Between the noise of numbers and the silence of creation, Ishhan Dhawan has always chosen the latter. In an exclusive tête-à-tête with Cutting Shots, the actor opens up about his journey, his boundaries, and the quiet truths that shape his art.
Fresh off Doree 2, Ishhan Dhawan is in no rush to chase the next big thing. “You give everything, and it drains you,” he tells me, owning the pause like a quiet flex. This isn’t burnout; it’s a reset. A moment to delete the residue, erase what no longer belongs, and return to who you truly are.
He is also not the self-promo type. Ask him why, and the actor quips, “I don’t want to promote my work; I want people to promote it.” No hype. Just the craft doing the talking. Later when our conversation drifts to his Instagram account, Ishhan remains unfazed. “Even if I become a big star someday, my account is staying ghost-zero following list, no display picture. That too, only for interacting with fans,” he says, like it’s a promise.
At one point, he also quietly admits he is an introvert. “But once the camera rolls, I lose my identity, and become the character,” he adds.
In an exclusive interview with Cutting Shots, Ishhan Dhawan gets real about choosing creation over clout, setting boundaries in a metrics-obsessed industry, and why discipline still wins in a world chasing dopamine.
Excerpts-
Q. If I had to sum up your journey in a single line, it would be- “You came to Mumbai to sell software, but ended up selling emotions instead.” In one of your interviews, you mentioned while pitching software, you crossed paths with someone from the acting world who urged you to audition. You took the leap, landed a few ads, and soon found yourself stepping into your first acting role. Today, when you look back at that chance encounter, what does it stir in you? Gratitude, disbelief, destiny or something else entirely?
A. At that time, I would say I wasn’t emotionally mature enough to understand what was happening. And even now, I’m not mature enough. No human ever truly is. But your consciousness keeps evolving; you evolve with it. When I look back at my earlier life, I was simply living in the moment. Whatever came in front of me, I responded to it. If I saw some benefit, I would go there. I did what I felt like doing. That’s how things were.
Sometimes, nature places you in the right spot. You feel drawn to something, so you do it. And for some reason, those paths lead you to the future you’re meant to reach. Back then, it wasn’t gratitude. But today, when I reflect, I feel God has been so kind to me. At that time, I didn’t value the work as much as I do now.
I was working on a per-day basis, earning Rs. 3,000 a month from software. I used to code and sell it myself—monthly subscriptions in Chandigarh. Then I got my first ad, and I earned Rs. 15,000 per hour. That shift attracted me, because I had come to Bombay to sell software.
The thing with software is, you have to dedicate yourself completely. You can’t say, “I’m busy” or “I’m unavailable.” You have to go to the client. I was into biometrics too—installing biometric machines, setting up the software. I was a one-man army. I had a team in Chandigarh, but in Bombay, I was alone.
My workload increased. I worked like a labourer, and I still do. But then came the money. And let’s be honest, who doesn’t want to act? Everyone wants to be on camera, on TV screens. That desire was always there, since childhood. We’re all conditioned that way.
When I saw Rs. 15,000 for an hour compared to Rs. 3,000 a month, I thought, “I’d have to find five clients just to earn Rs. 15,000.” But then I realized, it’s better to earn Rs. 15,000 in an hour. That way, I could relax with software development. Whether I got clients or not, I wouldn’t be stressed.
Slowly, the transition happened. I’ve shifted through so many careers in my life. And by the time I reached Dhruv Tara, I felt the universe was guiding me, showing me what’s right and what’s wrong. That this is gratitude. That this is God’s blessing.
That realization began to take shape because I became more inclined toward craft than commercials. Of course, money matters; we can’t pretend it doesn’t. But slowly, your breath becomes your work, rather than a by-product. And now, it’s gratitude.
Q. Engineering and acting belong to two very different worlds—one rooted in structure, logic, and precision; the other thriving on emotional fluidity, spontaneity, and vulnerability. In your early days, did your engineering training make it harder to adapt to the demands of acting, where improvisation and emotional openness are key? Or do you feel that your technical background actually helped you stay calm, focused, and disciplined amid the chaos of the entertainment industry?
