I was married once. When the tinsel from Tum Bin' was wearing

“I was married once. When the tinsel from Tum Bin was wearing off, so was the happiness from my first marriage. Ever since, I’ve been wary of marrying again.” Thus spoke Priyanshu Chatterjee, with the honesty of one who has known both the brightness of success and the shadow that follows it. His words are not merely a reflection on love or fame, but on the transient nature of human joy—the tinsel that shines brilliantly for a while before it fades. In his confession lies an ancient truth: that when two forms of glory—love and recognition—rise and fall together, the soul learns to distrust both, and to seek instead the quieter, rarer light of understanding.

The tinsel of fame is like the first glittering snow that falls upon the earth—it dazzles, it enchants, but it cannot endure the warmth of reality. So it is with early love, when hearts are filled with dreams and the world seems kind. In those golden beginnings, everything gleams: the newness of success, the sweetness of companionship, the illusion that both will last forever. Yet as the glow fades and the world grows familiar again, one sees what lies beneath the shimmer—ordinary life, with its imperfections, its silences, its small disappointments. Priyanshu Chatterjee, once lifted by cinematic triumph, saw that the same winds that carried him upward could just as easily blow away the delicate joy of his marriage. His words are not bitter; they are the voice of one who has seen the cost of illusion.

The ancients, too, spoke of this fleetingness. Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher, wrote in his meditations that “glory is but the echo of virtue, and love, if it depends on fortune, will perish with it.” He understood that both success and affection must be rooted not in circumstance, but in inner strength. Those who tie their joy to external things—beauty, wealth, fame, or even affection—will find their happiness rise and fall like the tide. When the tinsel wears off, only the truth remains: what was real, what was shallow, and what was never meant to last.

To be wary of marrying again, as Chatterjee confesses, is not cowardice—it is the caution born of pain. When one has watched something sacred crumble, the heart learns to step carefully around hope. It does not mean love has died, but that innocence has. Yet from this wariness can come wisdom, for the heart, though scarred, begins to seek what is enduring. It learns that love must not be built upon the fleeting thrill of admiration or the sweetness of early joy, but upon patience, humility, and shared truth. The glamour that dazzles at first must be replaced by the gentler light of trust, the kind that does not fade when the world turns gray.

Consider the story of Ingrid Bergman, the luminous actress who, like Priyanshu, saw her personal life cast into turmoil as her fame rose and fell. Her love affairs were condemned, her career was shattered, and yet from the ashes she rebuilt both. She learned, as all must learn, that happiness cannot depend upon applause nor upon the perfection of another, but upon the peace that comes from living honestly. Her later years, quieter and wiser, were marked not by glittering triumphs but by calm dignity—a tinsel transformed into gold.

The lesson, then, is this: beware of confounding the brightness of the world with the warmth of the soul. The happiness that depends on outward splendor will fade as surely as the season changes. True joy does not dazzle—it endures. Do not measure love by its excitement, but by its gentleness in hardship; do not measure success by its noise, but by its harmony with your inner self. When the glitter falls away, what remains will be your truth—and if that truth is sound, no loss can destroy it.

So, when the tinsel of life begins to wear thin, as it always will, do not mourn the fading of its shine. Instead, be grateful that it reveals what lies beneath. The end of illusion is not tragedy, but awakening. Like Priyanshu Chatterjee, you may find yourself wary after loss, cautious before joy—but this is not weakness. It is wisdom hard-earned, the knowledge that love and happiness must be crafted not from glamour or passion alone, but from honesty, endurance, and quiet faith. For the soul that learns this will not fear when the tinsel fades—it will stand in the deeper light that no fame, and no failure, can ever dim.