June 1992 – Trilogy Studios, Bombay
The air-conditioned chill of the Trilogy boardroom was a stark contrast to the humid, salt-heavy breeze of the Juhu coastline outside. Ashutosh Pathak sat at the head of a long glass table, his body is relaxed but his eyes possessing the predatory stillness of a hawk. Across from him sat the music directors, their faces etched with a mixture of exhaustion and irritation. Beside them stood the finance team, clutching ledgers that seemed to tremble in their hands.
"Let me be absolutely clear," Ashutosh said, his baritone voice cutting through the hum of the air conditioner. "I am not making a movie to fit the current standards of Bollywood. I am setting a new standard for the world. The budget for Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge is finalized at 10 Crore Rupees."
A collective gasp rippled through the room. In 1992, the average high-budget Indian film cost between 3 and 4 Crores. A 10 Crore price tag was a colossal risk—it was a figure that could sink a production house and send a family back to the streets of Varanasi.
"Ashu-baba," the lead music composer said, leaning forward. "Even if we ignore the sheer madness of the cost... you are asking for a 60-piece live string orchestra from Prague for the background score. You are asking for a mandolin lead that sounds like it's being played by a ghost. We've given you three catchy tunes. The public wants something they can whistle at a tea stall!"
Ashutosh leaned forward, his Stage 4 Mental Processing allowing him to break down the composer's argument into its base components of fear and creative laziness. "The public whistles at what they are given because they have no other choice. I am giving them a soul. We are targeting a Diwali 1993 release. That gives us exactly sixteen months. Four months for pre-production, eight months for a grueling multi-continent filming schedule, and four months for the most intensive post-production phase this country has ever seen."
He stood up, walking to the window that overlooked the growing empire of the Pathaks. "Girdharilal and his partner Khanna are already trying to block our theater bookings for that Diwali slot. They think our budget is a weakness—that we will run out of money and beg them for distribution. They are wrong. We are spending 10 Crores because every frame of this film must look like a dream that the audience never wants to wake up from."
The door opened softly, and Ananya walked in, carrying a stack of fashion plates. At seventeen, she was no longer just a sister; she was a whirlwind of creative energy, serving as Ashutosh's Assistant Director and Head of Styling. Behind her were Raghunath and Dada Vishwanath Pathak, who had come to check on the "boy's progress."
"Bhaiya, the fabric for the wedding sequence has arrived from Varanasi," Ananya said, laying out swatches of silk and brocade. "It's heavy, it's authentic, and it cost a fortune. But you were right—the synthetic stuff from the local markets looked like plastic under the Arri 535 lens."
Ashutosh ran his fingers over the silk. The texture was perfect. "Good. And the jewelry?"
"Hand-crafted. Real gold plating," she replied with a smirk. "If we're going to spend 10 Crores, we might as well do it with style."
Vishwanath Pathak sat in a leather chair, watching his grandson with a mix of amusement and pride. "Ashu, the market is talking. They say you are building a palace on a foundation of sand. Girdharilal is telling the distributors that Trinity won't survive the first month of filming in Switzerland."
"Let them talk, Dada," Ashutosh said, turning back to the music directors. "Gentlemen, go back to the studio. If the mandolin doesn't make me cry by Friday, you're fired. I don't care about 'catchy.' I want 'eternal'."
As the composers scurried out, Savitri entered, followed by a servant carrying a tray of Varanasi-style snacks—kachoris and thick, sweet lassi.
"Enough with the Crores and the Diwalis," Savitri declared, placing a plate in front of Ashutosh. "You haven't eaten since breakfast. How can you direct a 10-Crore film if your brain is running on empty? And look at you, Ananya! You're becoming so thin, people will think the Pathaks are going through a famine!"
"Maa, it's called 'professionalism'," Ananya groaned, though she immediately reached for a kachori.
"Professionalism is fine, but parathas are better," Raghunath laughed, sitting next to his son. "Ashu, Vivek-mama is ready with the lawsuits. Girdharilal's associates are already being served for the 'Product Purity' violations in the spice trade. We're hitting them where it hurts—their bank accounts. They won't have the liquidity to block our Diwali release by the time we're done with them."
Ashutosh took a bite of the spicy snack, the taste of home grounding his soaring ambitions. He looked at his family—his father's tactical support, his grandfather's wisdom, his sister's creative fire, and his mother's unconditional care. This was the true engine of Trinity.
"We start the Punjab schedule in October," Ashutosh said, "Then Switzerland in January. By the time we hit the editing table in June 1993, the industry won't just be watching us. They'll be trying to figure out how they ever survived without us."
He looked at the calendar on the wall. Diwali 1993 was circled in red. It wasn't just a release date; it was the date the world would meet Raj and Simran, and the date the Pathaks would officially claim their throne.
"One year," Ashutosh whispered. "One year to change everything."