There’s a certain unpredictability Vijay Varma brings to the screen—an ease with discomfort, a curiosity for the flawed. In Prime Video’s Matka King, that instinct finds a fascinating new playground. Set in the underbelly of 1960s Bombay, the show traces the rise of Brij Bhatti, a man who turns gambling into a system. In this conversation, Varma unpacks the process of building a character and what it’s like to work with Nagraj Manjule.
You play Brij Bhatti, a cotton trader in 1960s Bombay, in Matka King. Brij Bhatti initiates the gambling system “matka” and democratises a capitalist system. What was your first instinct when you read about Bhatti—the man or the myth?
I think the myth was the illusion that attracted me because I didn’t know what was behind the veil. But the more I knew about the man, the more fascinating the myth became. It’s pretty incredible that somebody who was not from the city came to Bombay, invented a game, and kept reinventing it in a way that became such a huge thing, amassed a crazy following, and made wealth which probably nobody else around his time was making. Yet, he was so principled with the idea that there should be no corruption. The dichotomy of it didn’t miss me —we’re talking about a world of gambling, but also the fact that it was done with utmost sincerity, honesty, and integrity.
How did you approach playing someone who, in the eyes of the world, is wrong?
We kept figuring this out. I think both Nagraj (Manjule) sir and I were equally walking into the unknown, knowing that we didn’t know much, and every day we would figure something out. We shot this for 18–19 days over the span of 10 months, and kept refining it—making it more nuanced and insightful for both of us. Nagraj Sir was equally invested in finding more throughout the process. During the shoot, we met more people who were from that era and part of the matka culture, and more stories came to light, which were integrated into the show. We met some family members, and those stories made it into the narrative. We were open and wide-eyed about this. We were both unaware and curious about the time, the game, the person, the people, and the society.
How much of your own journey as an actor fed into this role?
I found a parallel in terms of starting from scratch, doing it your way, finding your own voice, but sticking to your principles and the rules of the game. I also saw shades of my own father in the character.
What was your experience working with Nagraj Manjule, especially given his rooted storytelling style?
He is deeply rooted—and we do say that about a lot of people —but in his case, he is deeply entrenched in our culture. He stays in Pune, barely making trips to Mumbai, despite having so many opportunities here. He stays away from the noise.
Just to give you a glimpse of the kind of man he is—over the months we shot, I must have met close to 200 people who are his school and college friends, or people from his village, who would just come to the set to say hello to him. We would all sit on the floor and enjoy a nice Maharashtrian meal. He has a way of communicating that makes complex ideas simple. He communicates most directly and simply.
You’ve built a space playing complex men—is that a conscious choice? Has the process changed or remained the same?
I enjoy putting a torch on things that are not easily spoken of and maybe not investigated in terms of basic human traits, behaviours, or certain things that we do. I find it delightful, as an actor to look at the broken parts of people and know them through those broken parts, rather than only seeing the bright side. Those are important to be a well-rounded human being, but I feel my ability to connect with characters comes through their conflicts — their shortcomings, insecurities, patterns they struggle with, their morality, their values.
What do you make of the current scenario, with naysayers saying cinema is dead?
We’ve had a resounding success in Dhurandar. So that brings your faith back in the idea that people are hungry to watch something new. They are willing to have conversations about films. A couple of years ago, the whole conversation was about how Bollywood is failing. So I feel it’s a great sign. However, smaller films don’t have a life in the theater, and this is something that disturbs me. But apart from that, as long as stories can reach the audience, I feel that the art form will flourish.