By Gowher Bhat
The hunger to be seen.It started slow.
A picture here, a video there. A wedding clip. A funeral post. A plate of food, steaming, untouched. Someone liked it. Someone commented. Someone asked, Where is this? Someone said, Mashallah. Someone else said, Overrated.
Then it picked up speed.
Now, nothing is just what it is. A wedding isn’t a wedding. It’s an event. The bride looks perfect. Too perfect. There’s a filter on her face. The groom is smiling. It’s his third take. The guests are clapping. The phone is shaking in someone’s hand. The whole thing will be up on Instagram in an hour, cut into parts, wrapped in a song someone else chose.
A funeral isn’t a funeral. Someone posts a story. “Inna Lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un”. Someone else takes a video. The body is wrapped. The mother is crying. Someone films the mother crying. Someone posts that too. “May Allah grant him Jannah.” The likes come in. The comments flood. What happened to him? How did he die? Was he sick? The body is lowered into the ground. Someone else posts a picture of the grave. “Gone too soon”.
A meal isn’t a meal. A mother makes rice. A son takes a picture before eating. The food gets cold. He angles his phone again. “Best wazwan in town.” No one touches the plate before the camera does. The roti is breaking apart in someone’s hands, but they don’t eat. Not yet. Not before they pick the right filter. Not before they check how many people are watching.
It used to be simple. It used to be different. It used to be enough just to live.
Then came the screens.
Then came the hunger to be seen.
The game of Influence
Scroll down.
They’re everywhere.
The influencers.
They talk into the camera. They laugh. They pose. They sell a dream. A soft, glowing dream. Their skin is clear. Their homes are big. They smile just right. They hold up products. This is the best face wash I’ve ever used. This changed my life. They tell you what to wear, what to eat, how to live. They are perfect. Or they seem perfect.
But perfect gets boring.
So they add drama.
A fight with another influencer. A long, emotional apology. I never meant to hurt anyone. A breakup. A video of them crying. The views double. The comments explode. Someone takes sides. Someone else digs up an old post. You were fake all along.
And when that stops working? When the numbers start slipping? They do something bigger.
The joke is, even the ones who hate them watch.
Even the ones who call them fake check their stories every morning. Even the ones who complain about these attention seekers know their names.
And when the audience gets bored? When the likes slow down? They start again. They make it louder. Bigger. More reckless.
It’s a game. And in the end, no one wins.
The Reckless Race for Views
Somewhere in Kashmir, a boy stands on the ledge of a bridge.
His friend holds a phone. Jump, he says. The boy looks at the camera. He smiles. He jumps.
Somewhere else, another boy smashes a brick on his head. The video ends before the blood starts. Before the dizziness. Before the regret.
A girl swallows a spoonful of cinnamon. She coughs. She gasps. She tries to breathe. But the camera keeps rolling.
Because views. Because engagement. Because the algorithm wants more.
And the real victims?
The ones watching.
The kid who sees the stunt and tries it. Who doesn’t know the first take ended in a broken arm. The teenager who copies a challenge, not knowing the influencer had a safety net.
The hospital fills. The injuries pile up. Someone dies.
And the influencer? They move on. The audience forgets. The cycle repeats.
The Mental Toll of Social Media Stardom
But it’s not just broken bones. There’s something else.
Something quiet.
A boy posts a video. He waits. He refreshes. Again. Again. The likes aren’t coming. His heart beats faster. His palms sweat. He deletes the post. He tries again.
A girl films for hours. She picks the right song. The right filter. The right timing. She posts. She waits. The numbers are slow. A pit forms in her stomach.
Am I not good enough?
Not pretty enough?
Not funny enough?
The internet is fast. One wrong move, one bad post, one bad angle—and the same people who lifted you up will tear you down.
Anxiety. Depression. Self-doubt.
A life built on likes is a fragile one.
The Responsibility We Ignore
Who is to blame?
The influencers? The parents? The viewers?
The truth is, it’s all of us.
We watch. We click. We share. We make them famous. We make them reckless. And when something goes wrong, we shake our heads. What a tragedy, we say. So sad. And we move on.
No one steps in. No one says: This should stop. There are no rules. No limits.
Shouldn’t there be awareness campaigns? Shouldn’t someone say, This is dangerous?
Or will we wait? Until the next headline. The next death. The next mistake that can’t be undone.
What Really Matters
So what now?
Do we keep chasing something that won’t last?
Or do we stop? Step back? Think?
A father sits with his son under a chinar tree. He tells him a story. No cameras. No filters. Just words, passed down the way they used to be.
A boy walks home in the rain. His phone is in his pocket. No reels. No captions. Just rain. Just cold. Just life.
A girl deletes the app. She takes a deep breath. She opens a book.
Because fame is temporary.
Folly is permanent.
And no number of likes is worth losing yourself.
- The author can be reached for feedback at: gowherbhat866@gmail.com
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