Piyush Mishra is an interesting example of how artistic credibility can sometimes get mistaken for political wisdom.
His life story is full of contradictions. He emerged from Delhi’s politically charged theatre culture and was associated with the Left, but later developed an intense hostility towards leftists. He has himself described his decision to play a part in the politically controversial Jahangir National University as being driven by resentment rather than conviction and subsequently apologised for it.[1]
There is a similar contradiction in the way he talks about relationships, women and responsibility. Mishra has publicly admitted to cheating on his wife and has spoken about being emotionally absent and irresponsible during the early years of his marriage. He has also spoken about making obscene calls to women while drunk and acknowledged behaviour that he himself considered deeply inappropriate.
The point isn’t that a person’s private mistakes automatically invalidate their political opinions. They don’t. People can change, grow and genuinely repent.
The problem begins when someone turns their own personal journey into a source of moral authority over society, while refusing to interrogate the power structures, prejudices and contradictions embedded in their worldview.
And yet, somewhere along the way, Piyush Mishra has become something of a sweetheart of the young, progressive podcast circuit. He is presented as the rebellious, uncompromising, revolutionary intellectual, the older, irreverent voice who supposedly says what others are afraid to say. In the process, his history of misogynistic behaviour and his increasingly right-leaning political positions often seem to disappear from the conversation. The rebel is celebrated; the contradictions are merely a side note. There is also something deeply uncomfortable about the cultural archetype he represents: the brilliant, troubled, self-confessional male artist whose excesses are romanticised as evidence of his genius, while women are expected to absorb the consequences of those excesses with patience, forgiveness and understanding.
Mishra’s artistic talent is real. His self-awareness about some of his failures may also be real. But self-confession isn’t the same thing as political introspection.
And then comes Jharkhand.
This contradiction becomes particularly visible when Piyush Mishra enters the Jharkhand student protest.
A student movement is, at its core, about young people demanding accountability, dignity, opportunity and a future that isn’t determined by the whims of those in power. It is about challenging structures, not surrendering to personalities.
So his presence in the Jharkhand protest raises an uncomfortable question: what exactly does he represent there? If the movement claims inter-sectionality, shouldn’t that lens apply to the men it celebrates too?
If the protest is about challenging patriarchy, hierarchy, privilege and the normalisation of power without accountability, then elevating a celebrity whose own public narrative is marked by admitted infidelity, misogynistic behaviour and ideological contradictions sits uneasily with the politics of the movement.
The issue isn’t whether Piyush Mishra is allowed to speak. Of course he is. The issue is what his presence symbolises.
There is an additional question worth asking here. Mishra did publicly support the Jantar Mantar student protest, condemning the violence and saying that the government should have opened a dialogue with the students earlier. But he was not physically present at Jantar Mantar, where the violence against students was severe enough to move an empathetic heart to action. In Jharkhand, by contrast, he travelled to Ranchi, joined the students in person and sang Aarambh Hai Prachand at the protest site. He has said that watching interviews with the students and seeing their pain moved him to join them.
So the question is I’d keep it as an open-ended question rather than implying an answer:
So the question is: what made his solidarity more visible in Jharkhand? Does the difference in the governments being confronted have anything to do with it?
And perhaps the sharper question is for the progressive men, at least those who celebrate his presence at the protest: can a movement that seeks to challenge hierarchy and privilege afford to simultaneously romanticise the very contradictions it claims to resist? And why are those same contradictions disqualifying when they belong to people they oppose, but fascinating, forgivable or even revolutionary when they belong to a man they admire?
Perhaps the real test of progressive politics is whether we are willing to apply the same scrutiny to ourselves and the people we admire as we do to those we oppose.
(The author, is a branding and design strategist with over 25 years of experience across leading advertising agencies. She has worked with the Congress Party for the past six years)
Disclaimer: The views expressed here are the author’s personal views, and do not necessarily represent the views of Sabrangindia.
[1] Piyush Mishra played the character of “Guru Ji” and sang the promotional track “Main Nahi Manta” for the controversial political drama film Jahangir National University (JNU), which was released on June 21, 2024. Following the film’s release, Mishra publicly offered an unconditional apology for taking on the role, admitting that signing the project without reading the complete script stemmed from his past opposition to communist ideologies
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