Mahesh Tilekar Slams Commercialisation Of Devotion

A baby’s naming ceremony should not become a stage show for someone dressed as a saint.

That, in plain words, is the line filmmaker Mahesh Tilekar has drawn in a fresh debate around faith, performance, and money. Tilekar said people have every right to worship Swami Samarth, but turning devotion into a business troubles him.

His comments hit a familiar Indian nerve. Faith is private for millions, but it is also a large public economy now. Temples, events, videos, costumes, paid darshans, devotional shows, and social media clips all sit inside one fast-growing market.

Tilekar objects to faith commerce

Tilekar, known for speaking bluntly, said he often sees videos where people dress as Swami Samarth. In one such kind of video, he said, a performer appears at a child’s naming ceremony.

He said the sight made him feel pity, not reverence. His point was not against devotion. His anger was aimed at people using devotion to earn attention and money.

“Keep God in God’s place,” Tilekar said in an interview with Cosmostar Media. He argued that such acts pull the divine into ordinary human performance.

That distinction matters in India. We are comfortable with religious art, cinema, bhajans, and public festivals. But many people still expect a certain dignity around saints and gods.

Tilekar gave a clear example. He said Sudhir Dalvi playing Sai Baba in a film is one thing. But someone dressing like a saint and roaming around for money feels wrong to him.

The business behind devotion

This is where the story moves beyond one filmmaker’s opinion. India’s devotional economy is no small corner market. It supports priests, flower sellers, event organisers, caterers, transport operators, hotels, creators, and local shops.

That economy is not automatically wrong. A pilgrimage town survives because devotees spend money there. A small food stall near a temple may feed an entire family.

The problem starts when reverence becomes a sales pitch. Costume-led performances, viral clips, and paid appearances can blur the line between faith and theatre.

Social media has made this easier. A strange gesture, a dramatic costume, or a child in a ceremony can travel far online. More views can mean more bookings, and more bookings can mean more money.

For families, this can create pressure too. A simple home ritual may suddenly look incomplete without a dramatic religious add-on. What began as faith can become social display.

That is why Tilekar’s criticism lands sharply. He is not attacking worship. He is asking who benefits when worship becomes content.

Akkalkot visit shaped his view

Tilekar also spoke about his own experience in Akkalkot, a major centre of Swami Samarth devotion. He said organisers there once wanted his “Marathi Taraka” show to be staged in the town.

He was hesitant because the show includes dance. In a deeply devotional setting, he felt the performance needed care and restraint.

After repeated requests, he agreed to do the show. But he said he chose songs that suited the place and mood. The artists stayed at the bhakta niwas, and they ate at the local annachhatra.

That detail is important. Tilekar is not saying art cannot enter a religious space. He is saying the artist must understand where they are standing.

A temple town is not just another venue. For devotees, it carries memory, belief, grief, hope, and family tradition. A careless performance can feel like disrespect, even if the crowd gathers.

Tilekar said he felt satisfied that his show happened at Swami’s doorstep. But his account also shows the balance he wants, art with humility, not spectacle for cash.

Why this debate keeps returning

India has seen this pattern many times. A film, a stage act, a godman, a viral video, or a festival practice can suddenly raise the same question. Where does devotion end, and commerce begin?

The answer is rarely simple. Religious performance has existed for centuries. Kirtans, plays, processions, and devotional cinema have shaped public faith across India.

But today’s market works differently. Attention itself has value. A clip can earn followers. Followers can bring invitations. Invitations can become income.

That creates a new temptation. The more dramatic the act, the more likely people watch it. The quieter forms of devotion often lose to louder performances.

For ordinary devotees, the risk is confusion. They may struggle to separate sincere religious expression from a paid act designed to impress them.

For small religious towns, the risk is different. A rush of commercial activity can bring income, but it can also cheapen the very faith that draws people there.

Tilekar’s comments also place responsibility on performers. If an artist uses a saint’s image, costume, or manner, the burden of respect sits with that artist.

This is not about banning art. It is about honesty. Are you performing as an artist, or are you asking people to treat you as holy?

That question matters more than the costume. Once a performer invites devotion towards themselves, the space becomes ethically messy.

Tilekar has directed films such as “Ladi Godi,” “One Room Kitchen,” “Aadhar,” and “Hawahawai.” His career sits inside entertainment, so his criticism carries an insider’s sting.

He knows performance has power. He also knows performance can manipulate emotion. That is exactly why his objection feels pointed.

For many Indian families, faith remains one of the few spaces untouched by market logic. When even that starts to look like a package deal, people notice.

The larger lesson is simple. Devotion can support livelihoods without becoming a circus. Artists can honour belief without pretending to be divine. And families can celebrate rituals without turning every sacred moment into content. The next fight over faith and commerce will surely come soon, but Tilekar has put one useful question on the table: are we worshipping, or are we buying a performance?