This is how you write a character

Sasuraal Genda Phool Season 1 (01 March 2010 – 21 April 2012) delivered in two years what Anupama hasn’t managed since its first episode aired on 13 July 2020 — dignity, coherence, emotional intelligence, and a female lead who actually grew instead of becoming a national-level “sufferer” mascot.

SGP began with a girl carrying two deep emotional wounds — Suhana Bajpai, a child who watched her mother Vidisha lose her battle to cancer, and a young woman whose heart was smashed by Sid, the very man she trusted. But Suhana wasn’t ITV’s usual dukh-ki-murti. She was fire wrapped around broken glass — impulsive, stubborn, loud, and fiercely guarded. A wounded spirit who hid her pain behind anger and sarcasm. She wasn’t begging for sympathy; she was begging the world to stay away.

Out of that pain came a reckless decision: she told her father, Kamal Kishore Bajpai, to choose any groom because she no longer cared. Destiny, tired of her self-destruction, crashed Ishaan Kashyap and KK Bajpai together in an accident — the universe’s way of choosing a family before choosing a husband. KK saw in the Kashyaps what Suhana had been starved of all her life — warmth, affection, togetherness, and the kind of emotional safety her cold, lonely upbringing had denied her. He realised this was the family his daughter needed — not because they were flawless, but because they had the kind of love that could heal wounds no medicine could reach.

Suhana didn’t enter Kashyap House as a mahaan devi or sanskaari bahu. She entered as a confused, hurting young woman who didn’t understand marriage, responsibility, boundaries, or emotional intimacy. Her marriage to Ishaan meant nothing initially; he was just a stranger she was forced into life with. But then came the turning point Indian TV rarely dares to write anymore — she found a mother in Shailaja Kashyap, her Badi Maa. Their bond wasn’t coated in syrupy melodrama. It was slow, tender healing. When Suhana told Badi Maa, “Aap sach mein meri maa hain. Agar main aapse nahi milti, mujhe pata hi nahi hota ki maa kaise hoti hain,” it wasn’t a line written for TRPs. It was the truth of a girl who had finally found the love she lost in childhood.

With Badi Maa, she softened without losing her fire. With Ishaan, she matured without losing her identity. And when the Sonali track forced her to confront her fears, Suhana didn’t collapse — she grew. Her “I love you, Ishaan” wasn’t born out of insecurity or blackmail; it was born out of clarity, growth, and a soul finally ready to trust again. That is what real character development looks like — scars turning into strength, personality evolving without being erased.

And then… on the opposite spectrum of the universe… there is Anupama.

The most overhyped “Women Empowerment” show that turned into a long-running documentary titled How To Ruin a Female Lead in 1000 Episodes. What started as a story of liberation became a marathon of humiliation. Anupama’s “naya safar” became a punchline the day every single one of her flights crash-landed at her favourite destination — Shah House, Ahmedabad’s No. 1 Toxic Tourism Spot.

Instead of breaking free after marrying Anuj, she made the Shahs her daily homework. No matter how brutally they insulted her, she marched back with tiffins, tears, lectures, and a talent for self-sacrifice that would put mythological characters to shame. The woman meant to inspire millions couldn’t inspire herself to stay away from her abusers for even two days.

And the biggest joke? Her own mother, Kanta — the only constant support in her life — got sidelined like an unnecessary extra, while Anupama continued worshipping the same household that drained her mental, emotional, and spiritual peace.

Then came the jail arcs — textbook examples of character assassination. Toshu steals a necklace and hides it in her bag? She goes to jail. A unit falls sick from food she didn’t even cook? Jail again. At this point, half the audience joked that if anyone sneezed loudly in Gujarat, Anupama would be arrested for creating a dust storm. She wasn’t a protagonist anymore — she was a plot dumping ground, a woman punished endlessly without learning, growing, evolving, or protecting herself.

Suhana’s journey was healing.
Anupama’s journey became humiliation.

Suhana learnt boundaries.
Anupama forgot boundaries are even a concept.

Suhana found her mother in Badi Maa and treasured her.
Anupama abandoned her own mother for the sake of the Shahs’ daily tamasha.

Suhana confessed love with dignity.
Anupama confessed nothing but stress, trauma, and guilt.

Suhana was written with empathy and growth.
Anupama was written with chaos, contradictions, and character decay.

If Indian TV ever needed a masterclass in writing versus ruining a woman, the comparison is right here:

Suhana Kashyap is what happens when writers respect their female lead.
Anupama is what happens when writers sacrifice her for TRPs.