Belonging to Art- Bunt Artists and the Weight of Quiet Influence

In the often volatile world of film, art, and public scrutiny, Bunt artists don’t dazzle through noise or theatrics. They stand apart in the quiet certainty with which they carry themselves. They don’t chase fame as if it’s oxygen. Their bearing is different—anchored. Their boldness isn’t reactionary; it’s inherited, etched into their spine across generations.

My grandfather's brother was a renowned art director in old Bollywood films. My grandmother's maternal uncle knew MB Shetty when he was known as Fighter Shetty, and before he became a stuntman, he was famously known amongst Bunt hoteliers in Bombay. But when I was growing up, I didn’t know Fighter Shetty or my grandfather’s brother. I don’t think I ever met him, given how far he lived, and those who entered Bollywood or any other industry at the time adapted completely into it—or that is what I was told.

I grew up knowing Aishwarya Rai was a Bunt and that she was the most beautiful woman that walked the earth. When she appeared in Pink Panther 2, I harped about it to a few close friends, proudly noting that she was a Bunt, too. She confused me with her endorsements—I felt I had to show her some loyalty in the brands I consumed. She not only endorsed Coca-Cola but also Pepsi. Then there was Shilpa Shetty, whose name rhymed with my own. When she gained global fame on Big Brother after the Jade Goody incident, it felt like the Bunts were again seen on a world stage. Then there was Suniel Shetty, whose clothing store my father would point out in Mangalore, saying, "Do you remember that actor you watched on screen? He owns that store."

These three opened doorways for Bunts, who were otherwise snobbish about the arts. They preferred intellectual professions, money-making businesses, or hotels. They weren’t for actors who struggled. But today, there isn’t a film industry that isn’t filled with Bunts—from Rishab Shetty, Rakshit Shetty, Anushka Shetty, and Pooja Hegde in the forefront to the likes of Raj B. Shetty, who wears many hats while making a film. The Bunts are present across every film industry. But are they in Hollywood? Check the credits for New Girl and SWAT and I shall await your report. Are they on TikTok? Look up Rhea Shetty, Isha Punja, Rahul Rai, and Shashank Shetty—you’ll see Bunts all over. Rhea Shetty and Rahul Rai even publicly acknowledge their roots and do so with pride.

When the first wave of actors entered Bollywood, the community became Bombayfied, and the phrase "Tulu sari barpuji"—"I don't speak Tulu well"—started floating around. That same wave flaunted voddungilas in L'Oréal ads and gave jewellers more voddungila orders. The voddungila, the V-shaped band Aishwarya Rai wears, adorned with diamonds on her ring finger, is a never-ending band gifted by a girl's maternal family when she marries. Though its appearance in celebrity ads and wedding photos may suggest opulence, the practice itself is deeply cultural, symbolising the enduring connection to a woman's maternal lineage.

Today, while the tradition is upheld by many, particularly in more traditional households, others may opt for modern alternatives or simplified versions—though the symbolic weight often remains intact. It symbolizes her unbroken bond with her mother’s house. Oral history says the voddungila was originally carved from a single brick of gold with no soldered edges, representing that there is no beginning or end to that relationship.

Now, the new wave of Bunt artists in the Kannada, Telugu, Tamil, and Malayalam industries proudly claim Tulunadu and speak Tulu or the Kannada dialect of Kundapur Bunts. Rishab Shetty's Kantara triggered a resurgence among these Bunt actors, many of whom saw one man proudly owning his heritage and began to explore their own roots. His film had a larger impact on Bunts, who once shrugged when asked about their customs—as if they were embarrassed. But this isn’t their fault. Colonization and immigration required adaptation. Somewhere along the way, roots were forgotten.

When Portugal, Spain, the Netherlands, and England colonized parts of India, they brought Catholic and Evangelical views, often labeling native customs as demonic or primitive. While Bunts worshipped nagas (cobras) and believed they protected the land, England dubbed India the land of snake charmers. Though not heavily colonized by the British, the cultural impact was deep and lasting in Tulunadu.

