When the mask goes off

A hot summer afternoon in a village in Andhra Pradesh, it was a huge event—a temple was being inaugurated. Inviting everyone in and around the family is a part the tradition around the area. The temperatures were soaring to a high of 40 degree celsius, yet, I remember hearing the announcement which said around 30,000 people had lunch so far, and this was said at 12:30PM, in a village where the population is just around 10,000. The food was amazing though, not gonna lie.

I came across different type of people in the large crowd, some selling coconuts, some donating 100 or 200 rupees to the temple, there were a few women selling kumkuma and more for maybe 10 or 20 rupees. While all these people are working hard to make a living, and many being generous to donate, there was one person that caught my eye while I was walking down the street, under a tent. A man with one leg, probably in his 30s. He was

trying to beg people for money to make a living, or maybe just to get food for the end of the day? We come across many such people in our routines, have we ever thought what these people are like after they go home?

I’m not talking about beggars alone, be it watchmen, peons, waiters, or just us.. you and me. We see the tip of the iceberg in our fancy lives where we have the luxury to glide through our days, caught up in our own whirlwinds—deadlines, dreams, the ping of a new message. But what about you? What happens when the world stops watching, when you close the door behind you, when the day fades to silence?

Picture yourself at the end of it all. Out in the world, we’re performers, aren’t we? We laugh on cue, we nod, we push through. We’re the worker, the friend, the stranger who seems to have it all together. But when we’re alone, the act falls away. The mask you wore all day, the one that said you’re fine, you’re in control, you’ve got this—it slips away. What’s left? Who are you when the curtain’s drawn?

Maybe you stand there, letting the water drown out the noise in your head and the walls taking all the weight from your punches. The argument you didn’t start but can’t stop replaying. The worry about tomorrow’s bills, or the dream you’re too scared to chase. Maybe you think of the moment you laughed today, loud and bright, but now, alone, you wonder if anyone really saw you. Not the you who smiled, but the you who’s carrying something heavier, something no one else can see. The shower becomes your sanctuary, where the truth of you spills out, where your emotions are safe, locked and guarded.

Everyone has their shower moment, I mean, it can be a bucket bath too, or that one corner of your bed..err.. I guess you get the idea. The person you passed on the street, the one who served your coffee, the one who cut you off in traffic—they all go home, too. They stand under their own streams of water, or sit in the dark, or lie awake, wrestling with their own unspoken thoughts. What makes us human isn’t the face we show the world, but the one we meet when we’re alone, when the water is ruining the makeup you've been wearing all day, when the day’s weight settles in.

You felt it, right? That feeling when you realise the version of you the world sees isn’t the whole story. It might be the fear that you’re not enough, or the hope you’re too stubborn to let go of. Maybe it’s the memory of someone you lost, or the version of yourself you used to be. In that moment, you’re not your job, your status, or your to-do list. You’re just you, beautifully, messily human.

So, the next time you’re out there, moving through the crowd, playing your part, remember this: everyone’s carrying something beneath the surface. Everyone’s got a story running at home, a place where they shed the day and face themselves. And you? You’re no different.

“All the roles we play, they fade away.

At the end of the day, that little space is what shows us the way!” Go have a great day, but remember to own every little feeling in a corner, atleast for once.