A. It’s very simple. The more complicated you try to make things, the more complicated they become. And the more knowledge you have, the more simplicity you can create. What I’ve learned from my engineering background is that, in Indian families, you’re often more comfortable with what comes from the outside, and your family encourages you to follow the same path. I won’t say “force,” but the conditioning is such that you feel safer doing what your father has done.
But during college, you begin to discover your hobbies. Mine were never in acting—I was a singer. I loved music. I used to make music from my school days. I knew I was an artist, though I didn’t know what kind of art I was doing. I simply did what I enjoyed.
Art isn’t limited to the entertainment field. It exists in software too. I learned that when I realized I had no passion for engineering, but I did have a passion for creating software. That’s when I understood the joy of it. Just like we compose music, we build software.
I’ve always been a product maker. I’ve always wanted to create something that people—clients and users—could actually use. That was my form of acknowledgement. I used to feel proud when someone ran a software program I had built, especially if it carried my name.
That feeling was similar to what I imagined in music, if someone sang a song I composed, I’d feel proud. So I guess I was chasing that sense of validation. That’s why I shifted to software. And when I started building software, I realized there’s no point in over-studying just to make a product. If you understand the basic rules, you can create anything. It’s all emotion and the struggle to prove yourself—to the world and to yourself. If you chase that passion, you can become a scientist at NASA. That’s the kind of fire I wanted.
The same goes for acting. I never learned acting. I didn’t even know I had it in me. But there’s one thing I’ve always carried forward: you must work with your heart. You don’t need to learn acting; life teaches you that as it is. Just like engineering taught me something I still carry today: if you work with your heart, things align.
I had backlogs in engineering. But when I started making software, those backlogs cleared. Because I was chasing my passion. I was enjoying the process. And in that joy, even the curriculum started yielding good results. That was a by-product. I’ve always taken the unconventional route. My hobby, whether in music, software, or acting, was never about chasing numbers. While the world ran after metrics, I was chasing creation.
It was the same in acting. In the beginning, I chased money, just like I did in software. But the moment I shifted back to the psyche I had in school and college, everything escalated. It grew exponentially. Money, fame, name, love; they’re all by-products. But the work itself must come from your heart and soul. And that, I believe, is from God.
I don’t know how I do it even today. Or how it happens. It just happens. And when it does, when the scene cuts, I’m left in disbelief.
But I have faith in God. I believe he’ll take care of me. He won’t let me become someone who breaks hearts. I won’t hurt people. I’ll work with integrity. I’ll live up to the hopes placed in me. That thought itself is a blessing from God. It’s very difficult. You can never truly learn acting. It’s only divine power that helps you move through the process.
Q. Like you said, you stepped into acting without any formal training? Was that liberating, intimidating or both?
A. See, every picture is made on a blank sheet of paper. No one touches a page that’s already filled. So I guess we’re lucky, because we’re raw. And your paper should always be blank. In every show, you have to be a blank canvas. Because if you bring something with you, you can’t be different. Acting isn’t taught by any book or any person. It’s only taught by you, and we’re all actors in our own lives.
It’s all about confidence—how confident you are in front of the camera, with yourself. How comfortable you feel, and how much control you have over your body, mind, and soul. That’s the difference between a regular person and an actor. A regular person often becomes self-conscious in front of the camera because they lack the confidence to deliver what’s required.
So I believe the more self-realization you gain, the more awareness you develop. The more consciousness you cultivate, the more positively you evolve. Whether it’s something negative or something positive within you, you should be aware of it. And you have to keep working on it.
It’s said that you can’t remove a bad habit instantly. You have to slowly let go of one bad habit and gradually introduce good ones. It’s like a magnet; when you put something good into it and remove the bad, only good things will start attracting you. And the bad will slowly fade away.
You have to be okay with yourself. Most people don’t like sitting alone. They just want to distract themselves. Using Instagram or WhatsApp isn’t wrong, but what you don’t realize is that you’re drifting away from yourself.
