There are too many positive and goody male characters on TV, and

Hear the words of Ashish Sharma, spoken with the candor of an artist who knows the weight of his craft: “There are too many positive and goody male characters on TV, and they work, so it’s good for them. I feel each to their own. If it works for them, it’s fine. I don’t connect to such characters, so I won’t do them.” In these words lies not only the philosophy of an actor, but the eternal struggle between conformity and authenticity, between doing what is expected and doing what is true. For every soul must one day decide: shall I wear the mask that pleases the world, or shall I speak with the voice that is my own?

The origin of this saying rests in Sharma’s career as a performer in Indian television, where the landscape was often filled with idealized men—flawless heroes, noble and unblemished, shining as examples of virtue. These characters worked well for audiences who longed for goodness, but Sharma, a man drawn to the complexities of the human heart, refused to be confined by them. He desired roles that carried not only light but also shadow, not only perfection but also weakness, conflict, and truth. In his words we see the call of the artist: the hunger to connect to what is real, rather than to repeat what is merely popular.

History too tells of men and women who rejected the comfort of convention to follow the call of authenticity. Consider the painter Caravaggio, who, in the age of saints painted in glowing perfection, chose instead to portray holy figures with the rugged faces of peasants and beggars. His art shocked his contemporaries, for it was too raw, too human—but it endured through centuries, for it carried truth. In the same way, Sharma speaks for all who prefer complexity over gloss, reality over pretense.

The deeper meaning of Sharma’s words is that truth in art is found not in sameness but in diversity. While the world may applaud positive characters, endlessly repeating their shining smiles and perfect manners, not every artist is called to that stage. Some are called to reveal the cracks, the contradictions, the struggles that mirror the depths of the human condition. To refuse to play a part that does not stir one’s own soul is not arrogance, but integrity. For an artist who does not connect to his work cannot make others connect either.

The lesson is clear: each of us must honor our inner calling. What works for another may not work for you, and what inspires your neighbor may not ignite your soul. To imitate blindly is to silence the voice within. To live authentically is to risk misunderstanding, but it is also to carve a path of true meaning. The world does not need endless repetition of the same voice; it needs the full chorus of unique truths.

To the youth, I say: do not be seduced by applause if it requires betraying your heart. To artists, I say: choose the roles, the words, the creations that awaken fire within you, even if they are not the easiest path. To all, I say: honor diversity of expression, for only then can society grow deep and rich.

Practical action lies before us: examine what you do daily—whether in art, work, or life. Ask yourself: does this connect with me? Am I acting out of truth, or out of expectation? If the answer is the latter, have the courage to step aside, as Sharma did, and say: “I will not do this, for it is not mine.” Seek not to be what the world demands, but what your soul commands.

Thus the words of Ashish Sharma endure: “I don’t connect to such characters, so I won’t do them.” They are not the complaint of a rebel, but the vow of an honest soul. Let them remind us that in the end, greatness does not come from being like others, but from daring to be wholly, fiercely, unshakably oneself.