Mitu Samar Jha

There was a time when stardom was a fortress. In the 90s, Ruby Bhatia wasn't just a VJ; she was the electric pulse of a new, liberalised India, reportedly commanding Rs 1 lakh per show. Rahul Roy wasn't just an actor; he was the face of a generation’s collective heartbreak, the Aashiqui boy whose silhouette defined romance and whose haircut was the bestseller in every saloon. Govinda? He was—and is—the undisputed king of the masses, a comic genius who could make a cinema hall shake with a single pelvic thrust. Fast forward three decades, and the fortress has been dismantled by the relentless, voyeuristic machinery of social media. Today, these icons find themselves under the harsh, unforgiving glare of a "content-hungry" digital mob that mistakes struggle for failure and evolution for desperation. Recent headlines have taken a perverse pleasure in dissecting Ruby Bhatia’s career shift. Yes, the woman who once defined "cool" is now a life coach charging Rs 3,000 for a six-month program. To the keyboard warriors, this is a "fall from grace." To any sane mind, it is a woman finding meaning after a nervous breakdown, choosing to make mental health accessible to the masses rather than gatekeeping it for the elite. Similarly, Rahul Roy has been subjected to the "cringe" treatment for appearing in social media reels with unknown creators. The internet, in its infinite cruelty, ignores the fact that this man is a brain stroke survivor. He is fighting aphasia, paying off legal debts that predated his illness, and trying to "stay active" and work for as long as he is alive. When he asks his trolls to find him "decent work" instead of mocking his reels, he isn't showing desperation; he is showing a spine of steel that most "influencers" couldn't dream of possessing. Then there is Govinda, the man who once gave the Khans a run for their money, now frequently seen performing at school annual days and weddings. The "dark shadow" of social media brands these "small shows," as if the size of the stage dictates the stature of the legend. Govinda’s response is a masterclass in humility: "I never let my ego influence my work." Whether it’s a Chief Minister’s event or a local school function, the man dances because he is a performer. There is more dignity in one of his "wedding steps" than in the entire collective output of a thousand anonymous trolls. Social media has birthed a generation of spectators who believe that unless you are at the absolute zenith of your power, you should vanish into the shadows. We have become a culture that feeds on the "tragedy" of the legacy act. But here is the truth: There is nothing sad about a veteran getting up and going to work. There is nothing "cringe" about an icon refusing to be defeated by a health crisis or a shifting industry. The desperation doesn't belong to Ruby, Rahul, or Govinda. The desperation belongs to the social media ecosystem that needs to tear down giants just to feel tall.