When I see a celebrity like Dulquer Salmaan post about the pain of students being beaten at Jantar Mantar, it’s impossible not to feel a mix of admiration and frustration. Here’s a man who’s spent years navigating the glitz of Bollywood, yet he’s now channeling his voice into something far more raw and urgent. It’s not just about the protest itself—it’s about the silence that surrounds it. Why do so many public figures wait until the violence escalates before speaking up? The answer, I think, lies in the same fear that grips ordinary citizens: the fear of being labeled a 'traitor' or 'agitator' by those in power. But Dulquer’s words cut through that noise. He doesn’t just talk about the NEET-UG leak or the alleged police brutality; he talks about the ‘gut-wrenching’ reality of students facing uncertainty, even choosing to end their lives. That’s the kind of language that forces you to confront the human cost behind the headlines. What makes this particularly fascinating is how he frames education not as a system, but as a promise—a promise of hope and opportunity that’s now under siege. It’s a reminder that when systems fail, it’s the most vulnerable who pay the price.
Aditi Rao Hydari’s statement, on the other hand, feels like a moral reckoning. She insists she’s speaking as a ‘human being first,’ not an actor. But isn’t that exactly what we expect from celebrities? To be more than their roles, to be more than their contracts? Her condemnation of the ‘violence and apathy’ around the protests is refreshingly unambiguous. Yet, I can’t help but wonder: if her voice carries such weight, why do so many others remain silent? The irony is that in a country where Bollywood stars are often seen as trendsetters, their moral stances are rarely taken seriously unless they align with mainstream narratives. Aditi’s choice to speak out feels like a rebellion against that dynamic. She’s not just supporting the students—she’s challenging the very idea that celebrities should stay out of political discourse. But here’s the catch: when a public figure speaks, their words are filtered through the lens of their fame. Does that dilute their message, or does it amplify it? I’m not sure, but what I do know is that her statement forces us to ask whether our leaders are listening to the people who are literally risking their lives for change.
Then there’s Raghubir Yadav’s outburst. His words are visceral, almost poetic in their rage: ‘The cruelty they displayed will never be forgiven by the universe.’ It’s a line that resonates because it’s so rare to hear such unfiltered anger from someone in the public eye. But what’s striking about Yadav’s message is its universality. He doesn’t mention the NEET-UG leak, the CJP, or even the students by name. Instead, he speaks to a fundamental truth: when power is abused, the consequences are cosmic. His reference to the ‘masked men in khaki uniforms’ is a haunting image that lingers long after the screen fades. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that his outrage is both a blessing and a curse. It gives the protesters a voice, but it also risks painting the entire situation as a binary battle between ‘good’ and ‘evil.’ In reality, the conflict is far more nuanced. The police are not monolithic villains; they’re individuals with families, jobs, and perhaps even beliefs. But Yadav’s message is clear: when violence is used to suppress dissent, it’s not just the protesters who suffer—it’s the soul of the nation itself.
The protests themselves are a mirror held up to India’s contradictions. On one hand, we have a generation of students demanding transparency and accountability. On the other, a government that seems more interested in maintaining control than addressing systemic failures. The NEET-UG leak is just the latest chapter in a saga that’s been unfolding for decades. What’s remarkable is how this issue has become a flashpoint for broader frustrations—about education, about inequality, about the erosion of trust in institutions. But here’s the thing: the students aren’t just fighting for themselves. They’re fighting for the future of a country that’s at a crossroads. If the government continues to respond with force rather than dialogue, it’s not just the protesters who will lose. It’s the entire nation’s potential to evolve.
And yet, the role of celebrities in all this is both symbolic and problematic. When Anuv Jain shares photos of solidarity protests in Mumbai, or when Pradeep Ranganathan tweets ‘Don’t answer questions with lathis,’ they’re doing more than just endorsing a cause—they’re shaping the narrative. But is that enough? Or does it risk reducing a complex social movement to a hashtag? I think the answer depends on how we view celebrity influence. In an age where attention is currency, their voices can either illuminate or distract. What’s clear is that the current wave of protests isn’t just about NEET or the CJP. It’s about a generation that’s tired of being sidelined, of having their struggles minimized by those in power. And as long as figures like Dulquer, Aditi, and Yadav continue to speak out, the conversation won’t die. Whether that leads to change remains to be seen, but one thing is certain: the world is watching, and the stakes have never been higher.
