My Kannada debut isn’t about roots; it’s about great cinema: Gulshan Devaiah

Known for his fearless choices and quiet brilliance, Gulshan Devaiah has always marched to the beat of his own drum. From Shaitan and A Death in the Gunj to Guns & Gulaabs, he has built a filmography that resists easy labels. Now, with his Kannada debut in Rishab Shetty’s Kantara: A Legend Chapter-1, Gulshan steps into one of the most anticipated cinematic worlds of the year. In this candid chat, he talks about his long-awaited Kannada debut, the evolving face of Bollywood, and what keeps him authentic in an image-driven business. Excerpts:

ON MAKING HIS KANNADA DEBUT
For people in Karnataka, Kantara means a lot because it taps into their cultural identi ty. I grew up in Bengaluru, and being from Coorg, I’ve seen similar traditions. Even if Coorg doesn’t have the Tulu-speaking Bhoota rituals, I’ve seen the Malayalam versions. It all felt familiar. Growing up in the ’80s and ’90s, my dream was to act in Hindi films — because that was what everyone watched; that was ‘pan-India’ then. Today, I see Kannada cinema transforming into something far more exciting and global. When I saw Kantara, I was blown away. It was a small film that made a massive impact, comparable to Pushpa or Baahu bali, but with a fraction of the budget. So when Rishab offered me Kantara: A Legend Chapter-1, I saw it as a homecoming — not out of cultural pride, but because it’s great cinema. I love cinema as an art form. I don’t attach myself to language or identity. For me, Kantara was simply good cinema, and I wanted to be part of it.

ON THE PRESSURE OF JOINING A CULTURAL PHENOMENON
As an actor, my job is to believe in the written word. Whatever’s on the page becomes my reality. Whether it’s a Bhoota Kola ritual or a divine force, my responsibility is to believe in that world completely. I don’t have to personally believe in everything my charac ter does — just as I didn’t have to be gay to play one in Badhaai Do. My job is to accept the character’s truth and perform it with sincerity. That’s the foundation of acting.

ON WORKING IN KANNADA FILMS
I studied Kannada till Class 10 and lived in Karnataka for 30 years. So the language wasn’t new. The only adjustment was the dialect. Kantara is set in the Karavali region, so the rhythm and pronunciation are different from Bengaluru’s. Rishab and his writers helped me get that right. My focus was to deliver Rishab’s vision and bring Kulasekara to life.

ON THE ‘DIVINE’ ENERGY OF KANTARA
I didn’t feel anything divine while shooting — filmmaking is too start-stop to allow that. But when I watched the first film, especially the climax, I felt like I was floating in my chair. That’s the power of cinema — Rishab’s performance, B Ajaneesh Lokanath’s music, Arvind Kashyap’s visuals — together they create something transcendent. Even someone who doesn’t believe in God could be moved into a spiritual state. Kantara evokes a deep, almost sacred connection through art. You can see it in how people respond — folding their hands, tearing up — it touches something beyond logic.
ON THE ‘PAN-INDIA’ WAVE
Talent exchange isn’t new — we saw it in the ’80s and ’90s with actors like Amrish Puri. What’s different now is how it’s marketed. I fully support this exchange; it’s healthy for Indian cine ma. But I’m wary of extreme regionalism — beyond a point, it divides us. If this movement genuinely unites us under the umbrella of Indian cinema, I’ll be happiest. It’s still early days, though — let’s see if it sustains.

On OTT changing the game
When I debuted in 2011, there was no OTT. Streaming shifted the pressure from ticket sales to subscriber numbers — that freedom allows filmmakers to tell riskier stories. Think Game of Thrones — ask who the main character is, and you’ll get 10 answers. OTT empowered writers, directors and actors, expanded the ecosystem, and created more opportunities. It’s like what television did in the 2000s.

On Rishab Shetty — the actor and the director
In most of my close-ups, Rishab was behind the monitor directing. So much of my reaction came from imagination. I’d observe his takes, understand his graph, and then build mine — adjusting beats and intensity. More than Rishab the actor-director, I admire Rishab the person. Imagine the pressure — a 254-day shoot, a budget ten times bigger than the first film, and the weight of expectations. Viewers don’t care how hard you’ve worked; if they don’t feel the same spark, they’ll reject it. And yet Rishab carried it all with composure. At any given point, there were nearly a thousand people on set. He was directing, acting in a massive period drama, managing VFX deadlines, and leading a team that genuinely adores him. To shoulder that and still deliver with grace — that takes immense strength.

ON STAYING RELEVANT WITHOUT BEING IN A ‘CAMP’
Image is the norm, and many actors embrace it — which is fine. I just wanted to be me. Stardom, money, visibility — they’re good, but there’s also an artistic pursuit I can’t ignore. Sometimes that means a lead role, sometimes it’s six minutes in Badhaai Do. I don’t monetise my social media or do ads — nothing against them — I just won’t do something I’m not passionate about. Over time, people decided I’m ‘a little different.’ That came from choosing authenticity over convention.

ON WHAT KEEPS HIM AUTHENTIC
I don’t listen to what’s expected of me. I keep asking: Am I doing this because it’s demanded, or because I truly want to? That’s my compass. Cinema took me from Mumbai to Karnataka, then Chennai, now Hyderabad. I don’t know where next — and that uncertainty is beautiful. I belong to cinema, not to a single label.

On Bollywood today
Bollywood has become heavily corporatised, which has pros and cons. There’s more structure now, but marketing and packaging often overshadow the art. Everyone wants to replicate trends — like horror comedies — because one hit worked. I think casting should come from the heart, not a business plan.