Arup taught us restraint — but also reminded us that when the moment demands, we must protest.
Just because it’s Vir Das’ birthday, I’m not going to pretend he is the greatest actor alive. That would be lazy writing—and Das himself would probably laugh at that. But I am a huge fan of Vir Das the storyteller. The one who uses comedy as a sword to cut through silence, who dares to speak about things most wouldn't even whisper about. When he stood on that international stage and talked about the two Indias, I remember thinking—it takes guts. It takes conviction. That quiet defiance in his tone, like he is saying, “Hate me if you want to, but I’m not going to stop speaking the truth". Now, when it comes to acting, I’ll be honest—he usually plays characters that feel a lot like Vir Das himself. In 'Badmaash Company', 'Go Goa Gone', 'Mastizaade'—he is fun, he makes us laugh, but he is never quite the showstopper. Except once. In 'Delhi Belly', he is Arup—a character that's funny, yes, but also anxious, frustrated, repressed, and most importantly, REAL. While Imran Khan and Kunaal Roy Kapur may have had more to do with the storyline, for me, Arup is the one who feels closest to us—the middle-class Indian guy just trying to hold it together.
11 years ago. Three dusty idiots. Starting their careers. #DelhiBelly pic.twitter.com/r3RHbcTTHS
— Vir Das (@thevirdas) July 1, 2022
(Credit: Vir Das)
But weirdly, no one really talks about him. So today, on Das' 46th birthday, let’s change that. Let’s finally give Arup the love, attention, and analysis he deserves.
Among the trio in 'Delhi Belly', Arup is clearly the odd one out. Tashi (Imran Khan) is the cool, upper-class guy with rich parents and a fancy fiancée. Nitin (Kunaal Roy Kapur) is too chill to care—eating unhygienic food, living in filth, yet somehow unbothered by it all. And then there’s Arup. Middle-class to the core. Stuck in the middle. Not privileged enough to chill, not wild enough to stop caring.
Arup is that guy who says no to Friday night plans because payday is still a week away. He is the one who brings homemade lunch while the team orders pizza. He is the one saving up for rent while his friends talk about weekend getaways. (Everything’s not shown in the film, but you get the point)
For many of us, Arup hits close to home. We don’t come from money, and we can’t afford to live recklessly. We work, save, stress, repeat. We can't escape it, and we can’t indulge either. That in-between space—awkward, exhausting, and very real—is where Arup lives. And that’s exactly why his character deserves more credit.
We never really know what Arup wanted to become. Maybe he was that kid in school who drew brilliant cartoons on the last page of every notebook. Maybe he dreamed of being an artist, of doing something creative, wild, meaningful. And where did he end up? A graphic designer at a Delhi ad agency, constantly bullied by a boss who starts every sentence with “I’m disappointed.” Classic.
No matter how hard Arup works, it’s never enough. He wants to quit, maybe start something of his own—but bills exist. Responsibilities exist. So, like many of us, he swallows his pride and keeps showing up, day after day, to a job that slowly chips away at his soul.
And then there’s the heartbreak. He was in a long relationship, and probably thought she was the one. But she leaves him for a rich engineer—someone with an MNC job and a 6-digit salary. Meanwhile, Arup is designing logos and animations for clients who want “the happiness to be increased by 7%.”
We don’t know much about Arup’s family, but come on—we can guess. He has got that forever-tired, slightly-zoned-out look of someone who probably has a diabetic father whose insulin bills come before his own happiness. A mother who keeps falling sick, and whose “it’s nothing, just a little weakness” always turns out to be something big enough to drain the savings account. A younger sister, maybe in college, maybe about to get married—and in both cases, Arup’s wallet is involved. There’s probably a home loan hanging over his head like a personal raincloud. An EMI that hits like a monthly slap. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny dream buried somewhere—of quitting the toxic job, starting a design studio, traveling to places… but who has the time or money for dreams when you’re busy surviving?
(Credit: virdas)
Arup doesn’t say any of this out loud. But his silence, his tired eyes, and his forced smiles tell the whole story (thanks to Das’ nuanced performance). It's the ultimate Indian middle-class story—you survive, you never really get to live.
We middle-class folks are trained in the art of adjustment. We gulp down insults, delay our dreams, tolerate bad bosses, and accept heartbreaks like it’s just part of the monthly routine. We tell ourselves like Nana Patekar from 'Welcome', "Seh lenge thoda". But when you keep walking into walls—day after day—and finally realize you’ve got nothing left to lose, you stop and say, “Bas ab!” That’s Arup’s moment.
Arup walks into his ex’s wedding, picks up the mic, and sings, “Ja, ja, ja, ja, ja chudail!” It’s heartbreak, humiliation, and helplessness coming out, live, through music. He is not trying to impress anyone anymore. He is just done pretending everything’s fine.
Then, the real punch is when he calls his boss after getting lots of money. And he says all the things we’ve only rehearsed in our heads during shower monologues. He hangs up with the satisfaction of a man who just broke free from emotional jail.
(Credit: Sony Music India)
However, rebellion doesn’t come with a free dessert. Arup is still one of us. His rebellion doesn’t make him a hero. He doesn’t get the girl back. Within minutes of quitting his job, he realizes that he now has to find a new job. For a while, he loses.
But only for a while. By the end of 'Delhi Belly', things do fall into place. Arup gets his share of the loot. He gets his smile back. He gets to breathe.
Arup’s story is our story. A bit messy, a bit delayed, but moving forward. We just wish that, like him, our lives also land on a good note. That after all the ignored efforts, the thankless jobs, the heartbreaks, and the “maybe next month” dreams—we get our moment too. Because like a wise man once said in a film released four years before 'Delhi Belly', “Hamari filmon ki tarah, hamari zindagi mein bhi end tak sab kuch theek hi ho jaata hai...happys ending.
Aur agar theek na ho, to wo the end nahi hai… picture abhi baaki hai, mere dost. Picture abhi baki hai! ”
(Credit: Red Chillies Entertainment)
So yes.
One day, we’ll crash our problems and finally start living. Till then, we keep going—dreaming, struggling, silently surviving… waiting for our picture to roll into its happy ending.
