We are entertainers. We have to give our audience a good time. If

Hear, O listener, the words of Tiger Shroff: “We are entertainers. We have to give our audience a good time. If my name serves that purpose, if that brings a smile on your face, then I think it is good and my job has been done.” Though simple in tone, these words carry with them the ancient truth of art, duty, and the bond between performer and people. They reveal that the purpose of the stage, whether of theater, song, or screen, is not vanity, but service: to lift hearts, to bring light, and to give joy.

The meaning of this reflection lies in humility. Shroff does not place himself at the center of glory, but the audience. He knows that the artist is but a vessel, a bridge between the toil of life and the freedom of laughter and delight. A name, a reputation, a performance—these are not ends in themselves but tools to touch the spirit of others. If a single smile is born from his work, then the mission is fulfilled. This is the essence of service: to pour oneself out so that others may rise.

The origin of such wisdom reaches back to the beginnings of performance itself. In ancient Greece, theater was not merely spectacle but a sacred act. Comedies and tragedies alike were staged not for the pride of actors but to teach, to heal, and to give the people a shared experience of catharsis. In India, too, the Natya Shastra declared that drama was a gift from the gods, a way to balance the sorrows and joys of life. The entertainer, in every age, was never simply a performer—they were a healer of the spirit, a servant of the collective soul.

History offers luminous examples of this truth. Consider Charlie Chaplin, who, in the darkest years of depression and war, made millions laugh with the smallest gesture of his face or the stumble of his feet. His name alone brought comfort to the downtrodden, reminding them that even in misery, there is lightness. Chaplin did not view himself as a great man to be worshipped, but as a clown who gave others reason to smile. In this, his mission mirrored Tiger Shroff’s belief: that the greatest honor of the entertainer is to awaken joy in others.

Yet this calling is not without sacrifice. To devote one’s job to the joy of others means to put aside one’s own pride at times, to endure criticism, and to carry the weight of expectation. The world may think the entertainer shines in ease, but behind the curtain lies discipline, struggle, and doubt. And still, the true performer persists, knowing that the smile of a stranger is worth more than gold, for it is the proof that art has touched the heart.

Practically, this lesson speaks to every soul, not only those who stand upon the stage. Each of us, in our daily interactions, may choose to be an entertainer of sorts—to bring joy to those around us, to ease their burdens, to offer kindness and light. A kind word at work, a joke at the dinner table, a listening ear to a weary friend—these acts are echoes of the same sacred duty: to serve others with the gifts we possess.

So, O listener, remember this: your name, your presence, your deeds—these can be instruments of light if you use them to bring smiles into the world. Do not seek applause for yourself, but seek instead the joy of others. For in the end, greatness is not measured in trophies or fame, but in the quiet happiness we leave behind in the hearts of those who crossed our path.

Thus the teaching endures: the entertainer’s job is not glory, but giving. And if even one person leaves lighter because of your work, then your task has been noble, and your life well-lived.