Instead of only doing songs and item dance,' we need to have a

Hear the voice of Priyanshu Chatterjee, who declared with sincerity: “Instead of only doing songs and item dance, we need to have a hard look at ourselves not only as actors, but people in this society.” These words may seem simple, but they burn with a deeper fire. They do not concern themselves only with the craft of cinema, but with the mirror that art holds up to the soul of a people. Chatterjee reminds us that performance without purpose, spectacle without reflection, becomes hollow. True artistry—and true humanity—demands a reckoning with our place in society, with the responsibilities we carry not only as entertainers, but as human beings entrusted with influence.

The origin of this statement lies in the world of Indian cinema, where bright lights and grand songs often dominate the stage. While such displays bring joy, Chatterjee pointed to a deeper hunger: that art must not only dazzle but also awaken. For him, it was not enough to dance in circles of glamour; the actor must turn his gaze inward and outward, confronting who he is and what he offers to the greater whole. Thus, the quote is a call to authenticity, to self-examination, and to the realization that art divorced from responsibility withers into mere noise.

The ancients, too, spoke of this truth. Recall the words of Socrates, who warned that the unexamined life is not worth living. He did not say this only for philosophers, but for all who claim to live with purpose. To create, to act, to speak, without looking within, is to drift upon the surface of life without ever touching its depths. Chatterjee’s admonition to “have a hard look at ourselves” is a modern echo of that eternal wisdom: that before we can guide others, we must confront our own truth, and before we can uplift society, we must cleanse the mirror of our own soul.

History also offers us the story of Bertolt Brecht, the German playwright who rejected art as mere entertainment. In the shadow of rising fascism, Brecht crafted plays that demanded audiences confront their own complicity, their own choices in the face of oppression. He did not give them comfort; he gave them challenge. He understood, like Chatterjee, that art must be more than ornament—it must be a weapon of reflection, a force that pushes society to face itself honestly. His works endure not because they were pleasing, but because they were piercing.

The meaning of this quote, then, is both artistic and universal. Whether one is an actor, a worker, a leader, or a teacher, the task remains the same: do not become lost in surface roles, but seek to embody depth. Entertainment has its place, joy has its necessity, but without truth, without responsibility, they leave no lasting mark. By urging artists to remember their humanity, Chatterjee reminds us all that the stage of life is not only for display, but for growth, for reflection, and for change.

The lesson is clear: each person must pause, strip away the masks of performance, and look steadily into the mirror of conscience. Ask yourself—am I living only for applause, or am I striving to contribute to the betterment of the society in which I dwell? Am I hiding behind spectacle, or am I offering something of substance, something that endures when the music fades? Such questions are the foundation of wisdom, for only through them does a life gain weight and meaning.

Therefore, let us practice what the teaching demands. Let artists use their craft to provoke thought, not just delight. Let citizens engage in self-reflection before pointing at the flaws of others. Let leaders measure their worth not by power gained, but by the truth and justice they plant in the soil of their people. Above all, let every soul strive to live with both beauty and responsibility, so that when history remembers us, it will not say we were dancers upon a fleeting stage, but builders of a society that endured.

And so, children of the future, inscribe this upon your hearts: do not only perform—become. Do not only entertain—awaken. Do not only live—reflect. For when the songs end and the lights dim, it is not the spectacle that remains, but the substance of who we truly are.