Saiyaara Villain Actor Shaan Groverr First Interview After Movie Success

It was a remarkable evening, one that seemed to defy expectation. Shaan Grover sat across from me, his quiet energy brimming with the afterglow of success, the way one feels after crossing an invisible finish line. Just days ago, Sayara had shattered the ₹100 crore mark at the box office. Within a mere four days of its release, the film vaulted into blockbuster territory, propelled by both audience admiration and an emotional wave strong enough to prompt spontaneous tears in theaters across India. Shaan, on the brink of his Hindi film debut, had unexpectedly scaled cinematic heights—and he seemed both joyful and awed.

“I honestly didn’t anticipate this kind of reception,” he confessed. “I’ve chased this dream for years. I love cinema—maybe more than anything else. It’s my first real Hindi film, after one international project. And now—to see it touch people’s hearts, to see the response…it feels like a win for everyone involved.” His humility was striking, even in the face of a triumphant debut. He spoke of effort, auditions, setbacks, the restlessness of many years spent trying and hoping.

In a long journey through auditions—I estimated around 200 to 300 hopefuls—I heard his recollection of the process. He remembered June 10, when he was finishing a night shoot and got a call that would define the next chapter. “Shanoo Ma’am’s assistant reached out,” he said. If there was ever a moment to call fate, that must’ve been it. “They told me Mohit Suri was at the helm, Ahan Panda was the lead, and this role was crucial—a duality, neither fully good nor bad.” Shaan leaned forward, eyes brightening. “I auditioned. First round, then a second—they liked it. Then a third.”

He hesitated when asked if he purposely brought out a darker side. “They asked me to show some negativity, some grey. But I realized—what I was drawn to was authenticity. So I brought my version, which resonated. They trusted me.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I cried during my second audition—right in the middle of the scene. I was crying like I meant every word I spoke. They said, ‘Yes—that’s it.’”

That honesty, that vulnerability, he believes, reached audiences instantly. He recounted a moment when he arrived at a screening with co-stars Ahan and Anit Panda. He saw people crying, reacting—some stood and cheered, others wept openly. Even some passed out, needing medical attention. “It was surreal,” he said, voice catching. “That’s the last time I felt that deeply moved was during Sanam Teri Kasam, where I was the second assistant director.”

At that screening, he watched their nail-biting reactions from the side. “I was nervous, excited—I didn’t know what to expect.” Yet when the tears flowed and the applause came, he felt it: the film belonged to the audience. They weren’t just watching a performance—they were living it, experiencing it. It was as if the characters had lodged themselves in living hearts.

His character, Mahesh Ayyar—a conflicted soul, at once detached and magnetically troubled—sparked strong reactions. He explained the mix of love and hate flooding his Instagram DMs. “Girls are surprisingly supportive—saying, ‘Don’t worry, we know you’re good.’ Boys are more aggressive, more direct. Some say, ‘Meet me outside,’ in a half-threat, half-compliment way.” He laughed. “They hate you so much because you were so good.”

He credited Mohit Suri for sculpting that performance, for guiding him through understanding emotional triggers as a narrative tool, rather than veering into theatrics. Caressing my voice with warmth and respect, he repeated, “Sir screamed, ‘You are a very good actor, yaar’—that reached my heart.”

He recalled the cast reaction: costume and makeup teams, background actors—they all rallied around him after that moment. They called him in for additional auditions, inspired, believing they too could step outside their comfort zones. “If they can do it, why not me? I was literally in tears.”

Behind the scenes, he credited Shanoo Sharma’s mentorship and the casting heads for giving him a chance when many others had tried. Once he committed, he stayed true to his instincts. “I became the character,” he said softly. “I gazed. I felt. I didn’t overact, I didn’t force it. I let emotion breathe through me.”

He also admitted the gravity of entering his first Hindi film—marrying raw emotion with storytelling in a way that felt genuine. He framed it not as a gamble, but as a relationship between craft and aura—casting Shaan to embody a range of unresolved emotions, the pain of love, regret, and redemption.

At his tenure in the industry, he had watched many actors like Prashant Narayan in Murder 2, or Ashutosh Rana in antagonist roles—they all began dark. And yet still, stunt and screen partners like Sanam Teri Kasam resonated with him. Now, Shaan reflected, destiny had handed him a key. A film that reached ₹100 crores so fast, without heavy promotion, without gimmicks—just raw magnetism and word of mouth.

“How did this strategy come together?” I asked. He considered it thoughtfully. “Maybe the strength lies in letting characters shine through, letting the film speak for itself. Keep the actors, keep the music, keep the moment alive. Don’t hand-hold audiences; invite them into your world.” He spoke of a theory that a film’s release should feel like poetry, not an advertisement. Maybe Sayara had reached that threshold.

He smiled at the memory of certain encouraging theatrical reactions—crying couples, playful cries, angry shouts. “They made reels, they laughed, they cried. That in itself was theatre art, theatre moved, theatre alive.” He admitted that the only comparable echo of emotion he’d witnessed before was years ago, on that earlier project—which he’d worked on as part of the crew. This time, though, he embodied the moment.

I asked him about his journey from cameo roles to this point. He shrugged. “I’m still learning. Still that same person who once walked in thinking I’d crack it then. I’m still hungry, hungry for craft, hungry for opportunity.” It sounded true. It felt like resilience.

“What do you wish for next?” I pressed. He paused. “I’ve written some stories,” he confessed. “I’d love to be a lead in them someday. Whether I play a small part, a big part, a positive or negative role—I’ll be in the films.” Even this plan reflected hunger, humility, love for storytelling.

He shared that he admired filmmakers like Karan Johar and Vishal Bhardwaj. He’d aspire to work with them. Then he circled back to two forthcoming projects—Jagdalpur, a sophomore project where he’s the lead in a musical-supernatural tale. He admitted he’s excited, eager, calm, anxious—busy and restless.

Finally, I asked for his message to fans and newcomers yet to see Sayara. His voice softened. “Thank you so much—for your love. It’s only been three days and this is far from over. Now, a small request: love Shan more than Mahesh. Shan is me under the surface.” He paused before smiling: “And yes… more projects will come. Lots of love and excited to entertain you all in the future.”

I said goodbye. He said thank you. I left feeling as though I had glimpsed the arc of a sacred turning point. A young actor, humble and hungry, surrounded by mentors, falling in love with craft and earnestly grateful for audiences who cried alongside him. This wasn’t just a debut—it felt like a beginning.

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