I’ve recently moved to Mumbai, and as much as I hate to admit it, all the clichés are true—people are always in a hurry, the roads are perpetually dug up, and every tree seems to exist in a sepia-toned haze. It’s a city that demands street smarts as much as talent; a place where ambition alone won’t cut it. Mumbai will test you, stretch you, and if you’re not careful, it will drown out the one thing that can truly keep you afloat—passion. Especially if you’re an outsider. Vijay Varma was no exception. He came with no connections, just a quiet certainty that he belonged. And he didn’t just survive Mumbai—he bent it to his will.

Varma’s presence is almost paradoxical—intensely laid-back, quietly magnetic. It’s a reminder that passion, pursued with conviction, doesn’t have to make a noise to leave a mark. Despite having no industry connections, he carved a path few outsiders manage to—without any entitlement. Walking into the studio for a shoot, he greets everyone unassumingly, shaking hands before slipping into a new outfit. In front of the camera, he’s collaborative, offering suggestions, open to feedback, never once pulling rank and engaging without ego—an anomaly in an industry often fueled by posturing.

Wardrobe courtesy: Peter England

After a few shots, when we step out for a quick break Varma immediately validates my observations about the city. “There’s no dust, no mosquitoes, and everything seems 4K,” he says, reminiscing about Iceland, before sighing at the inescapable mess of Mumbai’s infrastructure. Unlike many in his profession, he’s firmly grounded in reality—whether it’s the city’s state or internet absurdities. “You know there’s a girl selling farts online?” he asks, exhaling into Mumbai’s deteriorating AQI. 

If there were ever a real-life embodiment of the viral chill guy meme, it would be Varma. The kind who brings order to chaos—doesn’t throw tantrums, makes everyone else’s job easier. He gets excited about ideas like a hungry, wide-eyed newcomer, pulling out his phone to show pictures of his five-year-old Rolling Stone shoot. “We recreated a series of Eminem’s looks,” he quips. “I love it when someone has an exciting concept.” 

He genuinely celebrates his bros’ wins—calling his friendships with Jaideep Ahlawat and Gulshan Devaiah the closest thing he has to a filmy family, and wanting that family to win. And most importantly, he doesn’t take himself too seriously. “Koi kisi ko yaad nahi rakhta bhai, uski taraf dimaag mat laga,” he shrugs when asked how he wants to be remembered. 

He asks the tailor’s permission before taking a bite of his roti sabzi, and even in casual conversation, he affirms small yet crucial validations. Like my self-imposed four-day cycle of two days to prepare, one day to party, and one day to recover—a system he fully endorsed. “Haan, 30s mein aisa hota hai,” he laughs. It’s the kind of easy camaraderie that makes him effortlessly likable, the kind of energy that doesn’t need to dominate a room but inevitably makes it feel lighter, more at ease. 

In a city where ambition often comes with sharp elbows, Varma’s approach is a quiet reminder that you don’t have to be cutthroat to make it. But his rise wasn’t overnight. He spent years balancing between critical acclaim and mainstream recognition, carving out a space in an industry where hierarchy often dictates destiny. Gully Boy (2019) was the game-changer. As Moeen, the streetwise hustler with a fractured moral compass, he didn’t just steal scenes—he left an impression that lingered. It earned him industry-wide attention and credibility.

Wardrobe courtesy: Peter England

But he didn’t capitalise on that momentum with predictable commercial roles. Instead, he chose the unsettling—the morally ambiguous cop in She (2020), the sinister Hamza in Darlings (2022), and the cold antagonist in Dahaad (2023). With Jaane Jaan (2023), he flipped the switch again, stepping into a sensual, shape-shifting role with ease. And now, with IC 814: The Kandahar Hijack, he shoulders his first full-fledged leading role, playing Captain Devi Sharan, the man at the centre of one of India’s most infamous hostage crises. The series boasts an ensemble cast, packed with industry heavyweights including Naseeruddin Shah, Pankaj Kapur, Manoj Pahwa, and Kumud Mishra. In a lineup where there’s no dearth of experience and talent, Varma doesn’t just hold his own, he commands attention despite limited screen time. In fact, his restrained yet gripping performance has earned him a nomination for Best Performance in a Leading Role (Male) - Web Series at the IIFA Digital Awards 2025—a nod to his growing influence in the industry. His journey reaffirms a truth I've found my belief wavering in—good guys don’t necessarily finish last, and if you pursue your passion with conviction, good things will happen. 

