India has always been a strange country when it comes to talent. We struggle to recognize it, and when we finally do, we rarely know how to nurture it. We cannot seem to accept that human minds don’t function uniformly. There are intellectuals, and there are dumbfucks. And let’s face it—dumbfucks can ace their exams if they happen to have a good memory. But an intellectual? That’s nature’s rare accident, not society’s creation. You can’t memorize your way into becoming one.
And perhaps that is why God is stingy with intellectuals. He knows you don’t need too many to keep humanity running. A society filled with mortals is enough. Intellectuals are inconvenient, sometimes even dangerous, because they question, they create, and they disrupt.
Forgotten Creators, Worshipped Characters
Take our own cultural heritage. The Ramayana and the Mahabharata, two of the greatest epics of human civilization, were crafted by intellectual titans—Valmiki and Vyasa. Yet, walk through India today: how many temples are dedicated to them? How many towering statues? How many state-sponsored awards?
Instead, their characters—Ram and Krishna—were elevated to divine status. Even today, in the 21st century, millions bow before these figures as Gods, while their creators remain buried in the footnotes of history. Imagine Shakespeare forgotten, while Hamlet and Macbeth get temples and annual festivals. That’s India for you.
The Pattern Continues
This legacy of misplaced worship didn’t end with mythology. Fast forward to modern India. The actor who enacts a role gets paid millions, plastered on billboards, and adored by fans, while the writer who imagined the character remains invisible. Salim–Javed created the Angry Young Man, but Amitabh Bachchan became the deity.
Think about cricket. The crowd chants “Sachin! Sachin!”, but who remembers the coaches who shaped him? Who remembers Ramakant Achrekar, except as a trivia question? The creator fades, the performer shines.
Globally, too, the story repeats. Steve Wozniak built the machine. Steve Jobs sold the dream. Guess who ended up with temples of worship in Silicon Valley?
Why We Worship Performers Over Creators
Part of the answer lies in human psychology. Creations are abstract, creators invisible. But performers are flesh-and-blood embodiments of fantasy. They give people something to hold on to, project onto, and worship.
An actor doesn’t just play a role; he becomes the role in the eyes of the public. Ram was born from Valmiki’s imagination, but when an actor plays Ram on TV, the actor becomes Ram. The intellectual behind the curtain is forgotten, just as the puppeteer is forgotten while the puppet dances in the spotlight.
The Curse of Hero Worship
Hero worship is not just about forgetting intellectuals—it’s about cultural laziness. Worshipping is easier than thinking. Following is easier than questioning. It’s far simpler to build a temple for Ram than to engage with the brilliance of Valmiki.
And so, generation after generation, we glorify the mask while ignoring the sculptor who carved it. Performers thrive, creators fade. This is not just an Indian problem—it’s a global human condition. But in India, we have perfected it into an art form.
The Final Irony
The legacy of hero worship is clear: the intellectual creates, the performer profits, and the crowd worships. Valmiki and Vyasa gave us eternal stories. Ram and Krishna became Gods. The writers remain forgotten.
And so today, when a Bollywood star makes headlines for “carrying a script on his shoulders,” remember: he didn’t write it. He didn’t conceive it. He didn’t breathe life into it. Someone else did. But in this land, the spotlight rarely looks backstage.
That is the tragedy—and the farce—of hero worship.