Indian news channels went wild giving the inconvenient demise of whiz Sridevi a sweeping scope. Some went under substantial fire after they absurdly endeavored to recreate the last snapshots of Sridevi after the posthumous report asserted she passed on of unplanned suffocating in her bath in her Dubai lodging room. In the one end to the other scope of the unfortunate going of the film symbol, an area of media even bantered over her life decisions, including how she figured out how to look so youthful and captivating even at 54.
Not simply Sridevi, all famous people go under overwhelming social strain to look as immaculate as they look on the wide screen. They are not permitted to hint at any maturing compelling them to settle on some life-characterizing restorative decisions.
Performing artist Amala Akkineni has composed an open letter deploring the disadvantages of the fame where she isn’t permitted to appreciate the advantage of “maturing smoothly”. “Will you give me a chance to quit shading my hair, let me wear it short, without alluding to my long tresses in Pushpak, at 19? The terrible hair days get caught, not the knowledge I convey, and that is disheartening. Doubtlessly cameras can demonstrate the profundity of a man and not only the surface?,” Amala expounds on the social weight she is under to look constantly youthful.
She goes ahead to regret, “You have gotten me in a period twist, an enclosure of popularity, while my soul is free. Permit me an existence, some protection, to draw in with humankind and the universe, with reason, truth, empathy and some regard for those now gone.”
Will you let me age gracefully?
Will you let me age gracefully without needing to comment on how tired I look or the weight I have gained?
The shadows under my eyes are from reading glass lines and freckles change to age spots everyday.
Will you let me dress without feeling low self esteem that I am not size zero anymore, nor that I wear the season’s couture?
A washed handloom engulfs me providing market to the looms, comfortably accommodating menopause.
Will you let me stop colouring my hair, let me wear it short, without referring to my long tresses in Pushpak, at 19?
The bad hair days get captured, not the wisdom I carry, and that’s demoralizing. Surely cameras can show the depth of a person and not just the surface?
Will you let me discuss meaningful things without interrupting the flow with questions on how I cook or what the season’s latest gossip demands?
My inner being thrives on accomplishing things that make a difference, things I seek to complete before my physical form is put to rest.
Will you let me walk through my day with peace and calm without the endless messages to attend events teeming with emptiness?
I need to complete life’s mission, but I can’t if my head spins in endless carousels, important to you, no doubt.
Will you free me of the box office madness, the TRP wars, Page 3, the likes, the comments, the traps that menacingly surround everything we do?
You have caught me in a time warp, a cage of fame, while my spirit is free.
Allow me a life, some privacy, to engage with humanity and the universe, with purpose, truth, compassion and some respect for those now gone.