Where were you before Bollywood? What was home like? 

I was born and raised in Hyderabad, though my roots trace back to Rajasthan. My great-grandfather moved there for work, and my father, a merchant, often traveled for business. In our Marwari household, a nine-to-five job was unheard of—everyone traded. 

Education wasn’t a priority; most relatives were 10th-pass. My father saw it as a hobby, but I became my family’s first graduate, partly to avoid joining his business. As a quiet, introverted kid, I loved books, comics, video games, and cricket. In my late teens, a growing distance with my father led me to rebel. At 21, I ran away to FTII, securing admission and funding. There, I truly discovered cinema and acting—something I was meant to do. 

But now South cinema is everywhere. 

It was always everywhere for me because of where I grew up. We had a very staple system where theatres played English films, different regional films, and Telugu films all across Hyderabad. But not every part of the city played every kind of film. The Hyderabad of the '90s and early 2000s was very different from the Hyderabad of today. 

Do you think the rise of South cinema has blurred the lines between regional and mainstream cinema? 

I mean, the lines were never really there between mainstream and South cinema because they also make mainstream films. But the best part about this cultural exchange is that the audience has emerged as the biggest winner. 

They have far more choices, new avenues to discover stories, and new worlds to immerse themselves in. They’re exposed to newer characters and newer actors. A lot of this was thanks to the groundwork laid by channels like Set Max and Sony, which played Hindi-dubbed versions of South Indian movies. Over the years, the audience got used to it, and now they have the chance to go watch it on the big screen—and they are. 

What do you think was a turning point in your career? 

For the effect it had on my career, I think Gully Boy was the moment everything changed. Before that, opportunities were scarce. Casting directors liked me, but they couldn’t push me hard enough for directors to cast me. After Gully Boy, meetings with directors happened instantly. I no longer had to introduce myself—people recognised me. I wasn’t waiting outside the room; I was inside. 

What was it about Capt Devi Sharan and IC 814 that made you want to be a part of it? 

It was a very lucrative prospect. It was Anubhav’s first show, and he’s one of the biggest directors in the country. It covered an event that is both recent and historic in so many ways. It’s a memory still fresh for many people who watched it unfold live on the news. And enough time had passed for us to look back and explore it. The opportunity to play a real-life hero, Captain Devi Sharan, was huge for me—it’s my first time portraying a real-life character, and everything about the role had immense depth. 

The script was also incredible—I couldn’t put it down. I read all six episodes in an afternoon. Every checkbox for a great project was ticked. And it’s truly heartening to see the efforts go in the right direction and resonate with people. 

How do you deal with the conversation that happens around such a series? 

You can never predict what conversations might emerge from something you’ve created. You craft a story with the director’s vision, ensuring it engages the audience. For streaming shows, engagement is key—viewers should want to click next, stay invested, and anticipate another season. 

While creating, you focus on these aspects, but audience reactions remain uncertain. Even on release day, you’re wondering—will they like it? Will they not? Will they find something incredible or lacking? It could go either way, and all you can do is observe, hoping it resonates. 

One character that evoked strong emotions in the audience was Hamza. How did you deal with that? 

When I first read the script, I didn’t want to do it. But then I saw it as a challenge and took it up. At the first trial show at Soho House, we had pitched Darlings as a dark comedy. But I stepped out during the interval, shaken. People asked what happened, and I said, ‘Where is the comedy? I’m terrifying in this film’ I was scared of my own character. 

