In the glittering yet unforgiving world of Bollywood, where dreams are stitched together with sheer grit and a dash of luck, Farhan Akhtar's journey began not with a spotlight, but with a mop in hand. At just 17, the aspiring filmmaker was dipping his toes into the industry as an eighth assistant to cinematographer Manmohan Singh on Yash Chopra's ambitious romantic saga Lamhe. Little did he know that a routine chore would spiral into a nightmare, only to be redeemed by the grace of the late, great Sridevi. This tale, recently revisited by Akhtar on Aap Ki Adalat, isn't just a funny anecdote—it's a testament to humility, kindness, and the unpredictable rhythm of showbiz.

A Teen's First Brush with Bollywood Magic

Picture this: It's 1991, and the sets of Lamhe buzz with the energy of a Yash Raj production. The film, a bold exploration of love across generations, stars the ethereal Sridevi opposite Anil Kapoor, under the watchful eye of legendary choreographer Saroj Khan. Farhan, fresh-faced and eager, was the lowest rung on the ladder—fetching coffee, adjusting lights, and yes, tackling unexpected messes. "I was Man Ji's seventh or eighth assistant," Akhtar recalls with a chuckle, his voice laced with the nostalgia of youth. For a kid from a film family—son of screenwriter Javed Akhtar and scriptwriter Honey Irani—this was more than a job; it was a crash course in the chaos of cinema.

The day in question unfolded during rehearsals for a passionate dance sequence, one of those high-stakes moments where every step had to sing. Sridevi, the undisputed queen of versatility, was in her element, gliding through moves with Saroj Ji's precise guidance. But perfection demands a flawless canvas, and that's where things went awry.

The Damp Floor Debacle: A Career on the Brink

As the crew fine-tuned the shot, Manmohan Singh spotted a stubborn stain marring the polished wooden floor—a cardinal sin in the pursuit of visual poetry. "Clean it up," came the directive, and Farhan, being the nearest pair of hands, sprang into action. Armed with a rag and whatever cleaning solution was at hand, he scrubbed furiously, his mind split between the task and coordinating with his boss perched on a crane above.

In the whirlwind of activity, no one clocked Sridevi's approach. She was mid-rehearsal, her focus laser-sharp, when her foot met the freshly dampened spot. Time slowed to a crawl, as Akhtar later described it: "I still remember it in slow motion—Sridevi flying in the air and hitting the floor." The superstar landed with a thud that echoed louder than any clapboard. Gasps rippled through the set like a shockwave. Lights dimmed in the collective hush; crew members froze, eyes wide with horror. For Farhan, the world narrowed to a single, gut-wrenching thought: This is it. My career's over before it started.

At 17, he wasn't just an assistant—he was an intruder in a realm of giants. Injuring Sridevi? It felt like career suicide. Visions of being blacklisted, of disappointed parental shrugs, flashed before him. "The entire set froze," he shared, his tone a mix of amusement and lingering dread. "I thought, 'Who am I to make her fall?'" In that suspended moment, the weight of Bollywood's hierarchy pressed down, turning a minor mishap into a potential catastrophe.

Sridevi's Grace: Laughter That Lifted a Dream

But Bollywood, for all its drama, has a way of scripting redemptions. As the silence stretched, Sridevi stirred, dusted herself off, and—against all expectation—broke into a warm smile. "It's okay, it happens," she said lightly, her voice cutting through the tension like sunlight through monsoon clouds. No raised voices, no demands for heads to roll. Just pure, unfiltered poise.

Her laughter was contagious. One by one, the crew thawed, chuckles bubbling up until the set erupted in relieved mirth. Saroj Ji joined in, Anil Kapoor cracked a joke, and even the stoic Manmohan Singh cracked a grin from his perch. Farhan, who had braced for ejection, exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Everyone followed her lead and started laughing," he recounted. "That's when I finally breathed again." In that instant, Sridevi didn't just save a slip-up; she salvaged a young man's faith in the industry.

Reflecting on it now, Akhtar sees it as more than luck. "It is because of Srideviji that I am sitting here today," he affirmed on the show, his gratitude palpable. Her response wasn't performative—it was the quiet strength of a woman who had navigated stardom's pitfalls with elegance. Sridevi, who passed away in 2018, left behind a legacy of such moments: fierce talent wrapped in effortless kindness.

Lessons from the Fall: Building a Legacy

Decades later, as Farhan Akhtar preps for his directorial return with the war epic 120 Bahadur—releasing November 21, 2025—this story underscores the human pulse beneath Bollywood's glamour. From mopping floors on Lamhe to helming hits like Dil Chahta Hai and Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, his path has been paved with such serendipities. The incident taught him resilience, the value of grace under pressure, and that even legends bleed vulnerability.

In an era of viral scandals and set feuds, Farhan's recollection reminds us: Cinema thrives on collaboration, not blame. Sridevi's slip wasn't a fall—it was a lift, propelling a teenager toward stardom. As Akhtar quips, "Sometimes it scares me when I remember it, and sometimes it makes me laugh a lot." Here's to the mishaps that mend us, and the icons who ensure we rise.

Read Also: Shah Rukh Khan's Heartwarming Dubai Restaurant Gesture: The 'Adab' That Stole the Show

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