For as long as the film industry in India has existed, it has at times been accused of nurturing dynasties. But today, the conversation around nepotism—industry heirs given easy access to the limelight—has become so heated that it often obscures the art itself.

In this noise, the question remains: what happens when some of these much-maligned star children do, in fact, show talent?

This year alone has offered a handful of case studies.

Aryan Khan, son of Shah Rukh Khan, made his creative debut not as an actor but as a director, writer, and showrunner of Netflix’s The Ba**ds of Bollywood.

The series, a sharp, meta-humorous riff on industry clichés, was unexpectedly well-structured, revealing a sly self-awareness of the system Aryan himself benefits from.

It is difficult to deny that his access to a platform like Netflix is the privilege of birth. Yet it is equally difficult to ignore that the work itself is more accomplished than cynics anticipated.

Ahaan Panday, the nephew of Chunky Panday and cousin to Ananya Panday, stepped into the spotlight with Saiyaara. Here too, expectations were muted. Yet the performance was marked by a controlled emotional range and a willingness to embody vulnerability.

One sensed, beneath the glossy trappings, an actor serious about his craft. Industry pedigree may have provided the opportunity, but it cannot account for the steady assurance that Ahaan brought to the role.

The counterexamples, however, are just as instructive.

Shanaya Kapoor, daughter of Sanjay Kapoor, debuted with Aankhon Ki Gustaakhiyan, a film that tanked both critically and commercially.

Reviewers pointed to a flat, unconvincing performance that did little to distinguish her in a crowded industry.

Janhvi Kapoor, who has already enjoyed a string of high-profile projects, faced withering criticism for her portrayal of a Malayali woman in Param Sundari. Her accent and mannerisms rang false, leading many to question whether star children are protected from the sort of rigorous preparation demanded of outsiders.

What emerges from these contrasting examples is not an argument for or against industry heirs, but a reminder that the relationship between access and merit is more complicated than either side of the debate allows.

It is undeniable that actors from film families enjoy smoother entry points.

They do not have to endure the endless auditions or humiliating rejections faced by newcomers from outside the fold. But access is not artistry, and pedigree is not performance.

The risk in dismissing every star child’s work as undeserved is that we close ourselves off to recognising genuine talent where it exists.

At the same time, the danger in excusing mediocrity is that we entrench the very inequalities that have long plagued the industry.

To watch Aryan Khan’s clever satire or Ahaan Panday’s earnest debut is to see potential worth nurturing. To sit through Shanaya Kapoor’s faltering screen presence is to be reminded that not every name guarantees staying power.

Bollywood, with its dynasties and its outsiders, is always a negotiation between privilege and perseverance. Perhaps the challenge for audiences and critics alike is not to flatten the debate into binaries. Instead, we ought to resist being judgemental, watch every performer closely, and then evaluate the work on its own terms.

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