Before reels, there were VJs

If you grew up in the 90s or early 2000s, discovering music wasn’t about hearing it on a hundred Instagram reels. You rushed home after school, switched on the TV, and waited. Not just for the song, but for who would introduce it. Video jockeys weren’t fillers between tracks; they were your cool older friends, pop-culture translators, and unofficial style guides. Basically, the reason you stayed. “VJs were influencers even before the word ‘influencer’ existed,” says former VJ Nikhil Chinapa, instantly recognisable for his spiky hair, creaky voice, and goatee. Mini Mathur laughs at the memory, “We were influencers and didn’t even know it.” Cyrus Sahukar adds, “Ten or twelve of us were doing exactly what influencers do today – trying to connect with the youth.”Back then, music channels were appointment viewing, and VJs were the glue holding pop culture together. As Vaibhav Vishal, former Vice President of Content at MTV, puts it, they were “the OG and the only influencers.” VJs taught India how to be coolMTV - the channel that made the ’90s kids cool - arrived in India in 1996 and changed everything. For an entire generation, it was a window to a world beyond ours, bringing home the electric swagger of Britney Spears, the moonwalk of Michael Jackson, and the mosh-pit madness of Green Day. While adults were glued to serials about family feuds, sanskaari bahus, and overdressed naagins and goddesses, MTV helped the young break free - one music video, one irreverent VJ at a time. For Vishal, a boy from Bihar who would later become Vice President of Content at the channel, MTV was nothing short of life-changing. “MTV gave wings to me and many from my generation,” he recalls. “The world it brought to us, that world was not known to us. For the first time, we weren’t thinking about becoming doctors or engineers. We got to see a facet of life we didn’t even know existed.”Years later, when Vishal joined the very channel that had shaped him, he realised its philosophy was simple: “Humour-ise, humanise and Indianise.” As he puts it, “Jaise Shah Rukh Khan ne apne haath failaaye, humne bhi apne haath failaaye - to receive the world.” VJs were relatable, real, and one of usFor kids outside the metros, MTV showed that you could belong to the cool gang too. Chinapa recalls, “My friend Vaibhav Vishal, who was then a kid in Bihar, used to steal cable to watch MTV. For him, it opened up a world and made him realise, ‘Hey, these people are just like me.’”Each VJ brought their own flavour. “MTV picked people who represented varied aspects of youth,” says Mini. “Malaika brought the sexy and fashion, Nikhil was the cool guy with great music sense, and Sahukar and I represented a more desi, indie cool.” The audience saw a bit of themselves in these faces, and a bit of who they wanted to be. “Broacha was the madcap genius, Nikhil the cool guy, Malaika the sex bomb, Maria Goretti the girl next door, Bani J the tattooed rebel,” says Vishal.They were aspirational without being out of reach. “People saw Cyrus Broacha and thought, ‘He’s not a supermodel, doesn’t wear designer clothes, but he’s cool. I can be cool without needing a lot of money,’” Chinapa adds. Chaos, creativity, and a mic with no rulesTo some, MTV was just a music channel. To others, it was a global mood board curated by tastemakers before algorithms were even a thing. It wasn’t a playlist, it was a point of view. Every decision, from which video to premiere to what played next, was made by real people shaping culture before data did. And those people had total creative freedom.That creative chaos, says Cyrus Sahukar, was the magic. “We were handed a mic and told, ‘Jaaiye aur kuch kar ke aaiye.’ Sometimes, more information comes in the way of creativity. We didn’t overthink, because when you overthink, you become fearful; that’s why we did bad work and some good work, but it was all fun.” Nikhil Chinapa agrees. “We genuinely had no clue what we were doing. We learnt to be creative in confined spaces. We’d just come up with something on the spot.” The spontaneity rubbed off on a generation. “Bakra was like a social experiment,” says Cyrus Broacha. “Sometimes the most stupid gags worked and the most planned ones failed.” And because there wasn’t an internet waiting to pounce, the jokes could breathe. “It was a time when there weren’t so many rules and everyone was being made fun of. There was a lot of joy in that irreverence,” adds Sahukar. 'VJs Tiger ke jaise extinct ho gaye'They changed how India consumed media, shaped pop culture, and paved the way for today’s digital creators - long before “content creation” became a career. The MTV VJs didn’t sell their opinions; they were the opinion. Authentic, witty, and unfiltered, they shaped how an entire generation saw the world.Mini Mathur believes intent is what sets them apart from today’s influencers. “We were mindful of the language we used, of not overstepping boundaries. That responsibility is missing now. Today, people are doing anything for eyeballs,” she says. Vaibhav Vishal echoes that. “They were self-assured and aware of their specialities, not chasing likes or subscribers. Influence then was a real term. They changed lives.” Sahukar, not dismissive of today’s creators, thinks they have it tougher. “We were allowed to play. Today’s influencers serve the algorithm. That’s the tough part,” he says. His advice: “Go, play and have fun. Don’t only serve the algorithm. Do things which are authentic and fun for yourself. Little by little you’ll find an audience if you’re consistent. Don’t stop yourself worrying about what will work and what won’t.”Today, MTV India thrives on reality formats like Roadies and Splitsvilla. The youth still tune in, but the music is missing. “Ayushmann (Khurrana) and Rannvijay (Singha) were the last of the VJs,” sighs Cyrus Broacha. “VJs tiger ke jaise extinct ho gaye.”Maybe so. But every time someone picks up a mic, stares into a camera, and tries to connect with an audience - somewhere, an MTV VJ smiles.