MUMBAI: Indian television lost one of its most influential creators on October 27 with the death of Brijendra Pal Singh, popularly known as BP Singh, the producer-director who created the iconic crime series CID in 1998 and the horror anthology Aahat. Singh died after suffering a massive heart attack, according to reports, and tributes have poured in from across the industry, led by the actors who worked most closely with him over more than two decades.
Veteran actor Shivaji Satam, who played the beloved ACP Pradyuman on CID for over twenty years, remembered Singh as a mentor, teacher and lifelong friend, and said the filmmaker deserved the Padma Shri for his contribution to Indian television. "The biggest chapter of my life is over today. He was a great man, a great friend. I learned everything from him," Satam said in an interview with Variety India.
"I came from theatre. I knew how to act on stage. But BP Singh taught me how to deliver in front of the camera, how to be larger than life when required. He explained magnification so well. He was a wonderful teacher."
Satam's tribute captured a relationship that went far beyond the professional. "In friendships, there are misunderstandings and fights, but it never went beyond that. He was there in all seasons of my life too. Our relationship cannot be narrowed down to one thing. He was an amazing, wonderful friend, and a friend who taught me so much," he said.
On the question of official recognition, Satam was clear: "A man like him should be given a Padma Shri. But he never bothered about that. He'd say, 'Leave it, what difference is that going to make? Our audience is there, right?' The audience is still there. It's a big achievement."
Dayanand Shetty, who played Senior Inspector Daya on CID and became a household name alongside Satam, also paid a heartfelt tribute. Speaking to HT City, Shetty recalled a man for whom filmmaking was not a job but a way of life. "BP Singh ji had no other life, other than making content. He was dedicated to his work, was very passionate about it. He was also one of the best cameramen we had," Shetty said.
"He had not been well for quite some time, and today morning he just did not wake up. It was age-related, he was not well."
Singh's career spanned several eras of Indian television, but it is CID that defines his legacy. Launched in 1998, the show became one of the longest-running and most recognisable programmes in the history of Indian television, following a team of Crime Investigation Department officers as they solved murders, kidnappings and other crimes with a mix of forensic science, deduction and drama.
At a time when Indian television was dominated by family sagas, CID offered something different: a procedural format, a stable ensemble cast, and stories that ended each week with the criminal caught. Its catchphrases, its characters and its opening theme became part of popular culture, and the show ran for two decades in its original run before returning in later seasons.
Singh was not only the creator of CID but also its driving creative force. He worked as a cameraman before turning to direction and production, and colleagues remember him as a hands-on filmmaker who understood the technical craft of television as deeply as he understood storytelling. That background showed in some of the show's most celebrated achievements.
Satam recalled that just three months after undergoing cardiac surgery, Singh was running around a jungle with a camera to shoot a chase sequence. Six to seven months after a second surgery, he designed a world-record 111-minute episode of CID shot in a single continuous take, guiding cameraman Nitin Rao through the entire sequence.
The episode, which required extraordinary coordination from cast and crew, remains one of the most talked-about feats in Indian television history.
Beyond CID, Singh created Aahat, a horror series that became another landmark of Indian television in the 1990s and beyond. Where CID dealt with crime and investigation, Aahat explored the supernatural, with standalone stories of haunted houses, curses and spirits that thrilled a generation of viewers.
The two shows together demonstrated Singh's range: he could build tension through a police procedural just as effectively as through a ghost story, and he understood the rhythms of weekly television in a way that few producers of his generation matched.
Singh also appeared on screen himself from time to time, most notably as DCP Shamsher Singh Chitrole in CID, a role that added to his mystique among fans who knew him primarily as the man behind the camera.
For many viewers, the line between Singh the creator and the world of CID was blurred: he was not a distant producer but the person whose vision shaped the show's look, pace and moral universe, in which crime did not pay and the investigators, however long the chase, always got their man.
The tributes that followed his death reflected that breadth of influence. Actors, directors, writers and technicians who had worked with him spoke of a demanding but generous mentor who taught newcomers how to behave on a set, how to respect the audience, and how to keep a long-running show fresh without betraying its core identity.
Fans, meanwhile, shared clips, dialogues and memories on social media, recalling evenings spent watching CID with family and the thrill of its weekly mysteries. For a generation of Indians who grew up in the late 1990s and 2000s, CID was appointment viewing, and Singh was the architect of that shared ritual.
Singh's passing also marks the end of a particular chapter in Indian television. The industry he entered was a world of limited channels, weekly episodes and large family audiences gathered around a single television set. By the time of his death, that world had been transformed by streaming platforms, daily soaps, reality shows and fragmented viewing habits.
Yet CID endured through much of that transformation, a testament to the strength of its format and to Singh's understanding of what audiences wanted: clear stories, familiar characters and the reassurance that justice, however delayed, would arrive by the end of the episode.
The question of recognition that Satam raised is one that many in the industry have echoed. The Padma Shri, India's fourth-highest civilian honour, has traditionally gone to figures in cinema, classical arts and literature, while television creators have often been overlooked despite reaching far larger audiences.
Singh's career, spanning decades and touching millions of households, is for his admirers a strong case for recognising television as a cultural force in its own right. Whether or not such an honour comes posthumously, his colleagues argue, his real monument is the work itself: thousands of episodes, two genre-defining shows, and a generation of actors and technicians who learned their craft under his guidance.
As the industry mourns, the memories shared by Satam and Shetty paint a portrait of a man who was, above all, devoted to his craft. He kept working through ill health, he cared more about his audience than about awards, and he treated his colleagues as friends for life. "He was there in all seasons of my life too," Satam said, a line that captures both a personal friendship and a professional partnership that lasted more than twenty years.
For Indian television, the loss is immeasurable. For the millions who watched his shows, the stories he told will continue to play on, in reruns, in memories, and in the catchphrases that have long since entered everyday language.
(Reporting based on NDTV and Hindustan Times.)