Every time we casually say Bollywood, Tollywood, Sandalwood or Pollywood, we unknowingly accept a hierarchy we never consciously agreed to. A hierarchy where one cinema becomes the original—and the rest become variations. The irony becomes sharper when one looks at how Hollywood itself was born. The iconic HOLLYWOOD sign, today treated as a sacred symbol of global cinema, had nothing to do with filmmaking when it first appeared. In 1923, the sign was erected purely as an advertisement for a real-estate project. It originally read HOLLYWOODLAND, placed on Mount Lee in the Santa Monica Mountains to promote a housing development. The name Hollywood was conceived by real-estate developer H. J. Whitley, not by a filmmaker, studio, or cultural movement. It was only in 1949—decades later—that the sign was shortened to simply HOLLYWOOD, by which time the film industry had already clustered around the area.
In other words, what the world now treats as the gold standard of cinema began as a property marketing exercise. And yet, that accidental name went on to become a global benchmark—so powerful that industries across continents began attaching its suffix to their own identities. India followed suit.
Hindi cinema became Bollywood. Tamil cinema found itself labeled Kollywood. Telugu cinema became Tollywood. Over time, even fiercely regional industries—with their own languages, cultures, aesthetics, and histories—were packaged using the same borrowed ending. This wasn’t geography turning into identity, as it was in Hollywood. This was imitation turning into habit.
For years, the defence was convenience. The “wood” suffix helped foreign journalists, festival curators, and global audiences quickly place Indian films within a familiar mental framework. It worked as a shortcut—an introduction. But shortcuts are meant to be temporary.
India today produces the largest number of films in the world. It tells stories in more than twenty languages. Its cinematic traditions draw from ancient epics, folk theatre, literature, and lived social realities that predate cinema itself. And yet, we continue to describe this vast, plural ecosystem through the linguistic shadow of an American suburb named by a real-estate developer. No other major film culture does this.
French cinema doesn’t need “Pariswood” to feel global. Iranian cinema doesn’t borrow Western labels to assert seriousness. Korean cinema didn’t require a suffix to conquer the world—it arrived on its own terms, confident in its voice.
The continued use of “Bollywood” and its cousins does something subtle but damaging. It keeps Hollywood as the reference point. Budgets are compared against Hollywood. Scale is measured in Hollywood terms. Success is validated by proximity to Hollywood standards rather than by cultural depth or originality.
Calling it Indian cinema is not a rejection of the global—it is an assertion of self.
It acknowledges linguistic diversity without reducing it to gimmicks. It places our films within their own civilisational and cultural context. It invites the world to engage with Indian storytelling as itself, not as an offshoot or echo.
Interestingly, this transition has already begun. Serious film criticism, academic writing, international festivals, and even global streaming platforms increasingly refer to Indian cinema, Hindi cinema, Tamil cinema, Malayalam cinema. The “wood” labels survive mostly in trade gossip, marketing copy, and legacy habit.
In a recent development an event took place about Indian National Cine Academy (INCA), a newly formed body aims to bridge the gap between Bollywood and South film industry. The Indian National Cine Academy (INCA) is an umbrella film body which aims to unite 12 regional film industries, including Bollywood and the four South Indian film industries and aims to profess the use of borrowed name like bollywood, tollywood, etc. and call itself a united ‘Indian Film Industry’
Which leaves us with a simple, uncomfortable question. If Hollywood itself was born out of a real-estate billboard, why are we still living in its shadow?
Perhaps the strongest statement Indian cinema can make today isn’t through bigger box office numbers or global crossovers—but through something far quieter and far more confident:
Calling itself by its own name.