The more you disconnect from yourself, the more you get conditioned by people who want to see you the way they want to see you. You’ll never become the person you want to be, because you’ve never truly seen yourself. You’ve never known yourself. You’ve never understood yourself. So you think, “That person likes a Lamborghini, maybe I do too.” Why? Because people appreciate it more. But who knows, maybe a scooter brings you joy. Your happiness matters more than what’s socially admired.
I feel our basic rules go off track because we don’t like spending time with ourselves. Sitting in silence is too difficult. That’s why I believe solitude teaches you how to act. You have to nurture it, nourish it, and pamper it, because you’re the only one who can save yourself, teach yourself.
People often say, “Everyone listens to others, but ultimately does what they want.” That’s human nature; no one can truly save you except yourself. But first, you need to realize that you want to be saved.
Q. Professionally, Mumbai must have given you many firsts—your first rejection, your first callback, your first applause from the audience. Which one hit you the hardest, and which one stayed with you the longest?
A. For me, validation on set is never the priority. I started out seeking it—from the director, from the team. If they liked my performance, I would like it too. But slowly, that shifted. It became about internal satisfaction. If I feel good about the take, I’m fine. When the director’s confidence in me is visible, I feel reassured.
Of course, there are occasional conflicts, when the director doesn’t like an approach I believe in. It happens once in a while, once in a blue moon. But now, I’ve learned to trust my craft. To say, “No, this will work. This approach will look good.” Because as an actor, you have a contribution to make. Yes, you follow the director, with full respect. But you also bring something of your own.
These days, I come on Instagram after 10, 15, sometimes 20 days, just to see people’s reactions. Whether it’s my followers or those who DM me, I consider them my God. When I read their messages, I feel the arrow is moving in the right direction. I feel my hard work isn’t going to waste. That response becomes a kind of motivation. It helps me to stay disciplined. It helps me to refine my approach.
I don’t seek validation from anyone except the people who love me. If they say something negative, I’ll listen. If they say something positive, I’ll listen. But most of the time, I work for myself. And when I feel satisfied, I believe others will feel satisfied too. Because if you’re not at peace with yourself, the world can say whatever it wants, it won’t be reciprocated. Happiness is internal. Peace is internal. That transition I’ve gone through—that internal transformation—is about moving away from superficial validation. I no longer seek approval from the outside world.
I know when I’ve done something wrong. I’m hard on myself. I curse myself. I trouble myself. I don’t burden the world with that responsibility; I take it on myself. I work every day, every hour. If my first scene is at 9:30 and I’ve done a bad take, I rebuke myself. I put immense pressure on myself. I don’t need scolding from the director. I don’t need explanations. They often try to calm me down, but I tell them, “This isn’t the time to be lenient.” I have to push myself. Otherwise, I won’t be serious about the second, third, or fourth scene. I have to take one step up from what I’ve done today. If I don’t, I’ll become too soft with myself.
So yes, with time, I’ve moved away from superficial validation. What matters now is internal alignment, and the love of those who truly see me.
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Q. How do you know when your performance is ‘honest’? Do you have an internal compass for that?
A. Your heart always knows whether you’ve done a good or bad job. There’s no explanation for it—it just knows. When I act, my heart tells me. Because we have a soul, right? It speaks to us.
Like when you hurt someone, guilt arises automatically. Even if you don’t show it to the world—out of ego—your inner soul says, “No, this is wrong.” Take for example, a terrorist who plants a bomb. Why does he run? He did it. But why run away? Because his soul tells him, “You’ve done wrong. People will catch you. They’ll punish you.” And who gives that guilt? It’s your soul. And that soul is God.
That’s why it’s said, God exists in everyone. That divine connection, that inner intervention, whether you call it God or the universe, connects through your soul.
As I said, the more conscious you become of yourself, the more awareness you gain. Your mind-body-soul connection becomes clearer. And that clarity validates whether your work is truly satisfactory. That’s why I rebuke myself when I do bad work. It’s an internal knowing. A feeling. A spiritual space. I never see it as just a craft. It’s a blessing from God. And you have to respect it.
You have to surrender, to God, to the universe. Let it work through you. Because you’re just a vessel. The soul is yours, but the body isn’t. The soul is already guided. And it will take care of your body and mind. Just relax. Sit back. Watch the show.