Even within India, the Bunt community is different—not just for being matriarchal and matrilineal but also for religious diversity. They practiced Shaivism, Vaishnavism, and Jainism. The region between Dharmasthala, Belthangady, and Venoor is still Jain-dominant. Despite religious shifts, daiva (spirit) worship remained constant. Daivas and Bhutas are balance-keepers—troubling when wronged and blessing when revered. Their worship through Bhuta Kola is sacred.

Rishab Shetty’s film made many realize that the community’s practices should be respected. Its global streaming deal made Kantara accessible worldwide, attracting viewers curious about Bhuta Kola, some of whom began treating it like a spectacle rather than a sacred ritual.

While personal emotions may be stirred seeing Bunt names in film credits, what fascinates me more is the behavioural traits of Bunt actors. They are still Bunt at their core—reeking of intelligence and grace. As I’ve written before, Tulu is not a romantic language; it is an evolved language for business. These actors and actresses are case studies in stability in an unstable industry.

From a behavioural economics lens, they are fascinating illustrations of rational adaptation in uncertain environments. For instance, many Bunt artists recognise the volatility of fame and respond not by chasing every opportunity but by diversifying their efforts—investing in real estate, wellness ventures, or educational initiatives. This behaviour reflects what behavioural economists call 'bounded rationality': making sensible decisions within the limits of available information and emotional constraints. In this context, rational adaptation means tailoring one’s career strategy to mitigate risk and optimise stability rather than blindly pursuing stardom or clinging to a singular identity. Rather than betting on transient fame, many Bunt artists hedge their risks with parallel investments—real estate, restaurants, fitness ventures—strategies more commonly associated with long-game thinking. They understand the sunk-cost fallacy and don’t cling to relevance when better options present themselves. They adapt markets, maintain personal brands, and balance risk and identity.

Sociologically, they occupy liminal spaces. Their identity as Bunt, artist, Indian, global—often layered and contradictory—allows for interesting negotiations. Their matrilineal roots often manifest in intergenerational women-led households where mothers and daughters co-strategise careers. Their career paths reflect a community transitioning from caste-based feudal landlords to public figures navigating digital capital.

Shilpa Shetty may not book films as frequently now, but she judges TV shows, co-owns a high-end restaurant chain, and was associated for the longest time with a major IPL cricket team. Suniel Shetty, though less active in cinema recently, has built a thriving business empire, leveraging the name he made in films like Hera Pheri, Border, and so many more. He now radiates wealth and confidence—even in a mundu at his daughter’s wedding, he looks like a million bucks. It is often said of him: he doesn’t walk into a room—he arrives with the scent of wealth trailing behind, possibly with a protein bar in one pocket and a business pitch in the other.

Aishwarya Rai, too, has ensured stable brand partnerships with Longines and L’Oréal, lasting decades. Like hoteliers, these actors believe in long-term relationships.

Their work ethic is widely admired—they are punctual, respectful, and hardworking. But these artists reveal something hoteliers often don’t: a chameleon-like adaptation, fluent across languages and regions. Where hoteliers tend to replicate success through systems and legacy, these artists shapeshift for survival—seamlessly performing in unfamiliar tongues, embodying unfamiliar customs, and yet carving unmistakably familiar marks of their Bunt identity in every role they play. Many Bunt actors perform in multiple languages far from their mother tongue, yet they thrive. They adapt to the culture and industry needed to succeed.

And they don’t hide their beliefs. They live visibly devout lives. Shilpa Shetty and Aishwarya Rai are devoted mothers. In Bunt culture, children belong to the maternal family. These women are matriarchal in practice, close to their mothers, and proud of it.

Shamitha Shetty, Shilpa’s sister, is industrious even outside of film. They are daughters of an industrialist who likely never wished for sons—because in Bunt culture, daughters are leaders too.

Even when controversies strike, Bunt actresses handle themselves with grace—from tax raids to Richard Gere’s infamous kiss. In southern cinema, there are more Bunt women than men, though the men are present too. They possess a unique, confident swagger—prepared to create their own paths if needed.

