For a certain generation, Malini Sharma is the face from “Aapke Pyaar Mein,” the haunting song from Vikram Bhatt’s 2002 horror hit Raaz. For more than two decades, she was also one of Bollywood’s more quietly puzzling absences. This week, she answered the question herself, on camera, from a farm in the hills.
Malini began as a model and became familiar through early-2000s music videos, including Bombay Vikings’ “Kya Soorat Hai,” and the television show C.A.T.S. Her feature debut, Raaz (2002), cast her as the vengeful spirit Malini Malik, and the role earned her the Zee Cine Award for Best Female Debut in 2003. Her marriage to model-actor Priyanshu Chatterjee ended in divorce in 2001.
The exit was abrupt. She had signed on as the female lead opposite Dino Morea in Gunaah, but backed out two days before shooting began. She then worked behind the scenes as an art director on two films, Thoda Pyar Thoda Magic and Just Married, before drifting from public view.
She has said she never had ambitions of becoming an actor: Raaz “just happened”, and she went with the flow. Raising her children came next, and she has pushed back on the idea that she disappeared at all.
Out of that quieter life came The Slow Local, which began as small pop-up stalls in Mumbai’s Versova selling homemade bread, granola, jams and nut butters, alongside storytelling workshops for children. Around the COVID-19 pandemic, it moved to a farm in the Sahyadri hills, roughly two hours from Pune. There, she runs a farmstay, grows vegetables, and cooks for guests with what the land provides.
The Slow Local Diaries is a video series documenting that life. In the first episode, she opened with: “Hi, this is Malini, facing the camera again after 23 years of Raaz.” The video revisited “Aapke Pyaar Mein,” the song that made her recognisable, but staged it at the farm instead of on a film set.
The internet responded with warmth. Reports describe a surge of followers, calls and messages to the farmstay. Asked by a fan whether she would return to the big screen, she answered, “Kismet mein hoga,” roughly “if it’s meant to be.” That is a door left ajar, not a promise.
Her story lands because it reverses the usual script of the film-industry comeback. There is no relaunch film, no reinvention campaign. The song that once defined her is reused as a bridge between the person audiences remember and the one she became. Her message is gentle: walking away was not a failure to be explained, but a life to be shown.
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