Sometimes, in the middle of “action” and “cut,” I feel like a third person watching myself. I don’t even know what I’m doing. After the cut, I watch as an audience and think, what has the divine made me do? The right take just happened. That connection is sometimes made. And sometimes, when the take is off, the connection doesn’t happen. It’s like meditation. Sometimes you reach that meditative state. Sometimes you don’t.
For me, work is my meditation. In the middle of action and cut, I try to enter that state. Sometimes it happens. Sometimes it doesn’t. But I try. That’s the journey. And that’s why true artists are never fully satisfied. Those who genuinely consider themselves artists always feel, they could have done more.
Q. Your first acting assignment was Balaji Telefilm’s web series, Bebakee in 2020—a show built on extremes. But your character, Hamid, was an exception: grounded, loyal, quietly observant. Did you feel the pressure to ‘prove yourself’ in your debut, or did you find a kind of freedom in playing someone who gets to say and do things that Ishhan wouldn’t?
A. Back then, the things I learned weren’t related to acting. I didn’t study the craft. What I saw was the world. It’s said that when you step out of your home, the first thing you truly encounter is the world itself. And through that show, I began to understand it, just a little.
I observed the technicalities: what production is, what direction means, who the director is, what an assistant director does. I started to grasp the terminology. I got a glimpse of the world behind the camera, what lenses are, what cameras do. I didn’t know much about lenses at the time, but yes, I knew there were cameras.
You try to practice every day to become comfortable in front of the camera. But it’s not easy, especially when you’re new and self-conscious. So I observed. I watched how people behave, how good people are, how bad people are, how good directors are. I began to understand myself: how I react in different situations. Not as an actor, but as a person. You have to know your patience level. That’s very important, especially if you’re entering this industry.
I believe God had placed those lessons in front of me for a reason. They were essential. I needed to learn them in Zindagi Mere Ghar Aana, and move forward. Once I understood those things in that show, I carried that understanding forward. Then came Gud Se Meetha Ishq and Dhruv Tara.
My artistic approach truly emerged during Dhruv Tara. By then, I had matured as a human being. And that’s crucial, because unless you know yourself, how will you bring another person, another character, to life from within you?
Some things worked in my favor. At the time, I thought I might be heading in the wrong direction. But now, looking back, I realize that if those things hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have reached, even this little bit, where I am today. But yes, I learned the basic rules through my early work. I learned who I am, as a person.
Q. In your second show, Zindagi Mere Ghar Aana, you played Kabir, the cheerful, impulsive younger brother who always looked on the bright side. He’s a character who uses humour to deflect his pain. How did you ensure he didn’t come across as a caricature, especially in a show rooted in realism and emotion? Also, working in an ensemble cast means you have to listen as much as you perform. What was that like for you?
A. Look, there was a lot of pressure. I mean, it was my first show, and most of the actors were very senior. So naturally, you feel that pressure. The director scolds you. Rahib sir (Rahib Siddiqui) helped me a lot. He scolded me a lot too, but he helped me just as much. Zama Habib sir also scolded me, and loved me deeply. I’m still in touch with him. He calls me, I call him, especially whenever I sign a new show.
I guess my schooling began with Zindagi Mere Ghar Aana. That time, I used to worry that they’d scold me all day. But slowly, I understood how important it is to be scolded, otherwise, you go out of control.
I believe you need to learn how to be a student even in adulthood. We often leave behind our student mindset and enter the world thinking we have a reputation, that we’re “big.” But in this field, what works in your favor is staying a student. If you carry that energy, the director feels like teaching you. The producer feels like guiding you as if you were his own child.
I’ve always considered myself the director’s kid. I have always surrendered myself completely. That’s my rule number one. No matter who the director is, I will offer myself wholeheartedly. Because he’s the only person who can make me different. If I leave everything to myself, I’ll always stay the same. And then ego creeps in that I’ll be like, “I’ll do this,” “I’ll walk like this,” “I’ll look like this.” But with that mindset, you’ll never reach your full potential.
In Zindagi Mere Ghar Aana, I placed my complete trust in the director. I carried that same approach into Gud Se Meetha Ishq. That’s why my every character looks different. I am not saying this out of ego or pride. It’s what my people, those who love me and watch my shows, have told me. That’s when my perception was formed, that yes, it does look different.
