Vijay Babu Would’ve Hated LinkedIn: A Gen Z Take On Guru Dutt’s ‘Pyaasa’

Clumsily wading my way through the crowd, I was greeted by the familiar crackling voice of Mohammed Rafi, as “Chaudvin Ka Chaand” echoed through the speakers. A giant hoarding stood at the entrance, chronicling Guru Dutt’s standout films. For someone terrified about aging in this dystopian economy, it made me wonder: how would he have felt about a centenary celebration? Would he have been ecstatic or miffed about achieving such a milestone? Shoving these shower thoughts aside, I made it to my seat just in time for a panel discussion ahead of the film’s screening.

As the production set up the lights, esteemed members of the film fraternity—Javed Akhtar, R Balki, Hansal Mehta, Sudhir Mishra, and Bhawana Somaaya—entered the hall. These weren’t just some of India’s most celebrated filmmakers, critics, lyricists, and writers, but avid admirers of the actor. This is where I got a glimpse of Dutt’s greatness. “We all are older than Guru Dutt”, Sudhir Mishra exclaimed, putting the abstractness of time into perspective. Dutt was certainly their lodestar. They discussed their first encounters with his works, tracing the intricacies of the late actor’s legacy in their creative trajectory. Director Hansal Mehta revealed that Kagaaz Ke Phool was his point of inspiration during his FTII days, so much so that he attempted to recreate the entire song sequence of the eponymous track. Similarly, R Balki mentioned how the legend was his reference point for the 2022 film Chup: Revenge Of The Artist. Being the seasoned storyteller that he is, Javed Akhtar cheekily recalled how Dutt had to painstakingly convince Dilip Kumar to play the lead role, all in vain. Consequently, Kumar regretted not doing three films: Pyaasa, Baiju Bawra, and Zanjeer. He also shared some interesting trivia about the film. Pyaasa, during its premiere week, performed disappointingly, throwing Dutt into a downward spiral. However, his friend, the later veteran director and filmmaker, Gajand Jagirdar, pointed out how he had wrongly placed the interval. Comparing him to the likes of a tragic Shakespearean hero, Akhtar mentioned that Dutt’s greatest fallacy was his lack of self-esteem. 

Personally speaking, this insight broke the enigmatic illusion of Guru Dutt. It suggested that behind the mammoth legacy was a scared artist just like you and me. Going into great depth about the actor’s vulnerability, each member shared their fondness for Dutt. R. Balki mentioned how Dutt laid his emotions bare, which contrasts with today’s time, where resilience is celebrated more than sensitivity. Mehta spoke about how Dutt’s body of work made him realize the beauty and gentleness of pitying oneself. They each emphasized how much Dutt pulled from his subconscious, which became the fodder for his distinct, evocative style. “Great art is an exercise in paradox. Between the no man’s land of consciousness and subconscious, it emerges,” noted Akhtar. “If we know, then we are relying on craft. But relying on the unknown? That’s how it ought to be.” A minute of silence ensued, followed by an outpouring of applause.

It was finally time to watch the film. As the lights dimmed and credits rolled, I was immediately floored by the Gaussian blur-esque use of black and white. It seemed like light and shadow were central characters in the film. With Mohammed Rafi’s sonic melancholy serving as an inner monologue, Vijay Babu, the male lead, enters. An unpublished poet trying to make a mark through his words, there is a certain softness, even to his fury. I found his arrogance to be most endearing, making you root for a protagonist with the most anticlimactic name. Ridiculed by his brothers, rejected by his publishers, and ghosted by his first love, his fate was devoid of victory. Man was going through the most intense unemployment arc, all while casually reciting verses that would make a performative man fall to his knees. Vijay walked so that 6’5, Clairo-worshipping, feminist-literature-reading men could run.

I couldn’t fathom how I was seeing the most authentic portrayal of creatives in a film that was made 68 years ago.  Why is it that artists have the same plight even today? How are we able to unanimously resonate with a fictional character whose battles are entirely a product of imagination? No wonder this film was recognized by Time magazine as one of the 100 greatest films of all time. Vijay’s thirst for purpose lay beyond fame, success, and money. His ideals were simple—finding happiness and community through art. But, surrounded by a hyper-consumerist society, he was constantly reminded that he could never live up to its capitalistic standards.

As a humorous palate cleanser, Abdul Sattar (Johnnie Walker), Vijay’s unfailingly funny and loyal friend, hollers the iconic “Maalish…tel Maalish” quips, making the audience erupt with laughter. Even the song sequences have a surreal appearance, be it through the usage of smoke machines or whimsical props. Likewise, the ethereal beauty of the contrasting female leads, Meena Ghosh (Vaijayantimala), Vijay’s college crush, and Gulabo (Waheeda Rehman), a prostitute, is ever so refreshing.

By the second half, the pacing gets even more intense. An artist’s harrowing journey of “making it” is chronologically dissected, just like the five stages of grief. Imagine not learning about your mother’s death, bumping into your ex at her husband’s party, being wrongly reported as dead, experiencing identity theft, and having your work posthumously published—all while witnessing it alive. A bad trip, if you ask me.

The most stirring moment occurs at the famous climax scene, where Vijay appears to attend his own funeral, singing the soul-crushing song “Yeh Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaye To” (Even if you get the world, so what?). He stands alone, outstandingly defeated. Even though he’s a successful, published writer, it comes at the cost of having his existence erased, his friends and family cunningly usurping the royalties, and his loved ones refusing to recognize him.

Having made up his mind to leave his vicious locality forever, Vijay decides to invite Gulaabo along with him. When asked the reason, he replies: “Mai dur jaana chahta hoon Gulab, jahaan mujhe phir dur na jaana pade (I want to go far away, Gulab, from where I would not have to go further).” The film may be black and white, but the dialogue is technicolor.

All in all, it was a tear-jerking yet timeless classic whose impact transcends generations. Vijay Babu, you would have surely detested LinkedIn. It’s oddly relatable to watch the protagonist go through struggles that feel ripped straight from Gen Z’s reality. I wonder: would he have a seizure if he learnt about SEO optimization and social media marketing? He would certainly have something to say about a society hooked on dopamine, chasing clout, and watching AI take over entry-level jobs.

On a parting note, the film felt like a friend, offering a bittersweet sense of camaraderie. Here’s hoping that the main character’s obstinate passion for creativity inspires artists and dreamers alike. Delusion is a necessary ingredient for the recipe of fulfillment, and Vijay might just be a master chef.