Jai from ‘Jaane Tu… Ya Jaane Na’: Redefining masculinity for Bollywood
When you think of a Bollywood hero, you probably imagine the alpha male, the angry young man, the muscle-man who takes on hundreds of villains single-handedly. But back in 2008, the character of Jai Singh Rathod in ‘Jaane Tu… Ya Jaane Na’ broke away from that stereotypical macho image to redefine masculinity for Bollywood.
‘Jaane Tu… Ya Jaane Na’ was a refreshing coming-of-age romcom about a group of young adults fresh out of college. Yes, it had the classic best-friends-to-lovers storyline, but it unfolded naturally, through self-realisation, acceptance, and acknowledgement.
Jai, played by Imran Khan, and Aditi, played by Genelia Deshmukh (then Genelia D'Souza), are the film’s central characters. Jai, in what we might now call his “soft boy” era, was the perfect green flag before the term even became part of pop culture.
Jai was non-violent, sensitive, expressive, gentle, kind, and empathetic—everything Bollywood’s traditional male hero was not. In a cinematic landscape obsessed with muscles and bravado, Jai was refreshingly ordinary in the best way possible.
Much of this stems from his upbringing. Raised by a single mother, Jai is nurtured as a pacifist in direct contrast to his father’s family legacy of traditional masculinity. He cooks, cleans, and shares household chores with his mother, never making a spectacle of it.
From the beginning, Jai avoids pointless violence. Instead of proving himself with fists, he talks his way out of confrontations, as seen in an early bar scene where he diffuses a brawl with wit, not brute force, yet still wins the girl over.
His treatment of women, especially his best friend turned love interest Aditi, is another way Jai defies stereotypes. Where Aditi is fiery and impulsive, Jai remains calm and composed. Yet he never feels threatened by her energy, nor does he try to tame or control her. Instead, he balances and complements her personality.
When Aditi’s pet cat dies and she holds a funeral for it, Jai doesn’t dismiss her emotions or mock her. Instead, he joins in wholeheartedly, even donning a sari to cheer her up, showing that such gestures don’t diminish his masculinity.
Sushant, the man Aditi initially chooses, serves as a foil to Jai. Rough, tough, and violent, Sushant embodies the toxic masculinity that Aditi (and the audience) eventually sees for what it is. Through this contrast, the film makes clear that being gentle or non-violent doesn’t make Jai less of a man.
Another way Jai challenges Bollywood’s idea of masculinity is by embracing vulnerability. When he realises he loves Aditi but believes she doesn’t feel the same, he breaks down in tears on his mother’s shoulder. For Bollywood’s macho heroes, male vulnerability—especially crying—was almost unheard of.
Even Jai’s friendships with other men reflect a healthier masculinity. His bond with his male friends isn’t a contest of egos but a space of mutual respect and support.
Still, Jai’s character isn’t one-dimensional. He grapples with the conflict between his father’s patriarchal legacy and his mother’s pacifist values. His character arc peaks when, despite being non-violent throughout the film, he beats Sushant for hurting Aditi. The film thus gives us a hero who learns that gentleness and courage aren’t opposites.
For Jai, avoiding violence doesn’t mean weakness, it means choice. He chooses his battles, and when he does fight, it’s with purpose, not impulse. But, later he does promise his mother that he won’t let violence define him again.
Looking back now, Jai feels too perfect to be true. In an era when conversations around toxic masculinity dominate cultural discourse, his character reminds us that strength can also mean empathy and vulnerability.
He may not have had six-pack abs or action-packed fight sequences, but Jai Singh Rathod gave us something rarer: a version of masculinity that was as warm as it was brave. And honestly, seventeen years on, Bollywood could use a lot more of that.