Passion, instinct, and the thrill of exploring something unexpected—I love losing myself in a character, but I never want to lose my sense of reality. I psych myself up to become the role while shooting, but once it’s over, I detach—sometimes intentionally, because some characters are traumatic. By the time Darlings was released, I had completely let go of Hamza. Watching it, I was as appalled as the audience. But that’s exactly what we wanted. Some characters blend in, but others disrupt everything—like a black splatter on a painting. 

Do you think more opportunities like this have opened up because of the rise of streaming? 

Oh yes, absolutely. I often wonder how different things would be without streaming—especially during the pandemic. Without it, we’d have been stuck rewatching old content, devoid of new stories. Streaming has also empowered bold voices. Cinema feels like a relic now—it’s harder to draw people to theaters, and many films struggle. I feel lucky to be on so many screens in people’s homes. The writing on streaming projects is exceptional too, creating new opportunities not just for actors, but for storytelling itself. 

How do you achieve longevity in this industry? 

A long shelf life comes from consistently doing good work. You must impress at every stage of your career. This industry is fickle—your success depends on whether people like you. Many actors shine for a few years and then disappear, and I’ve never fully understood what changes. 

The key is to stay passion-driven, and not rely on past successes. If you keep repeating yourself, the audience will notice. To stay relevant, you must stay ahead of the curve, trust your instincts, and be sharp. 

You’re also approaching 40.  

Mid-life crisis incoming. 

Is it? 

I felt the 30s clock ticking significantly. Suddenly, things changed—if I had to go to a party over the weekend, I had to prepare for it two days in advance and then keep the next day off for recovery. That kind of thing started happening in my late 30s. 

I also started thinking more about investments, health insurance, regular checkups—things I never considered in my 20s. And I’m pretty certain that the 40s will bring another shift. But I’ll embrace it and run with it. I’ll probably have more gray hair—which I actually like. 

Have you set any personal goals? 

I’ve set time aside to travel more and explore the country. In February, I’m starting with a ski trip to Kashmir—my first time seeing snow. If I’m good, I’ll explore other ski destinations. After that, I might visit the Isha Yoga Foundation for a course I want to take. Then, I’ll prep for my next project, which requires learning new skills—possibly involving travel.

Wardrobe courtesy: Peter England

Beyond acting, are you looking at other opportunities? 

Not at the moment. I feel like I’m in a really good zone—a creatively fertile phase where I’m beaming with ideas and collaborating with some of the finest talents we have. It’s a great time to be out there creating, especially when there’s a crisis, with films not working as well in theaters. I feel like I need to do my bit in this time—to keep myself engaged and, more importantly, to keep my audience engaged. 

Your friendships with Jaideep Ahlawat and Gulshan Devaiah is well-documented. How does that support system work? 

I would feel very lonely if I didn’t have such friends within the industry. I have great friends outside of it, but there’s something different about having people inside the system—people who are also doing equally good or even better work. 

With them, you can learn from each other, share your stories, and navigate the industry together. This is the closest I feel to having a filmy family—some people are so close that they become your family. I now understand why people want their own to win. 

Does it influence your professional decisions too? 

Yeah, in a way. We don’t necessarily chase opportunities just to work together, but it’s more about actually spending time together. For example, if I hear that a project is also considering Jaideep, I immediately call him to ask, “Tere se baat kari kya inn logon ne? Tujhe achchi lagi? Karna chahiye ya nahi?” We figure it out together before even talking to the producers or directors. 

There’s just an excitement in knowing that I get to work with someone like Jaideep, who is a brilliant actor to play ball with. The same goes for Gulshan—if he’s on a project, I know my life is going to be a lot more fun. 

Was it a conscious decision to be open about your relationship? 