For my character Kabir, I simply listened to the director. I still remember my first crying scene. I performed it very badly. I had a scene with Dolly Chawla, who played the role of my sister in the show. She was sitting beside me. I was seated on the floor. The director was in front of us, telling me to cry. But I didn’t know how to cry. I just couldn’t cry.
He scolded me and said, “What an NG (no good) take. Let it be.” Honestly, I felt so disappointed. I was upset with myself for not being able to deliver. Some of those moments stayed with me, I think. That’s why I always feel, you have to keep working on yourself. I felt really bad… I went home carrying that feeling.
So I slowly learned things. I took it seriously. And now, it’s much easier for me (laughs).
Coming to the ensemble cast part, I feel the more aware you become of what helps your craft, the better you react. Sometimes we get so caught up in ourselves that we don’t listen to the other person’s dialogues. We think, “I have to do this,” “I have to do that.” But the moment you realize your reactions depend on the other person’s words, you start listening with conviction.
And it’s your greed, your artistic hunger, that drives this. Because if you don’t listen, your reactions will be bland. Your eyes will reveal that you’re not truly listening. You will be just performing at a surface level. And when that happens, when 50 people around you don’t say it to your face, but you hear through someone that people think, “He acts fake. He doesn’t feel,” that’s humiliation.
So, it has to pierce your heart, and until it doesn’t, you won’t work on it. That’s life. Life teaches you through experiences.
Q. Gud Se Meetha Ishq introduced you to the audience as a leading hero. Did that show shift your understanding of the kind of actor you want to be?
A. Like I said before, my artistic approach truly began with Dhruv Tara. Until then, I was in my own world, thinking, “I’m the lead, I’m working.” I just wanted to work.
But you don’t discover your artistic approach until you understand yourself. You have to spend a lot of time in conversation with yourself to reach that space. That’s why there comes a time in everyone’s life when they slow down, when a phase of calm sets in. You begin to shed the illusions of the world. You come out of your own denial. And then, the communication with yourself becomes so clear that you know exactly what you want to do. You know what you want to achieve. You know what you don’t want to do. When that clarity arrives, it reflects in your work. In your personal life. In everything.
It’s not just about acting—it’s about life.
Q. How do you protect your emotional energy during long shoots, especially when the character’s arc is intense or non-linear, like when you’re playing someone like Dhruv in Dhruv Tara?
A. You don’t even realize it. When you’re doing something with your mind, you lose track of time. Your goal is clear—you want to do it, you want to keep doing it. You’re working so you can show up the next day too. But that drive can be superficial.
Even after you evolve, you may still carry an escape mechanism. You’re not enjoying your normal life, so you immerse yourself more and more in your professional life. That becomes your escape, whether it’s workaholism, a need for fame, money, or something else.
But when you get fully involved, you forget that you’re a mind, a brain. You forget how to protect yourself. Your aura starts vibrating at a certain frequency, and only those vibrations reach you. You stop reacting to things the way you used to. You’re constantly absorbed in your work. And people begin to measure you accordingly. No one can enter that vibration. If you’re on one frequency and someone else is on another, there’s no alignment. That only happens when you truly want it.
So, if you know who you are, what you want to do, and what you don’t want to do, then I don’t think you need to protect yourself emotionally.
Q. In your last show Doree 2, Maan had his playful, banter-filled side with Doree. At the same time, he was also emotionally guarded at times. But as an actor, you still need to help the audience feel what’s going on inside. How do you pull that off without becoming emotionally distant or disconnected from them? Do you have a trick up your sleeve?
A. I can’t explain this. They say you can’t teach acting, and I believe that. Every person has their own individual approach to a scene. And that approach keeps evolving. So you have to stay aware of yourself, what’s helping you enter a certain mood, what’s feeding your emotional state. You have to keep nourishing yourself. Maybe by watching a film, maybe by learning tricks from somewhere. It’s all about you.
We (actors) often feel that we have to work hard during shift hours. But I believe that’s actually the most comfortable time. Because after pack-up, the real study of an actor begins, and that’s a 24-hour process.