Rahul Rai’s sketches of dating faux pas and immigrant family dynamics may seem breezy, but beneath each clip lies an act of translation—of Bunt humour, immigrant identity, and masculine vulnerability, reframed for a global audience. It’s not simply comedy; it’s a calibrated performance of charm and context. In one frame, he’s a lovable son navigating his mother’s expectations; in another, he’s the fumbling date—a modern Bunt man who listens. His popularity isn’t just virality—it’s trust, built one punchline at a time.

Rhea Shetty, a medical student who creates content on the side, with her effortless shifts from satire to sentiment, Tulu to TikTok, carries an elasticity that feels ancestral. Her rants about her mother, while adding that she affectionately calls her maga (pronounced mugg-ah), a term of endearment that most Tulu-speaking Bunts use, signals that she is still rooted and unwavering in her pride. From talking about photography, travel, and also about the MCAT's, and now just about being in medical school — she's found her niche in just being herself.

These creators don’t simply produce content; they construct cultural capital, setting the terms for taste and trust. They move through attention economies with the precision of seasoned economists—calculating value, not flaunting it.

From a dataset of 391 known Bunt artists—directors, writers, actors, influencers, models, and more—many stand out. Sculptor Sudarshan Shetty was a first in several global art circles. Aishwarya Rai topped many lists, too. Local legends like writer Kayyar Kinyana Rai or actors like Anushka Shetty, tall and stunning, show the range.

Pooja Hegde moves between cinema industries with a kind of seamlessness that reframes stardom as mobility rather than fame. Her success is often tethered to a discipline that is visible in how she carries herself—never too distant, never too available.

Priyanka Shetty’s one-woman shows, written and performed in the US, do the heavy lifting of emotional and cultural labour. Her stage is confession, memory, and confrontation.

Models like Sini Shetty, Nayonikaa Shetty, and Prathvi Alva (another medical student) walk with generational boldness. They’re intelligent, not just beautiful. Their presence in fashion is artistic, not vain. For those who don’t understand that modelling is art— read a book. They are not just wearing Dior but crave to be a part of a larger artistic discourse.

Bunt culture has long been rooted in art: Yakshagana, Pili Vesha, Taala Maddale, and even martial arts like Kalaripayattu. Bhuta Kola itself is art—a ritual performance deeply embedded in Tulunadu's spiritual fabric. It involves elaborate costumes, face painting, traditional music using drums like the chende and thaala, and trance-like states in which the performer channels the spirit or daiva. The performer often dances with heightened intensity, is believed to be possessed by the spirit, and delivers oracles or blessings to the community. Vesha is the art of costume. Theatre, music, and oral storytelling (paddhanas) were integral. Artists like Leeladhar Shetty championed theatre. Yakshagana predated Karnataka Tourism’s endorsement. This generational boldness comes from legacy. Actor Raghuram Shetty, now in America, promotes Yakshagana globally.

Many Bunt artists come from generational financial security, allowing creative freedom. Others become primary earners through cinema. But all of them—whether thriving or struggling—show industry in art. And they remain grounded. The Bunterna Gatth—a Bunt’s grace—persists.

Parents are often both proud and anxious about their daughters' careers in film. Society speaks in tones: "She's doing something in film" (neutral), "Did you know she's in film?" (gossip), "She's in film" (disapproval), and finally, "She's in film! Like Aishwarya Rai!" (pride). An artist may cycle through all these tones in their journey.

The Bunt commitment to glamour is real—even if their careers slow, they continue to dress for the part.

The facade is part of the package. Shefali Shah is an exception—she radiates elegance without excess. But glamour is often a lifelong companion. And it has a price. Some go into debt to maintain an image—lavish appearances, curated lifestyles, keeping up with co-stars and societal expectations. It’s a behavioural trap driven by signalling theory: to be seen as successful, you must look the part. The cost? Emotional fatigue, financial precarity, and sometimes, a disconnection from one's own community.

Still, the confidence is unmatched.

