Once upon a time, greatness was earned in silence, not streamed for likes.

𝘾𝙖𝙣 𝙒𝙚 𝙂𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝘾𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙀𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙮 𝟭𝟵𝟵𝟬𝙨?

Oh yes—back then, stadiums were packed with cheering fans, and millions were captivated… on Instagram? YouTube? TikTok?

𝘞𝘈𝘐𝘛—𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥.

Abraham Lincoln had no Twitter handle, and Gandhi wasn’t live-streaming the Salt March. And you know what? Nobody cared.
Because back then, people were too busy doing things instead of watching someone do them.

𝙉𝙤𝙬 𝙛𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙞𝙧𝙘𝙪𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟱.

We live in a world where someone can have 200 million followers—just for dancing in their bathroom or sharing a protein shake recipe. Today, “𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦” means making people wear the same shoes, chase the same trends, and think the same recycled thoughts—ironically called “𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.”

𝙎𝙤 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙? 𝘿𝙞𝙙 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙨 𝙚𝙫𝙤𝙡𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩?

𝘈𝘱𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘠𝘌𝘚—𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘔𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢.

Today’s celebrities are practically worshipped. They’re not just people; they’re “𝘉𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴” with followers in numbers that ancient kings couldn’t even dream of in their armies. But behind those filtered smiles lies a brutal irony: neither the fan nor the celebrity actually feels secure.

Because here’s the kicker—celebrity culture isn’t about greatness anymore. It’s about spectacle. And when all heroism is packed into a few glittering faces, the rest are reduced to spectators—clapping hands, scrolling fingers.

In this grand theater of artificial importance, ordinary people now seek meaning in becoming fans.
𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘴. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘴 —𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 “𝘍𝘈𝘕𝘚” — Fans who never share the profits. Never gain the confidence. Only the illusion of connection—and a slow, silent erosion of their own self-worth.

And here’s the tragic irony—celebrities themselves are not basking in joy. They’re terrified. Always one scandal away from cancellation, one unfollow spree away from irrelevance. So both sides—the idol and the idol-worshipper—are united by one thing: 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘺.

The Bhagavad-Gita, of course, has no space for this circus.
Krishna didn’t say, “𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘐𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮.” He said, “𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘯.” — The focus is not on becoming 𝘢 “𝘊𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺” but becoming a “𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘰—𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘯𝘦”. One who lifts others, not one who collects likes.

But today, celebrity culture doesn’t encourage people to feel their abilities. It distracts them from it.

I remember a conversation with a financial advisor—he said most families know their children won’t become creators or innovators. They won’t build factories, design machines, or craft solutions. They’ll just manage portfolios. Passive income. Passive identity. Passive life. We’ve raised a generation allergic to struggle and addicted to shortcut glory.

Everyone wants to consume. No one wants to create. We’re surrounded by heroes, yes—but synthetic ones. Factory-made icons, their shine curated by algorithms—not forged through effort.

Let’s remember—on the battlefield of Kurukshetra, or even in Lanka, there were no audience stands. No ticket sales. No selfie zones. Everyone fought. Everyone participated. The great demon Banasura, with a thousand arms, was cut down to size—998 arms severed by Krishna himself. Two were left behind as a reminder: divinity lies in the ordinary. Krishna was decentralising power—giving two hands to all, stripping away the illusion of concentrated might. The message was clear: everyone can contribute. Modern society, in contrast, worships a handful of thousand-armed “𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘴,” while the rest remain frozen—”𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘴”.

What a “𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦” era we live in. We call ourselves rational, educated—even enlightened— and then stampede for a glimpse of an actor. We burn with grief when a film hero dies. Yes, people have literally set themselves on fire mourning someone they never met. Because why seek God within, when you can worship an airbrushed version of divinity on a screen?

True education, once upon a time, wasn’t about knowing the periodic table. It was about knowing yourself. People were self-sufficient. They didn’t know celebrities—because they didn’t need to. Their lives had meaning without subscribing to someone else’s updates.

In those times, heroes quietly created other heroes. Today’s celebrities? They create followers. Just followers.

𝘚𝘖, 𝘞𝘌 𝘚𝘛𝘐𝘓𝘓 𝘏𝘈𝘝𝘌 𝘈 𝘊𝘏𝘖𝘐𝘊𝘌.

𝘋𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘦—𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩?

– Govinda Das (ISKCON Member)