Once upon a time there was a vibrant, talented and effervescent boy. A boy who was intelligent and bright in studies. A boy who was the only brother of four sisters. A boy who loved and was loved unconditionally. A boy who was a genius in physics. A boy who could have become a scientist or a physicist. A boy who was more fortunate than thousands of aspiring actors. A boy who wanted a career in acting and he got a career in acting. Wow. What a boy!
One day that boy committed suicide.
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It goes without saying that we were dumfounded and rattled when we heard about Sushant Singh’s suicide. We all felt sad. We all felt disappointed. It was like as if one of our own has died. Sushant Singh – the boy next door, Sushant Singh – the successful T V star, Sushant Singh – the versatile Bollywood actor: this was how we used to know him around one month back.
Then suddenly he did something out of the box and unthinkable again and committed suicide; and reduced himself to: Sushant Singh – the victim. The victim of biased paparazzi, the victim of conniving nepotism, the victim of heartless Indian film industry.
What a shift!
He would be remembered mainly as a helpless victim in the history of Bollywood.
OMG! What has he done! Why has he done what he did?
Because he could not handle success. Fame made him weak. His intelligent mind encouraged him to do his last courageous stint that would make him unforgettable, at least for a few decades; and he committed a neat suicide. He forgot that he was better placed than most of his peers. He forgot that success and failures go hand in hand. He forgot to focus more on his triumphs than his defeats. He forgot if a few wanted him to fail, many wanted him to win. He lost his focus. He forgot to count his blessings.
According to me he killed himself not because he was defeated by this cruel world, or he was friendless, or he was alone; but because he was defeated by his own success, his own expectations and his own dreams. He was a victim of fame, victim of success, victim of his own beautiful mind.
Don’t you think that he was much stronger before he became famous? Was he not much determined when he was struggling to establish himself as an actor? Was he not much happier before he started calculating his worth in the words of a handful of powerful people?
He changed his status from a celebrity to a victim too easily. He should not have done it. He should not have taken his life. He should not have succumbed so soon. He should not have given up so early. He should not have thought out of the box too much. He should not have set an example to millions of his fans that a life can be taken and wasted so smoothly.
I wonder even now, after one month of his death; what if someone would have knocked at his door, or his phone would have buzzed, or his dog would have barked right at the moment, when he was putting that deadly noose in his neck?
I feel sad that none of the above things happened at that particular moment. I feel perturbed that he has set a wrong precedent to millions of struggling Indians. I even feel angry at what he did on stumbling at some rocks while climbing on the gigantic mountain of success.
I feel disappointed and terrified as if I have been robbed and betrayed too easily and blatantly, because I am a common Indian (like he used to be before becoming a star); and a common Indian is born to struggle and achieve, not to struggle, succeed and commit suicide.
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Dear Sushant Singh, you should not have done what you did.
No doubt, we will miss you; but the difference is, we will not remember you as a winner now.
Harsh, Hmm? But not harsher than what you did to yourself.
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