The Age of Heroes by Mukesh Manjunath: Telugu films, caste, and culture through a personal lens
I love watching interviews of filmmakers and authors — to understand their process, the stories behind their stories, and the trivia they share. Pick any filmmaker from the South of India and you’ll find a trace of Mani Ratnam’s influence in their craft. Many of them have either read or at least heard of Conversations with Mani Ratnam by Baradwaj Rangan — a book I loved reading. It made me wonder: is there a book like this about Telugu cinema?
That’s when I came across a story shared by Ram Venkat Srikar, a journalist and a friend. He had posted about a book called The Age of Heroes. The cover, with Chiranjeevi on it, instantly caught my attention. I was going through yet another reading slump at the time, and without thinking much, I ordered it.
I started without expectations — just to read a few pages a day. But the first chapter drew me in.
This book starts in the most endearing way — with a personal story of the author and his grandmother going to watch movies. From there, it flows straight into the first hero of Telugu cinema and the early commercial success with Pathala Bhairavi, starring NTR. The setup is nostalgic, emotional, and steeped in love for cinema.
The book then traces the rise of NTR and later, Chiranjeevi, both as cinematic icons and political forces. There’s a smooth shift into how many Telugu stars eventually entered politics, blurring the lines between reel and real. It doesn’t just stop at heroes — there’s also a section on villains: how we once imported villains from other languages, how villainy shifted to the “mother-in-law” era in the 90s, and how that reflected changing societal dynamics.
One of my favourite threads in the book is how it talks about the Telugu language. The authors, the poets, the rulers who shaped the tone and form of Telugu literature — all come alive in this narrative. Poets writing to please kings, dynasties shaping diction, and how our language grew in the middle of all this political and literary churn.
What made the book even more special to me are the deeply personal stories. There’s this assignment Mukesh had to do for a Telugu exhibition in school — guided by his teacher — where he brings together Srinatha and Pothana (both of them were poets) as relatives. This leads to an unexpected squabble between teachers, and in the end, someone else wins for talking about farmers. That whole episode is charming, funny, and so rooted in school-day memories.
This book rekindled my interest in Badi Panthulu. The author’s personal story intertwines with this film so well. I was smiling while reading that part — impressed with how he brought everything together, the story of his school project, the influence of his teacher, and how it connected to his love for Telugu literature.
There’s another lovely anecdote about why Mukesh was his grandmother’s favourite — and how it had something to do with his date of birth. These are the little moments that added so much warmth to the book.
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The book never diverges too much from its core topic — Telugu cinema. But it gently drifts into Telugu geography, the history of the formation of a separate Telugu state, and more. All of it feels relevant, contextual, and never out of place.
One chapter that stood out for me was when the author and his friend go to a theatre where softcore “blue films” were said to be screened. What they end up watching instead is a red film — a communist movie — and it becomes their unexpected introduction to R. Narayana Murthy. The chapter is hilarious, poignant, and sharply written. The way the author connects this personal story and then opens up a discussion on caste, politics, and cinema is beautiful. He gives context on how NTR, through films, questioned the government — and how he eventually did the same in real life, forming his own political party and becoming CM.
There’s a personal honesty to how the author narrates things. Some moments made me think — “If this had happened to me, I don’t think I’d even share it with close friends.” But Mukesh writes it all down with care and detail, taking that extra step to preserve it for the reader.
He also explores how caste-based heroes tried their hand at politics, and how both platforms were used to amplify each other. He dives into how certain castes grew prosperous over the decades, and touches on a hilarious but true topic — caste fights among Telugu folks living in the US. I laughed out loud. These are the kinds of conversations I’ve had with friends too. This book — in many ways — felt like it came from a friend who thinks and talks like us, only that he wrote everything down beautifully.
[Edit] I appreciate the way he introduces and sets the stage for a major protagonist of Telugu cinema — Vijayashanti. Vijayashanti emerges as a rare force — a woman leading from the front in an industry dominated by men, both on screen and off. The way Mukesh brings her into the narrative isn’t just as an actress, but as a powerful symbol of a different kind of heroism.
Her transition from playing commercial roles to becoming the fierce, commanding presence in films like Karthavyam is portrayed with great admiration. The fact that she could hold a film on her shoulders, without needing a male superstar to back her, speaks volumes about her stature. And then, to go from that into politics — to convert her screen charisma into real-world influence — is a journey that deserves attention. Mukesh does justice to her arc without over-explaining it.[Edit]
It reminded me of stories I’ve heard from my father and uncles — about the time NTR became CM, launched his own party, and managed to win elections in just nine months. That’s still a record. These are things we’ve discussed at home over chai, and now they’re written down in a book — for the next generation to know.
There’s a line that Martin Scorsese once said — “The most personal is the most creative.” Mukesh brings in his personal stories whenever the narrative needs a telescope to zoom in, or a drone to zoom out — to talk about politics, caste, cinema, and change.
I genuinely believe this book found the right person in me. When you finish a book you truly connect with, you smile for days. You can’t stop talking about it. You keep reliving it in your head. That’s exactly what happened to me.
And I don’t know why, but I truly felt this book was written for one person — and that person is me. I kept thinking, if the author ever wondered, “Who would read this and really love it?” — it’s me. The Telugu audience who also enjoys reading Telugu books, who knows a little about Telugu writers, and who still remembers the love he had for the language in high school.
After every chapter, I felt a strange mix of joy and sadness. Happy that I had read something so good. Sad that I was one step closer to the end.
So thank you, Mukesh, for writing this book. There were moments, lines, analogies that I savoured. I couldn’t help but admire the choices you made as a writer. I’m now waiting to read more of your work. ❤️
