“Ye shall make you no idols, neither shall ye rear you up a graven image, or a pillar, neither shall ye place any figured stone in your land, to bow down unto it: for I am the Lord your God.”
—Leviticus 26:1
Little did the God of Moses envisage things would go this far! Devjani Bodepudi explores the need for worship, celebrity worship.
Imagine a time when gods and demigods roamed the earth. Zeus, Kali, Athena, Thor, Krishna and Hercules ruled with their might and wisdom. They gave us something to aspire to; they explained away the seasons and the thunder. They rode on their bulls and tigers, spoke to their owls and wielded their hammers, all so we mere mortals could sleep safe in the knowledge that the sun would move across the heavens again and again as it was being rolled by the sacred scarab, through the will of the divine alone.
Now, fast forward a few millennia. Here we sit with idols anew. We have shinier glossier gods, with none of the blood and gore. We have Shah Rukh Khan, we have Salman Khan and we have K-Jo! (Perhaps K-Jo is the most important amongst the constellation of the newly divine. He is, after all, the god maker.)
So taken are we with our new gods, that we follow them, both physically and virtually. We replace our image with that of theirs on Facebook as our profile pictures, as if we aspire to be them. And we buy the products they are being paid to endorse. Our gods can do no wrong. We must be as one with our gods.
So taken are we with our new gods, that we follow them, both physically and virtually. We replace our image with that of theirs on Facebook as our profile pictures, as if we aspire to be them.
Where and wherefore have we developed this need? Psychologists, anthropologist and experts in many a field have argued for the evolutionary need for idol worship. Chimpanzees and other primates look to the most successful members of their group and copy their behaviour. “We must do as they do,” they say, “if we are to get ahead. If we too are to succeed. If we are to survive.”
Ergo, if we wear the same brand of underwear Akshay Kumar does in that ad, we too will endowed with the same animal magnetism he exudes on a daily basis. It’s as if somewhere in our brains the primitive need for imitation has not developed beyond that of a primate’s.
So extreme has our need for idols become, that there is an actual psychological disorder associated with it—Celebrity Worship Syndrome or CWS. According to a study carried out by the University of Leicester, about 36 percent of the British public lie somewhere on the spectrum of this obsessive compulsive disease. The figures are not so clear for the general Indian public, but symptoms involve an extreme desire to know about every detail and aspect of a favourite celebrity’s life, from whom they are seeing to the brand of perfume they wear. Suicides have been committed with announcements of engagements and marriages. Temples have been erected for our gods of Tollywood and Bollywood, cardboard cut-outs of Salman Bhai and Rajnikanth are adorned with garlands and are offered milk to celebrate the success of a film. Somewhere along the way, the line between divinity and celebrity has become blurred.
Suicides have been committed with announcements of engagements and marriages. Temples have been erected for our gods of Tollywood and Bollywood, cardboard cut-outs of Salman Bhai and Rajnikanth are adorned with garlands and are offered milk to celebrate the success of a film. Somewhere along the way, the line between divinity and celebrity has become blurred.
So strong is the cult of celebrity that people like Anushka Sharma and Deepika Padukone talking candidly about mental illness has opened up the floodgates of confession. “I too am depressed!” come the cries from her fans. “Well done, Deepika, your divinity is all the more real because of this ability to declare your mortality.”
I am not criticising the celebrity here; I am critiquing our willingness to follow blindly and happily in the hallowed footsteps of our idols. Why did it take a celebrity to tell us that depression is real for us to believe it? Why is it all the more tragic for our starlets to be suffering, than it is for our neighbour whom we barely acknowledge? Surely we have more in common with our neighbour than we do with the gods? And yet, gods will be gods; flawed and fated to repeat the same mistakes as us ordinary mortals, but so much more beautiful while they do so.
Their technicolour lives, their children, their relationships, their dramas seem so much more than our own. Their loves and hates are so much more intense, so much more important than our own monochrome humdrum existence. To live vicariously through them is to dream the dream. To be able to swish our dandruff-free mane in concert with Kareena’s is nothing short of pure joy. We will be transformed into the yoga-flexing, sculpted-lipped waif that is arm candy to Saif, the man-boy has-been who is still ‘kinda’ cute.
Their technicolour lives, their children, their relationships, their dramas seem so much more than our own. Their loves and hates are so much more intense, so much more important than our own monochrome humdrum existence.
They, our idols, provide us with opinion, escape, aspirations and hope. Without them our lives would be far too real.
In a land where poverty, mud, and garbage are far too visible, sometimes a little Bollywood magic can go a long way. Who cares if the gas cylinder is nearly empty? Let’s dance to the ‘Lungi Dance’, let’s sway to ‘Exotic’ because in those few moments, we are not here. We are not us; we are SRK, Deepika and Priyanka. We are transformed into glittering angels sent from somewhere, anywhere but not here!
So firm is our faith in the stars that we willingly elect them into Parliament; we trust them to make decisions for us. Again, temples erected, judgements overturned, all because stars cannot be so easily touched. It seems that when one attains a certain age, one must stand for election. It appears to be the only logical solution to remain in the limelight when the spotlight has faded on the silver screen. Ironically, the number of actors who have played gods and goddesses on the list of actor-politicians is quite telling. Sita, Krishna, Hanuman are all on there. We trust our celluloid deities more than the ordinary Jo, any day!
They, our idols, provide us with opinion, escape, aspirations and hope. Without them our lives would be far too real.
But then again, our need for celebrity is as much about the need to vilify as it is to adulate. Women in particular, are our prey. Take for example, Anushka Sharma again. Our cricketers, another breed of god, who are responsible for our very identity as a nation, (Lord help us if we say a word against Dhoni!) are so holy that to be seen with a frivolous tartlet, such as Anushka is almost blasphemy. Her, with her fake lips and seductive smile. She is nothing but a distraction to Virat, who should know better, being of a higher order of god. She becomes the Menaka to his Vishwamitra and we are left cursing and mocking and ‘papping’ the hapless couple whose only crime was to simply fall in love.
In centuries to come, stories will be told of our immortals and legends will be written about our gods. Humanity will continue to evolve, but only so much. We will always need our idols. We shall continue to worship them, imitate them, follow them, retweet them and defend them, in the vain hope that one day some of their star-shine will rub off on us. And this is what we must do until we too find a way to become immortal.
