns by Prabhu Chawla
prabhuchawla@newindianexpress.com
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