'Main Heroine Hoon': 25 Years Of Kareena Kapoor Khan

What separates an actor from a star—and a star from a superstar? When I close my eyes and think of Kareena, it’s always Mahi Arora—center stage in “Main Heroine Hoon” (Heroine, 2012), wrapped in a black saree, orbited by paparazzi, and declaring with every turn, “Har dil mein basti hoon, main heroine hoon.” Perhaps, for someone else, she lives in “Yeh Mera Dil” (Don, 2006) or in the windswept abandon of “Yeh Ishq Haaye” (Jab We Met, 2007). We all carry our own Kareena montage and in that multiplicity lies her superstardom.

They say an actor is made, but a star is born. Yet Kareena Kapoor evades moulds, resists definition—being many things at once, but never just one. In an industry that sorted women into rigid boxes: A-list leads, B-list fillers, or item girls, her presence demanded something different—a rare mix of self-possession and distance from the need to be defined. If there’s one opinion that’s common across the political spectrum, it’s that item numbers are degrading towards women. At a time when item numbers were seen as a stepping stone to visibility and stardom, Kareena was already an established actor trying to expand her range. Many item songs do tend to flatten actresses into spectacle and are often criticised for objectification. That holds true even in Kareena’s case, but she’s never been interested in labelling them as empowering or disempowering. To view performance solely through that binary is to also limit the range item songs occupy. Though objectification remains a certain reality of the genre, to assume the gaze is solely male is reductive. As Sue-Ellen Case notes in Performing Lesbian In The Space of Technology (1995), “Not all men are gazing erotically at women, some women are gazing erotically at women.” While most leading actresses sidestepped the item number space, Kareena walked into it with the now-iconic hits like It’s Rocking (2007), Dil Mera Muft Ka (2012), Bebo Main Bebo (2009) and Fevicol Se (2012) on her own terms. Despite certain item songs in her career conforming to the hegemonic gaze, Kareena also attempted to hold space for presence and personality with songs like Chammak Challo (2011) or Chhaliya (2008). Her performances here don’t surrender to the gaze but actively manoeuvre it.

Long before the label found her, she was already a “Star Actor”. Opting for a performance-heavy debut in J.P. Dutta’s Refugee (2000) over something glossier and commercial, she won the Filmfare Award for ‘Best Female Debut’ opposite Abhishek Bachchan. From the iconic Poo in Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (2001) to Geet in Jab We Met (2007) and the mysterious apparition in Talaash (2012), Kareena moved through characters like a chameleon—unapologetic, definitive, and always one step ahead of the curve. While her lineage as a Kapoor came with its privileges, Kareena’s craft disrupts the nepotism narrative by transcending expectation. Even as she had mentors and resources at hand, she never underwent formal training, relying instead on her gut instinct.

Kapoor inhabits roles even when the script falls short. In Chameli (2004), she plays a street-smart sex worker who is deeply empathetic, fun-loving yet grappling with many complex issues in her life. The song Bhaage Re Mann from the film captures this very persona artfully. Though a commercial flop, Asoka (2001) left a lasting impression with Kareena’s portrayal of Princess Kaurwaki. It was as much a physically demanding performance as an emotionally demanding one. Omkara (2006) too, wasn’t a blockbuster but Kareena’s performance as Dolly was praised for her restraint and vulnerability. In Udta Punjab (2016), she plays Dr. Preet Sahni, working at a rehabilitation centre in Punjab— becoming a compassionate and moral anchor of the film. While her other films like Tashan (2008) and Kurbaan (2009) earned critical praise for their music and cinematography, they tested mainstream appeal with their storytelling and subject matters. Though, one can’t possibly claim she has never conformed to one-dimensional and caricaturish roles as well. In Main Prem Ki Deewani Hoon (2003), she played Sanjana who is extremely loud and over-the-top— inviting loads of ridicule directed at her. Kambakkht Ishq (2009), though musically memorable, offered her little beyond the posture of a supermodel-surgeon locked in constant banter with the male lead. In later films like Gori Tere Pyaar Mein (2013), she played Dia Sharma, a social worker, yet it felt a very shallow and performative character.