They do not merely create businesses—they become markets, turning their personal brand into a public good. Their names become shorthand for credibility and aspiration. When a Bunt artist endorses a new label or collaborates on a creative project, it doesn’t just lift their own image—it triggers a ripple across industries. These figures don’t only chase individual success; they catalyse ecosystems. In this sense, they are both market-makers and stabilisers—channelling fame into commerce, trust into trend, and visibility into viability. Their names are currency. Early in their careers, they endorse generously and strategically, knowing that visibility compounds into opportunity. They stabilise chaos. They turn attention into enterprise, sometimes their own, often for others.

The Bunt artists of today are not anomalies. They are part of a cultural continuum. Their grace, grit, and grounded nature echo their history. Whether on a ramp, a film set, or a Bhuta Kola stage— they belong.

This is not merely about fame or beauty. It’s about bearing—how a people carry forward legacy not through spectacle but through steadiness. In the calibrated poise of a model, the linguistic agility of a multilingual actor, the spiritual intuition of a filmmaker, or the unspoken authority of a hotelier-turned-star, Bunt artists reveal a truth rarely articulated but deeply felt: that greatness need not be loud to be legendary.

They stride between centuries and industries with the quiet certainty of those who have always belonged, even when the world only just noticed. Like the early flicker of a diya in a darkened temple hall, their influence glowed in ways that weren’t always seen—but were deeply felt. Before the spotlight, there were whispers of talent in school plays, grace in wedding processions, and charisma at local pageants. Each moment was unnoticed by the masses but imprinted on memory, forming the foundation of what would become a wider cultural presence.

The journey of Bunt artists offers a fascinating peek into the complex dance between tradition and modernity. It’s like trying to wear a saree while mastering TikTok—balancing grace with the need for reinvention. Sociologically, these artists show us how identity is never static but instead a fluid blend of cultural heritage and contemporary fame. They move through multiple layers of self, navigating a world where their roots may be ancient, but their stage is global. From a behavioural economics perspective, they’ve mastered the art of “rational adaptation”—thinking long-term, diversifying investments, and knowing when to step away from the spotlight, all while staying grounded. Their careers are a balancing act of taking calculated risks while remaining true to themselves, as if they’re playing chess on a world stage, but with the occasional TikTok dance thrown in for good measure. Ultimately, they remind us that even in a world of glitz and glamour, staying true to your roots—and occasionally laughing at yourself—can be the key to success.

Disclaimer: Like every study, this also has its exceptions. This study tried to analyse whether the institutions these artists came from affected their public personas. The generational boldness refers to Bunt women who were more secure in pursuing professions in industries that were uncharted territories because of some lingering effects of matriarchal and matrilineal support.

Disclaimer 2: I found no significant differences between actors that come from bunt families and non-bunt families other than they were more confident, less willing to be manipulated, had more agency, more family support, and moreover they didn't chase fame like it was oxygen. The other difference is that they made an industry or created a market based on their fame, but again, this data was not significant as of 2024 but was significant three decades ago.

Disclaimer 3: I saw more pride in the proclamation of familial roots from influencers than from cinema actors.

Disclaimer 4: This study was a part of a larger collection of essays of Bunts in different fields and industries. Matriarchy and Matrilineal effects have been studied at a broader perspective.

Disclaimer 5: This piece of work analysed only publicly available qualitative information. It has several limitations. For instance, some information of whether the artists were from Bunt families was anecdotal evidence. Some artists hailed from bunt parentage on just one side of the family and were still considered.

P.S. (1) Rhea Shetty on TikTok is just my internal monologue. (2) Anirudh Alva, a tabla player, is a must-listen! (3) Aishani Shetty, in my brain, is the people's princess - I loved Enna Ooru. (4) Neha Shetty is the best choreographer I have ever seen, even though she is more of an actress now. (5)Santoshi Shetty keeps me delulu thinking I will one day be as peaceful as her. (6) Athiya Shetty is ethereal, elegant, and even those who helped me with the study are now addicted to her gram. (7) Gayathri Shetty, a professional dancer is another person you must take a class with. (8) Rishabh Shetty, I want to watch Kantara 2 already. (9) Indira Hegde, is a must read author. (10) Shrima Rai, you’ve influenced me to buy a few things.

P.P.S. Any up and coming artists you know of ? Let me know. Thanks.