Scroll through Instagram or Facebook today, and there is a reasonable statistical probability that you will encounter a seemingly ordinary man being publicly humiliated by a security guard, a scheming in-law, or a boss. A crowd will mock. Then, within two or three more episodes and your subscription money, he will square his shoulders, make a phone call that shakes the city, and the very people who sneered will crumble at his feet.
You’ve seen this story 17 times this month. You may have even subscribed to watch it again. The details may change, but the core fantasy stays the same: in the world of microdramas, the hidden billionaire is everywhere.
Built for the scroll
Microdramas, typically lasting between 60 to 90 seconds per episode, have become a staple for smartphone-first audiences. Designed for “in-between moments”, a commute, a tea break, or a quick scroll, they require minimal commitment while offering high emotional payoff.
According to Lumikai’s State of India Interactive Media Report 2025, India’s microdrama market crossed $300 million within its first year of adoption. The FICCI-EY Media & Entertainment Report 2026 now values the market at Rs 6.5 billion in 2025 alone, projecting a massive jump to Rs 23.2 billion by 2028.
ALSO READ: ‘He brought a cake’: SRK’s former bodyguard reveals the side of MS Dhoni that made a security guard cry
The psychology of the ‘hidden billionaire’
But why do so many of these shows feel like the same story told over and over again?
For Rahul Ranjan Rai, Script Supervisor at DashvershAi’s app Dashreels, the answer begins long before vertical video. Having written for multiple platforms, Rai traces these plots back to older digital reading cultures, arguing that microdramas “didn’t invent these stories; they digitised an existing literary obsession.” He explains that these stories of humiliation and sudden social reversal, known as “Face-Slapping” in web fiction, offer a specific psychological relief.
Story continues below this ad
“The ‘hidden billionaire’ isn’t just a fantasy; it’s a revenge story against the gatekeeper culture,” Rai explains. “For a worker who has been spoken down to by a security guard or a manager, seeing that same ‘superior’ person forced to apologise to a ‘delivery boy’ provides a specific type of dopamine hit that a high-budget Bollywood film often misses.”
This helps explain why the format has taken off so fast. In India, the ecosystem is growing quickly with players like Kuku TV, Flick TV, Zee, and MX Player entering the space.
Screenwriter Miheel Parmar notes the format is built for “highly individualistic sort of viewing, meant as a replacement for reels.” To facilitate this, Rai breaks down a “high-frequency” narrative structure where writers must deliver a “micro-climax every 15 seconds.” Anything that feels like filler, travel, silence, or slow build-up, is stripped away.
The copy-paste economy
This pressure to perform often results in a “copycat” effect. One writer, speaking on the condition of anonymity, noted that platforms often take a “licensing shortcut,” buying successful chinese scripts and localising them rather than developing original ideas.
Story continues below this ad
Another anonymous writer added that platforms frequently ask for remakes of foreign shows “exactly as they are, without applying any brain.”
Tanmay Gemini, who has written microdramas as well, says even ambitious ideas are often diluted by feedback demanding more cliffhangers: “Even if you have a novel idea, that conflict can’t realise its true potential.”
Still, the format offers a low-budget entry point for newcomers. Shreemi Verma, currently working on three microdramas, calls it a useful discipline: “It’s an art to write something in two minutes.”
For actor Lokesh, while the projects may lack “art or craft,” they provide steady work and networking in an otherwise unstable industry.
Story continues below this ad
Burnout and the assembly line
But this speed comes at a cost. The industry is becoming increasingly data-led, with producers studying heatmaps and asking writers to repeat whatever gets a reaction. “This turns creativity into a manufacturing process where we are just ‘filling in the blanks’ of a successful template,” another writer said. This leads to creative burnout, where writers are expected to deliver 100 episodes for “peanuts,” becoming “content assemblers” rather than storytellers.
AI, automation and the next threat
If template storytelling is the present, automation may be its logical next step. As platforms chase scale, AI threatens to take over the very process that has already reduced writing to pattern recognition. Industry insiders see a future where AI-only content allows viewers to pay a premium to “choose their own ending” or customise the story’s protagonist, potentially removing the human writer from the equation entirely.
No credit, no safety net
Furthermore, the lack of credit remains a glaring issue. Most apps do not credit writers or crew, leading to a system with no safety net. “The idea of a union representing writers is still new to our industry,” says Anjum Rajabali of the Screen Writer Association. While the association works to extend film-style contract reforms to micro-dramas, he urges writers to use SWA’s legal resources and safeguard their independence: “I know it sounds insensitive to a struggling writer, but they should not hesitate to refuse work that exploits their vulnerability.”
Even the economics remain speculative. Miheel Parmar notes that apps are still “figuring it out,” with some building libraries solely with the hope of selling them to bigger players. “Nobody is really in it for the art of it,” says Gemini.
Story continues below this ad
Microdramas are booming—fast, cheap, and addictive. But as the “hidden billionaire” remains king, the bigger question is whether the writers behind him will ever get the time, money, and freedom to tell a different story. If commerce is the only author of the script, the hidden billionaire might be the only story we ever see.