From publicly discussing her relationship with Saif Ali Khan before marriage, to her appearance on talk shows where she made candid, sometimes sarcastic comments about fellow actors and industry politics—Kapoor has been at the centre of a wide range of media speculation and controversy. Through all this, she remains both an open book and a mystery. Perhaps this paradox stems from guarding any semblance of privacy within the glare of stardom, yet Kareena lives her own words from Chhaliya: “Chhal ki pehli chaal hoon, main suljha uljha jaal hoon.” The film industry is steeped in glamour, gossip, and scandal—one can easily picture her, draped in red, navigating Bollywood as she did in the flashy and eerie music video of Muskaanein Jhoothi Hain from Talaash (2012).

But beyond that, balancing both art cinema and mainstream, Kareena’s wit and humour stand out. As Daboo in Golmaal 3 (2010), she is a rare woman commanding space in a male-dominated slapstick comedy, fully owning her scenes. As the slightly wild, endearing Geet in Jab We Met (2007), she hilariously urges Aditya (Shahid Kapoor) to let go of his ex-girlfriend’s memories by flushing away her photograph. Although my favorite “comedy” starring Kareena remains the serious-intent Aitraaz (2004), which has been an origin for many memes, wherein she’s quarrelling with Mrs. Sonia (Priyanka Chopra). Kareena’s occasional dry humour adds substance and fun to the film.

Kareena has fronted multiple ₹100 crore films, against the grain of the male-star driven blockbusters—3 Idiots (2009), Golmaal 3 (2010), Bodyguard (2011), Singham Returns (2014)—well before the benchmark became a badge. She remained central in narratives crowded by men. Some of that defiance perhaps traces back to her Kapoor lineage—where women were once infamously steered away from the screen even as the men built empires on it. She and Karisma Kapoor were among the firsts in the 2000s to step into stardom from the Kapoor family, carrying voices entirely their own. Speaking of voices, very few actresses possess a voice as instantly recognisable off-screen as Kareena’s—she voices her own ads and endorsements and also had her own show What Women Want that aired on radio stations across multiple cities. During my childhood days, I always seemed to have associated her onscreen voice with singer Alisha Chinai’s, who crafted the stylised, breezy early-Y2K Kareena in songs like It’s Rocking (Kya Love Story Hai, 2007) and Bebo Main Bebo (Kambakkht Ishq, 2009).

Kareena’s career unfolds in distinct phases: teen idol, glamorous heroine, serious actor, mainstream lead, ensemble player, and mother figure—without ever retreating from the spotlight or relying on a “comeback.” More than that, her journey is a witness to a woman who’s grown over the years. Her size-zero phenomenon, now etched into pop culture—triggered debates around body image and eating disorders, marking her early years as distinctly conformist. In fact, in an interview in 2012, Kareena called it “every girl’s dream” to be thin and that everyone saying otherwise is spewing nonsense. It was a phase scripted by the industry and sold to the audience, but Kareena never regretted it. In a recent interview alongside Vicky Kaushal, she revisited the Tashan (2008) controversy and stated that she never starved herself : “I lost weight the right way. I'm a Kapoor with a Punjabi build. I can't live without wholesome food.” During the Veere Di Wedding music launch in 2018, she also claimed to believe in equality but wouldn’t necessarily call herself a feminist. Though, subsequently in a 2020 interview, she seemed to have corrected herself by clarifying her stance: “Feminism is not about man-bashing, it’s about equal opportunity and choice.” The arc of growth—both personal and professional—felt strikingly lived-in as Kareena grew into an someone who carried her maternity bump and post-pregnancy body in couture with unapologetic ease. Revisiting the past while holding firm to core beliefs reflects a more considered stance. It reflects a shift from bluntness to a more nuanced and image-conscious tone—though she remains as breezy and unbothered as ever.

What sets her apart isn’t just the trajectory of her career, but the rare ease with which she does what only she can—witty, self-assured, and dangerously effortless. In recent years, post-motherhood, she has embraced vibrant roles in films like Laal Singh Chaddha (2022) and Jaane Jaan (2023), which also happened to be her OTT debut. With The Buckingham Murders (2024), Kareena Kapoor Khan stepped confidently into the producer-actor arena as well, marking a deliberate shift toward women-led thrillers. Simultaneously, her forthcoming South Indian debut and involvement in franchise-heavy projects underscore a clear intent to transcend traditional Bollywood confines and embrace a pan-Indian identity. As Kareena moves forward, she carries neither the burden to prove nor conform, but the freedom to select roles that are layered, complex, and reflective of a more mature cinematic landscape—one where female-led narratives are finally gaining momentum. As a scion of legacy, a woman of her era, and an artist in constant evolution, she shows that longevity arises not from chasing relevance but from remaining unforgettable.