The more wholeheartedly you stay in that process, the easier it becomes during the shoot. You have to keep that spark alive, or that connection charged with the audience. But you can’t act while consciously thinking about the emotional connection with the audience.
You have to be honest with yourself. When your performance comes from a place of truth, it touches others. That’s the essence- if it’s from the heart, it reaches the heart. If it’s not, it never will.
Q. Playing the same character for months means repeating emotional beats—grief, joy, conflict, anger. The challenge is to stay fresh yet maintain the continuity. How do you achieve that when you have lived the same emotion across 100 or more episodes?
A. I am not able to do it. I’m not made of stone. I believe you should stay true to who you are in life. I don’t give too much importance to maintenance.
But, in Dhruv Tara, there were so many changes in between—sometimes my character went a little crazy, sometimes I had a moustache, sometimes we were in the 17th century, sometimes in the 18th. My look kept changing.
So in a long-format show, it becomes difficult to manage everything—your routine, your health, your emotional state. Are you even able to eat properly? Everything impacts you. Sometimes you end up stress-eating. We’re human beings too. Just like everyone else, actors are also human. We go through the same problems—stress, food habits, emotional ups and downs.
But yes, there’s one thing that holds it all together: discipline. You have to be very disciplined. And life teaches you that. The essence will always be the same. Just let life teach you. Don’t try to teach life.
It’s like you’ve been hired by something higher. You have to surrender that upper ground to the universe. So just go with the flow. And discipline isn’t built in a day. It comes with time. The more you realize that time is limited, and begin to value it, the more disciplined you become. And the sooner you evolve.
Q. Doree 2 was quite popular online. Unfortunately, it went off air within six months of its telecast. When the audience connects with your work but the TRPs don’t reflect that love, what do you hold on to as an actor? Is it frustrating when online appreciation doesn’t translate into on-screen longevity?
A. I don’t work for TRPs—that’s not my job. Whether a show runs for six months or four, my satisfaction comes from knowing whether I gave it my all. I delivered every take with honesty. I gave it everything I had. That’s it. Whether it works or not…every show comes with its own destiny. Just like every person carries their own destiny, every show does too.
It’s not like if someone’s loved ones pass away too soon, we start hating them, or stop worshipping God. Their life was written that way. We simply accept it and move on. And yet, moving on isn’t easy. It’s not emotionally good either. But you have to value that experience—value that time, that moment.
The universe must have had a reason, because it gave you that time. We often don’t give ourselves that time, but the universe already has. So there’s no point in questioning it. Instead of asking “why” again and again, it’s better to accept it and prepare yourself for what’s next. For me, the day I become a producer, I’ll think about numbers. But as long as I’m an artist, my job is simple: if I get a chance, if I get a stage, I’ll give it my all. That’s it. After that, I let it go.
Q. In a few BTS videos of your shows, I have noticed that you carry a book on the sets. Are you an avid reader?
A. I don’t have the habit of reading. My problem is that I overthink a lot. So, to stop that overthinking, I need to keep my mind occupied, whether it’s with a book, music, or a script.
I need to read or watch something just to quiet my mind for a while. For me, it’s not a source of knowledge; it’s a source of entertainment. I don’t read to gain knowledge; I read to escape. To distract myself from certain thoughts, even if just for a little while. And yes, knowledge becomes an indirect byproduct of that.
Q. AI is slowly becoming a bigger part of the creative process. Acting is often about surrender, instinct, and emotional rhythm. In the future, as an actor, do you think AI can ever understand emotional nuance, or is that something only lived experience can offer?
A. If you ask me, animated films have been around for a long time, right? But did they replace humans? No. People want to see people. Just like a robot can’t give birth to a child, a person can’t marry a robot. Similarly, we need human connection. AI can do a lot, sure, but it’s not that thing. It can’t replace the essence of being human.
Q. There’s growing concern in Hollywood over AI-generated performers. Also when you speak of ITV, I remember recently seeing first-look promos for two new daily shows that seemed AI-generated. With many people viewing AI as a creative threat, what’s your take on its impact?
