The celebrity bandwagon

The Hindu

3 days ago

Celebrity worship in India isn't just a pastime; it's a full-blown national movement with more followers than most religions. These new-age gods have abs, endorsement deals, and PR managers who tweet on their behalf. We're not talking admiration here. We're talking full-blown bhakti. It's easier to idolise someone from afar than to navigate the mess of real people and real problems. After all, when life revolves around traffic, power cuts, and overpriced vegetables, who wouldn't want to lose themselves in a world where a man can defeat terrorism, patriarchy, and cholesterol in one punch; all while lip-syncing to a love song in Switzerland?
The obsession starts early. Posters on walls, birthdays synced with film releases, WhatsApp DPs switched to the celeb's photo during emotional milestones. The fans don't stop at cheering. They defend. They speak of celebrities as if they raised them. 'Sir wouldn't do that.' Bro, Sir doesn't know you exist. He's in Ibiza, possibly forgetting the name of the last movie he did.
Heaven helps you if you critique their idol. The fan will rise, not from sleep, but from a state of suspended rage. They defend their honour like they're their blood relative. 'You don't KNOW what she's been through!' Yes, we don't. But she just bought a villa in Dubai and has a skincare line. I think she's coping well in her private chamber.
Sometimes the devotion goes full circus. Fans build temples. Life-sized cut-outs of actors are bathed in milk while chants rise as if expecting divine miracles. Sometimes, they get them, usually in the form of a gravity-defying somersault or a punch that launches a car into orbit. Some name their children after film stars. Others fast on release days. We see people sob at trailers, faint at public appearances, and erupt into full-throttle grief when their idol retires or worse, marries someone else.
Then there are the star kids. They breathe headlines. They wear shoes themselves, breaking news. They say 'hi' to the paparazzi and the mood of the nation improves. Meanwhile, you finished three degrees, paid your EMIs, and nobody even liked your post.
Cricket fans are no different. Cricket is our shared trauma bond. One over can turn a man into a deity. Miss a catch and the nation howls betrayal. But hit a century and half the country will light diyas, chant mantras, and declare him more important than the GDP. One sixer in an India-Pakistan match and he's declared the rebirth of Kapil Dev, Sachin Tendulkar and Hanuman, all in one. We all have heard of at least one person who fasts every time India plays Pakistan. They are more consistent than our top order.
Adults drag children to see a glimpse of someone who won't even glance back. Why? Do you think Dhoni is going to offer career counselling for your child? Amitabh Bachchan will suddenly hand out pocket money? Stampedes, screaming, fainting — all to see a mortal human, in sunglasses, waving vaguely at the air. Long before Instagram gave us close-ups of celebrity cappuccinos, there were people lighting diyas in front of a superstar's photos, and one rather unfortunate individual who literally set themselves on fire when another passed away. When Shahrukh Khan waves from his balcony, grown adults weep as though the Pope himself has blessed them.
All for what? Even if you do meet your idol, what happens next? A smile. Maybe a selfie if you're lucky. Then they're off to the Maldives while you're still bragging about that two-second eye contact on every WhatsApp group you are part of. At the end of the day, celebrities are just people. Flawed, filtered, and frequently out of touch. Yet we treat them like they're extensions of our own families; albeit more successful, richer, and infinitely better moisturised.
Maybe it's encoded in our DNA. A longing to place someone on a pedestal, to surrender to charisma, to believe in magic even when it's manufactured in a vanity van. Maybe it's just plain boredom. Real life is rarely dramatic enough, and watching someone else live large offers temporary escape from our boss and tax returns.
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