The Applause, the Ego and the Art of Letting Go

Having spent most of my life in music and classical dance, I know that the stage is not merely a place where an artist performs. It becomes part of who you are. I still remember the excitement before a performance, the connection with the audience and the applause. Even today, when I cannot dance as freely as I once did, the desire has not disappeared. Perhaps that is why the recent controversy involving Daler Mehndi and Uttarakhand minister Subodh Uniyal caught my attention. The artist in me felt sympathy, but the counsellor in me began examining the behaviour of both men.

Daler Mehndi’s contribution to Indian music is unquestionable. But admiration for someone’s past achievements should not prevent us from discussing present responsibilities. If he knew that his health would not allow him to sing adequately, he could have informed the organisers and offered a stage appearance instead. His admirers might have been equally delighted simply to see him.

There is disagreement over the reported payment of ₹35 lakh, with Mika Singh demanding proof. That should be clarified. However, whether an artist receives a large fee or performs voluntarily, the responsibility to be honest with an audience remains.

I am reminded of Lata Mangeshkar, who gradually withdrew from regular recording and public performances. Her admirers never stopped loving her. She remained a legend without needing to demonstrate it repeatedly.

From a counselling perspective, I find the psychological attachment to professional identity particularly interesting. For some performers, the stage becomes more than a career. It becomes a source of self-worth. Psychologists sometimes describe this as role engulfment, where one identity becomes so dominant that imagining life without it becomes difficult. The fear may not simply be losing an audience, but losing the feeling of being important.

I understand that attachment personally. Classical dance has been part of my life since childhood. Accepting physical limitations has not always been easy. But I have also learnt that our worth does not have to disappear when our abilities change. An artist can continue contributing through teaching, mentoring and adapting performances. Stepping away from one role does not mean stepping away from life.

Now consider the minister’s behaviour. Even if the performance was disappointing, public humiliation was hardly the appropriate response. Questioning expenditure is part of public accountability. Making a personal accusation of intoxication without substantiated evidence is another matter.

In counselling, we often explore the relationship between emotional regulation, self-esteem and behaviour. People who feel their expectations have been challenged may respond defensively, particularly when they are accustomed to being obeyed. Power can sometimes reinforce this tendency by reducing inhibition and encouraging a sense of entitlement. This does not explain the minister’s personal motives, which we cannot know, but it provides a useful lens for examining such public confrontations.

Our culture of excessive deference towards politicians may contribute to the problem. When people are constantly surrounded by individuals saying Yes, Sir, some begin to mistake their official position for personal superiority. A disagreement then feels like disrespect, and anger becomes a demonstration of authority.

There is an interesting psychological parallel here. An artist may depend on applause for validation, while a politician may become accustomed to obedience. Both can struggle when the response they expect is missing. The underlying issue is not necessarily arrogance; sometimes it is the uncomfortable dependence of self-worth on external recognition.

And this is not limited to celebrities or politicians. We see it in families, workplaces and community organisations. The retired officer who still expects everyone to follow his instructions. The parent who cannot accept an adult child’s independence. The community leader who interprets criticism as a personal attack. Different circumstances, but a familiar difficulty in separating identity from authority.

A useful counselling question in such situations is not simply whether someone behaved badly, but what meaning the situation held for them. Did criticism feel like humiliation? Did disappointing an audience threaten a cherished identity? Did a loss of control trigger an unnecessarily aggressive response? These questions encourage understanding without excusing harmful behaviour.

As for the controversy, the organisers should clarify the financial arrangements and any contractual concerns. If an agreed performance was not delivered, that deserves a professional resolution. The minister should also take responsibility for any unsupported public accusation. Accountability should apply equally to the famous and the powerful.

There has since been a welcome development. Minister Subodh Uniyal has apologised to Daler Mehndi over the telephone, and Mika Singh’s team has acknowledged the gesture. I appreciate this development because, from a counselling perspective, acknowledging a mistake can be a sign of emotional maturity rather than weakness. It does not erase the original incident, but it creates an opportunity to move forward with greater understanding. The questions about the performance and financial arrangements, however, remain separate matters.

Perhaps this controversy has given us something more valuable than another celebrity argument. It reminds us that recognising our limitations, accepting criticism and acknowledging mistakes are all part of emotional maturity.

An artist should know his limitations. A politician should know his boundaries. And both should understand that admitting a mistake does not diminish dignity; sometimes, it restores it.