A. Humans need humans. Trends come and go, but their impact is often the same. If a storm hits a city, the buildings don’t collapse. The storm comes, the wind blows, it causes a little damage, and then it passes. That “little damage” is insecurity. Creative insecurity. And those who work for personal satisfaction, producers included, won’t find that satisfaction in AI.
Today, AI is used more in real estate. For example, walkthrough videos are created using AI. You don’t need to visit the actual property; you just click photos from specific angles, feed them into AI, and it generates a walkthrough. It’s useful—to a point. It helps reduce effort, save time, and speed up delivery.
But AI can never be the main product. You won’t rely on it. Neither will the client. Nor the customer. Because if everything is AI-generated, the cost of creation drops, and that’s where agents, producers, and creators lose out. When people know it’s AI, they won’t pay more. There’s a reason you pay Rs. 500–Rs. 1000 for a theatre play, but not for a movie.
A person needs a person. As much as Netflix can offer, the magic of cinema lies in the act of going to watch it. The magic of theatre lies in the experience of being there. It’s all about satisfaction. Nothing else. Everyone finds their own tribe. There are people who love movies, OTT shows, or daily serials. Everyone has their own category.
I’m the kind of person who watches theatre plays, and enjoys OTT content. I am also open to AI. A smart artist never fears change, because their audience will always find them.
Q. You’ve kept your digital presence intentionally low—barely on Instagram, not on WhatsApp. How do you navigate the tension between staying private and staying relevant? With so many actors vying for the same roles, and visibility often shaping perception, have you made peace with missing out on certain opportunities?
A. I have complete faith in the universe. The same universe that brought me from Chandigarh to Bombay without any recommendation. The one that led me to casting directors, again, without any recommendation. My first show, second, third, fourth… all came without any backing.
I’ve been on Instagram for a long time, since 2013. But it never really did anything for me. Even now, I don’t expect it to. And yes, if I say it benefits me, no doubt it does. But I don’t seek that benefit. My real earning is that I’ve built something from who I truly am. Maybe that’s what people connected with. That’s what makes me different. And it’s not a big deal; it’s just my choice. I’m living for myself.
Sure, I feel good when I come to Instagram. But I don’t feel the need.
Recently, I uploaded four photos, just for the sake of staying connected. I see it as a respectful gesture towards the people who love me. Some people ask, “Why don’t you post anything?” So I give them a small update. A mild hint about what’s going on in my mind—philosophically, creatively, emotionally. They feel that yes, Ishhan thinks about us. He’s connected. He cares. And then I cut it off. I deactivate my account.
I know people find it strange—this activating and deactivating. But I do it because I don’t want to maintain a constant presence on Instagram. I want to show up, speak, and leave. That feed, I think, is enough. It lets people know—I’m here. I see you. I see every effort you make for me. And once I’ve acknowledged that, I step away. Because if I stay on Instagram every day, it becomes a loop.
It’s like not being a smoker, but sitting next to someone who smokes, you become passive. It turns into an addiction. We’re human beings. And the curse of being human is that we start expecting too quickly. We become dependent too quickly. We look for shortcuts. And then we say, “If one bad thing comes, it brings a hundred.” It’s true, if you entertain one, you invite a hundred. So it’s better not to entertain what you feel is bad. That’s a little bit of me.
WhatsApp is more approachable. By approachable, I mean it’s easy to send a hundred messages every morning. I’ve come from ground zero. I didn’t use WhatsApp back then either. And it’s not just me; we all come from zero. Even now, I’ve only reached 1 or 2 percent. But to go from 0 to 2 percent, the key is your principles. The same principles that are helping me rise today; they’re still 100% intact. And 99% of me is still climbing the stairs.
I don’t know how far I’ll go. But you have to stick to your rules. Those rules are what make you different from the world. That’s why they say, never mimic another person. God has given you something unique. Embrace it.
Q. Lastly, If you had to choose between being remembered and being understood, which would you pick?
A. Being fulfilled within yourself, that’s enough. Even God faces judgment in the eyes of the world, so how can we, as mere humans, escape it? The only peace worth holding onto is the one you find in yourself. That’s more than enough.
