Jump forward to the Power Star era. Puneeth Rajkumar’s Appu (2002) or Milana (2007) introduced a more playful, contemporary romance, but the core remained monogamous. The hero could flirt, but he could never genuinely love two people at once. The concept of an "open relationship"—where partners mutually agree to sexual or romantic encounters outside the primary bond—was not just taboo; it was linguistically and culturally absent. The last decade has seen a new guard: actors like Rakshit Shetty, Rishab Shetty, Dhananjay, and the younger crop such as Darling Krishna, Nishvika Naidu, and even crossover stars like Prakash Raj’s daughter, Dhanya Ramkumar. While Sandalwood is still more conservative than Bollywood or the West, cracks are appearing in the monolith.

By Aniruddh S. | Entertainment & Culture Desk

This article explores the nuanced, often controversial collision between the public persona of the Kannada hero and the private reality of modern love. To understand the present, we must revisit the past. Classic Kannada cinema was a moral compass. A hero could dance around a tree with a heroine, but even a pre-marital kiss was a scandal. Dr. Rajkumar’s Devatha Mannushya (1978) or Bangarada Manushya (1972) set the template: love was duty, patience, and lifetime fidelity. The heroine was either a devi (goddess) or a tayi (mother figure).

For decades, the Kannada film industry—affectionately known as Sandalwood—has painted romance in broad, predictable strokes. The archetype was simple: the stoic, all-sacrificing hero; the virtuous, coy heroine; a villainous obstacle; and the triumphant, monogamous "happily ever after." From the legendary Dr. Rajkumar’s devotional loyalty to the early 2000s rom-coms of Puneeth Rajkumar, love on screen was sacred, eternal, and strictly between two people.

The actor deleted the story within six hours. The industry remains stuck between a progressive private self and a conservative public demand. While actors are cautious personally, Kannada storytellers have become bolder. The last five years have produced some of the most radical romantic narratives in South Indian cinema. Case Study 1: Godhi Banna Sadharana Mykattu (2016) Though not primarily a romance, this film (starring Rakshit Shetty) explored adult, broken relationships without villainizing either partner. It hinted that love can be messy, overlapping, and non-possessive. The heroine, Ananya, doesn't "choose" the hero in a triumphant climax; she chooses her own sanity. This was a quiet earthquake. Case Study 2: Kavaludaari (2019) A neo-noir thriller, but its subplot involved a couple whose emotional affair crossed physical boundaries, and the resolution was not punishment but mature separation. Sandalwood had finally learned that you can love someone and still leave—or love someone and still let them love another. Case Study 3: Sapta Saagaradaache Ello – Side A & B (2023) This is the watershed moment. Rakshit Shetty’s magnum opus is a two-part tragedy that, on the surface, appears to be about a traditional, obsessive love. But dig deeper: the film explicitly shows that the hero (Manu) and the heroine (Priya) are not each other’s only emotional anchors. Priya marries another man out of social pressure but continues to love Manu emotionally. The film treats this not as infidelity, but as a tragic reality of class and fate. Critics noted that Side B flirts dangerously with the idea that a woman can love two men differently, at the same time, without hypocrisy. The dialogue, “Preethi ondu bandha, aadre adakke eradu janaradha avashya ide” (Love is a bond, but it doesn't always need just two people), became a college debate topic. Case Study 4: Upcoming OTT Releases With Amazon Prime Video and Netflix investing in Kannada originals (e.g., Rohit Ganguly: The Interview ), scripts are being greenlit that explicitly feature polyamorous dynamics. One unannounced project, by a debut director, is described as “a rom-com where a married actor and his actress girlfriend decide to open their marriage, only to realize their maid has more emotional intelligence than either.” Part IV: The Feminist Question – Is This Liberation or Another Double Standard? The loudest critics of these evolving storylines come from within the feminist movement in Karnataka. As writer and activist Dr. Sumana Radhakrishnan notes: “When Kannada cinema shows open relationships, 90% of the time, it’s the hero who has the freedom, and the heroine who ‘understands.’ True open relationships—equal, ethical, communicative—are rarely depicted. What we see is repackaged patriarchy: the hero plays around, and we call it ‘progressive.’” She points to a famous 2021 romantic drama (name withheld on request) where the male lead openly flirts with three women, tells his girlfriend, and she “proudly” accepts it. The film was marketed as "modern love." But when the heroine even smiles at another man, the hero explodes in jealousy.

In a private roundtable conducted for this article, five upcoming Kannada actors (three men, two women) were asked: “Would you act in a film where your character is in a happy, functional open relationship?”

Today’s generation of Kannada actors—bolstered by OTT platforms, global content, and a more liberated urban audience—is beginning to dismantle the traditional pedestal of romance. Two parallel revolutions are occurring: one in the personal lives of these actors (with whispers and confessions about open relationships and ethical non-monogamy), and another in the professional storylines they choose (where love triangles are giving way to polycules, and commitment is being redefined).