The Vvaan’s Chhathi Maiya Brings Bihari Festival To Mainstream Bollywood – Decoding Its Cultural Representation

Chhathi Maiya, the latest song from Sidharth Malhotra and Tamannaah Bhatia starrer The Vvaan, tries to do what mainstream Hindi cinema has largely shied away from. It places Chhath and its rituals at the centre of a song instead of using the festival merely as visual decoration. Tamannaah performs the Chhath Puja in the song as Sidharth’s character slowly starts blending into her faith journey. Bollywood has included festivals like Diwali, Holi, Durga Puja, Ganesh Chaturthi and Karva Chauth in umpteen sequences. However, Chhath Puja, one of the most important festivals for millions in Bihar, Jharkhand, eastern Uttar Pradesh and the wider Purvanchal community, has seldom received the same cinematic attention. This makes the 3.5-minute devotional song one of a kind.

For Bollywood, Chhathi Maiya may be less a definitive representation of Chhath and more a welcome indication that Bihar’s culture can finally occupy the mainstream without having to be caricatured for once. Let’s discuss how.

The biggest strength of  is that it does not turn Chhath into a colourful Bollywood set-piece. The song incorporates familiar rituals including the evening arghya, devotees gathering by the water, morning worship and the Koshi ceremony. Instead of imposing a conventional dance vocabulary on the festival, Chinni Prakash’s choreography largely works around the movements and rituals of the devotees. The focus remains on faith, discipline and community.

That distinction matters because Chhath is rooted in purity, gratitude and devotion. Its most recognisable imagery comes from devotees with the traditional sindoor standing in water by the setting and rising sun, and carrying bamboo soops and dauras filled with offerings. Tamannaah has also said she studied the significance of Chhath and how it is performed in Bihar before filming. That preparation is reflected in a performance that attempts to treat the ritual with reverence rather than turning it into another costume-driven song.

Tamannaah is the emotional centre of the song, and her restrained performance works in its favour. Her character remains committed to observing Chhath despite Sidharth’s initial questions about her faith. The song therefore has a simple emotional conflict, faith versus doubt, without allowing the plot to overpower the ritual itself.

Sidharth’s character gradually participates in the rituals, transforming Chhath from something he questions into a shared family and community experience. His presence also keeps the song from becoming exclusively female-centric while acknowledging the festival’s wider gender nature.

The accident and subsequent miracle towards the end connects the devotional sequence to The Vvaan‘s supernatural folklore universe. Importantly, the plot remains understated. The story is present, but it never completely takes over the cultural depiction.

Perhaps the most important aspect of Chhathi Maiya is what it represents for Bihar on a mainstream platform. Bihar has often been reduced in Hindi cinema to images of crime, politics, poverty, rustic humour or exaggerated accents. Even when Bhojpuri cinema celebrates regional culture, mainstream audiences can sometimes associate it with a certain loud, overtly commercial visual language.

Chhathi Maiya takes a different route. There is no caricatured Bihari character, forced accent, or exaggerated rusticity. Bihar is represented through its faith, women, families, community, folklore, and deeply rooted traditions. The song does not make the culture “Bollywood” by stripping away its identity. Instead, it brings that identity to the forefront of visual language, making it the first song celebrating Chhath in mainstream Bollywood. And this is arguably the song’s biggest cultural achievement.

Chhath has a vast musical tradition, with countless Bhojpuri and regional songs associated with the festival. What is unusual about Chhathi Maiya is its placement inside a major mainstream Hindi film featuring established Bollywood stars and designed for a pan-Indian audience. So the significance is more about giving the festival an unusually prominent place within mainstream Hindi cinema.

There is, however, one comparison the song cannot escape: Sharda Sinha. The voice that continues to echo in the minds and hearts of every Bihari who holds memories of her songs playing loudly at the ghats whenever families gathered to perform arghya. These might be childhood memories for a lot of us, but Sinha’s eternal voice continues to reverberate even after decades. Infact, her voice has become inseparable from Chhath for generations, with her songs serving as an emotional soundtrack for countless families. Following her death in November 2024, fans have inevitably compared every new Chhath song with her legacy.

While Vishal Mishra’s rendition has received appreciation, we, as listeners, will continue to say Sinha’s voice remains irreplaceable. For many, her songs do not simply accompany Chhath, they are part of the festival itself.

Chhathi Maiya cannot capture the complete spiritual and physical discipline of a festival that unfolds over several days. Nor should a three-and-a-half-minute Bollywood song be expected to. But its achievement lies elsewhere. It brings Chhath from the margins of mainstream Hindi-film representation to the centre of a major commercial movie. More importantly, it presents Bihar without reducing it to a stereotype.

The song proves that regional culture does not need exaggerated characters, comedy, or spectacle to connect with a national audience. Sometimes, allowing the ritual, faith, and people to speak for themselves is enough.