Yes, it was a conscious decision. I felt like it would be too much of a task to sneak around to meet her. I know there’s attention, I know cars get followed by paps, and I just didn’t want to go through the burden of secrecy. 

Also, that great dialogue from Mughal-e-Azam helped: “Jo mohabbat chhupani pade wo gunah hai, aiyyashi hai.” Mohobbat hai toh chhupane ki kya zarurat hai. 

There’s often this fairytale-like association with Bollywood couples. How do you deal with that kind of scrutiny? 

Wo public ka hi hai, bro. Mera kuch nahi hai. It’s all in their heads—they cook up their own stories. I’m learning not to take it seriously. When it first happened, I was a bit shocked. As an actor, I was used to my work being out there—my films, my public appearances, my interviews. But I had never seen this level of curiosity about any other part of my life until this. That’s when I realised—deep down, everybody is a gossip girl. 

Do you have a ritual to cut off and tune out from all the noise around you? 

One of my biggest rules is that I never tap the Reels button on Instagram. They keep moving it, but I stay mindful. Avoiding them has saved me so much time. I use my phone for work but minimise social media. This year, I’ve replaced phone time with books—they’re the quickest escape from reality.

Wardrobe courtesy: Peter England

What do you think of the space where you’re in—there’s a crop above you, and younger actors coming in? 

Nahi yaar, mai bohot chill hoon. Apni dhun mein rehta hoon, apne mann ki karta hoon. There’s enough for everyone. I’ve never felt that I’ve been denied opportunities; I’m in a good spot. I’ve never been competitive, even in school. I was happy to participate, never cared about winning. Extremely competitive people often harm themselves. 

I genuinely enjoy seeing exceptional work—it raises the standard and pushes everyone to do better. When I watched Paatal Lok Season 2, I thought—ab agla show isse better hona padega, warna log accept nahi karenge. That’s the game now. 

How has your perception of success evolved over the years? 

One of the best benefits of streaming is that wahan 50 log baith ke numbers ki baat nahi kar rahe hote. People are finally talking about the work, the performances, the storytelling. That whole obsession with box office figures is so reductive. Some of the most fantastic stories we grew up watching became part of pop culture, part of our childhood memories. But do we remember how much money they made? No. 

Streaming has shifted the focus to performances, storytelling, and details. In this space, I can work without toxicity—and that, to me, is real success. 

What’s one recent show or movie that you really liked? 

Recently, I enjoyed Black Warrant a lot. Then there was Paatal Lok. Substance absolutely blew my mind. Right now, I’m watching Severance Season 2, and again—brilliant. 

What’s something you would tell your 20-year-old self? 

Play sports. You’re in direct contact with nature, your entire body is engaged, you’re pushing yourself physically. It’s something I explored later in life, but sports also teaches you teamwork in the most natural way. Everything is integrated so beautifully. It doesn’t matter if you play 500 different sports or just one—if you play even one sport consistently for many years, that’s also great. 

What’s one of the most valuable pieces of advice you’ve received? 

I think one of the most valuable pieces of advice I’ve received was from Javed Saab. He told me: “Tajurbe aur junoon ke beech mein hamesha junoon ko ahmiyat dena.” Between experience and passion, always choose passion. 

How do you want your legacy to be remembered? 

Koi kisi ko yaad nahi rakhta bhai, uski taraf dimaag mat laga. I’d probably want to leave some money behind for someone, but beyond that, there’s nothing else you really leave behind.

Credits:
Editor: Shivangi Lolayekar (@shivangil23)  
Photographer: Keegan Crasto (@keegancrasto) 
Senior Art Director: Hemali Limbachiya (@hema_limbachiya) 
Stylist: Vrinda Narang (@vrindaanarang) 
Head of Production: Manav Lundia (@manavlundia) 
Hairstylist: Prasad Bhandary (@itsprasad_b) 
Make-up Artist: Billy Manik (@billymanik81) 
Location: School (@school.hq) 
PR: Spice (@spicesocial)