In the most unbreakable jail of the heartbreak penitentiary, stands the modern Diljala Aashiq, hunched over his phone, refreshing his ex’s Instagram page. It literally means jilted lover. But in Hindi, it assumes a cultural resonance that mere English translation cannot convey. The most famous one, of course, is Devdas.
But every generation has its own Devdas, the Diljala Aashiq. They don’t drown themselves in alcohol anymore. The new Devdas has a smartphone, social media, and dating apps. Modern-day Diljales are not looking for relationships on Hinge. They can only do casual hook-ups to be able to fully focus on their ex. Always grieving about the one who got away.
He’s old enough to know about Jagjit Singh, young enough to watch Saiyaara. He’s part of the tortured poets department. Pluto, yes, the planet, is also a member: It has a heart-shaped sea filled with poisonous ice. The estranged solar system is sick of the drama.
The trope of Diljala Aashiq has been mocked so much that it’s almost aspirational. Who is the best singer in India? The saddest song boss, Arijit Singh. Which comedian represented India at Madison Square Garden? The sakht launda Zakir Khan. What are almost all the superheroes in Marvel movies? Jilted lovers. Channa Mereya has been streamed over 288 million times since its release on Spotify alone. Most of us like it with the video. Something about a man absolutely crashing out over a girl is deeply artistic and pathetic enough to never take one’s eyes away from it.
‘Premi, pagal, deewana’
I don’t know how justified it is for some men to act like spurned suitors after causing the breakup—but maybe all’s fair in love, war, and heartbreak drama. As long as he is just pining and posting and not throwing acid on her face, we will not judge.
While men are scientifically more prone to wear the Diljala cape—something to do with how they can’t accept defeat in love—women have held their own, too. Kangana Ranaut, for instance, made the nation proud by being salty about Hrithik Roshan into every mic shoved her way. If she were a man, it would’ve made her career.
Jilted Gen Z women are too healing-pilled to publicly care about heartbreak. Every romantic hiccup is supposed to be the start of a new self-improvement journey. This grief-to-glow-up pipeline usually ends in a barrage of thirst traps.
Some dumped damsels are also swiping right on the latest emotional MLM: self-partnership. It’s not as deep as it sounds—it’s basically being single, but with more affirmations and unnecessary merchandise. Radical independence, but make it aesthetic.
The Diljala Aashiq’s playlist today consists of Tyler, The Creator, Ed Sheeran, Anuv Jain, Jubin Nautiyal, and Prateek Kuhad. But their patron saint hasn’t changed. It is still Ajay Devgn. Well, at least it’s not Salman ‘Radhe’ Khan from Tere Naam.
In the search for authentic Diljales, I found this tweet:
“Ek ladki apne hone wale pati me apne papa ko dekhti hai.
Socha rha hu uske papa ki tarah ab main bhi vimal pan masala khane lag jau.”
(A girl sees her father in her future husband. I’m wondering if I should also start eating Vimal pan masala like her dad.)
This Gen Z poet’s Twitter username is his identity: @diljala_dilwale. The profile picture is Ajay Devgn (of course). Another user goes by the name ‘Premi hai, pagal hai, deewana hai’. None of these six words is his first or last name because anonymity fuels creative freedom. Especially if you’re waxing poetic about someone you have sworn off in the public arena, which is IRL.
Also read: Is getting back with an ex a bad idea? It’s Delusion Central
Collateral damage
Somewhere in the path of ‘I hate her’ and ‘I hate relationships’, these lovers stop to update their LinkedIn achievements. So many bright young minds in our generation aren’t running the IAS race just for money or power. They’re doing it for the ultimate prize: revenge on their exes.
This breed of Diljale is far more productive than the others—the ones still blaming a centuries-old breakup for every personal and professional failure, from unemployment to vitamin D deficiency.
But when these tormented souls finally crawl onto dating apps to escape the madness, their matches become collateral damage. They’re so busy talking about their ex that the new date also starts missing her.
Anyone can be called Diljala Aashiq if they don’t heal from the heartbreak on time. And what is that suitable timeline? It depends. My classmate, who stayed hung up over his girlfriend of one year for five whole years after the breakup and nonchalantly asked for her updates from everyone he knew, was definitely stretching it. His healing journey doesn’t quite fit the stoic heartbreak trend—meditate, clean break, journal. He had to post 10,000 one-liners about the futility of love on Facebook to even begin to heal from the travesty. And yes, he did try therapy, but the therapist sadly didn’t understand the depth of his feelings.
Imagine the strength it takes for these Devdas types to play friends with their exes—some are seen taking it out on chicken tandoori at The One’s wedding. My friend, who swallowed a whole lot of pride and ENO tablets to attend his ex-girlfriend’s wedding, was ruthlessly cropped out of the group photo she posted online. He didn’t even get a participation prize for his act of bravery. Then again, that comes with the Diljala package.
No block button can relieve these unfortunate lovers. Without an outlet, they’re sometimes forced to write ‘Love is a lie’ on public toilet walls.
This article is part of a series of columns on modern dating in India—the good, the bad and the cuddly.
Views are personal. The author tweets @ratanpriya4.
(Edited by Prasanna Bachchhav)