Who you are is magnetic! Rajinikanth

Imagine being a child, staring into the mirror, only to hear cruel taunts ricocheting from every corner of your world.

“You look like the blackest oil pot!”

“Darkie!”

These weren’t just from strangers—they came from family, friends, even so-called enemies. The ridicule was relentless, chipping away at self-worth, all because of the shade of my skin.

My own mother, in a misguided act of love, would coat my face with powder before school. I’d leave home looking ghostly, stripped of the color I was born with. It was a daily ritual of erasure, a silent declaration that my natural hue was something to hide. In a society obsessed with fairness creams and pale ideals, I felt invisible.

Then, like lightning splitting the sky, Rajinikanth burst onto the silver screen—and everything changed.

This isn’t just my story. It’s the story of millions battling the deep-rooted demon of colorism in India. At the heart of this shift stands one man: Thalaivar, the Boss, the Superstar—Rajinikanth. His journey didn’t just inspire; it detonated a cultural quake, proving that true magnetism comes from within, not from the shade of your skin.

The Humble Spark: From Bus Conductor to Box-Office Dynamo

Born Shivaji Rao Gaikwad in 1950, Bangalore, Rajinikanth’s early life was far from cinematic glamour. Raised in a modest Marathi family, he lost his mother at just nine. He worked odd jobs—a coolie, then a bus conductor for the Bangalore Transport Service—yet a quiet fire burned inside.

At Ramakrishna Math, he immersed himself in Vedas, history, and spirituality, while school plays revealed his knack for performance. His turn in a Mahabharata skit earned praise from poet D.R. Bendre, planting the seed for something bigger.

That seed sprouted at the Madras Film Institute, where director K. Balachander spotted him. Renamed “Rajinikanth,” he debuted in Apoorva Raagangal (1975). Villain roles came first—the cigarette-flipping bad guy in Moondru Mudichu(1976)—but by 1977’s Bhuvana Oru Kelvi Kuri, he was stepping into heroic leads.

In a film industry that idolized fair-skinned heroes, Rajinikanth’s dark complexion wasn’t just accepted—it became his signature. As one fan famously put it, “He was the hero who broke the stereotype.”

The Style Tsunami: Swagger That Broke Barriers

The 1980s saw Rajinikanth erupt like a cinematic volcano. Billa (1980) remade Amitabh Bachchan’s Don with unmatched swagger. Moondru Mugam (1982) brought him triple roles and state awards. Bollywood hits like Andhaa Kaanoon (1983) widened his reach.

Then came the megaton hits—Baashha (1995), Muthu (1995), Padayappa (1999)—cementing his god-like status. Muthu became the first Tamil film to conquer Japan. Later blockbusters like Sivaji (2007), Enthiran (2010), and 2.0(2018) shattered budgets and records. In 2023, Jailer crossed ₹600 crore, making him the only Tamil actor with two ₹500 crore films.

What set him apart? That electric style. The cigarette toss. The sunglasses flip. Punch dialogues like, “Naan oru thadava sonna, nooru thadava sonna mathiri” (“If I say it once, it’s like saying it a hundred times”). His very title card—“Superstar Rajinikanth”—was a theater event.

While colorism still shadows Indian cinema, Rajinikanth’s reign proved that charisma, not complexion, is the currency of stardom. And in doing so, he gave silent permission to millions of dark-skinned Indians—especially children who grew up hiding behind powder and self-doubt—to stand in the light without apology. His unapologetic pride in his appearance rewired how we saw ourselves: not as people lacking something, but as individuals carrying a unique presence no fairness cream could ever give. On screen, he didn’t “overcome” his skin tone—he celebrated it, making it impossible for fans not to see beauty and strength reflected back at them.

The Spiritual Ascent: From Screen Icon to Sage

Rajinikanth’s appeal goes far beyond the box office. A lifelong seeker shaped by his Ramakrishna Math days, he often retreats to the Himalayas for meditation and reflection. He supports social causes, donates generously, and leads with humility.

In public life, he appears exactly as he is—bald head, uncoloured hair, no make-up. In an industry where stars cling fiercely to youthful illusions, such authenticity is rare. He doesn’t fear losing fans by showing his real self. On screen, he’ll don wigs and costumes because audiences enjoy that larger-than-life persona. But off screen, he strips it all away, letting people see the man behind the image. In doing so, he quietly teaches millions to distinguish between their self-image rooted in character and values, versus one built on pride, ego, or vanity.

He also speaks about God and creation with awe, offering a counterpoint to the cultural drift that equates modernism with “do as you please” and the erosion of moral boundaries. His words and example remind people that true freedom thrives within the guardrails of morality, not in the absence of it. In his art, he embodies chaos in creativity—wild, unpredictable, magnetic—but always guided by discipline and an unshakable recognition of humanity’s smallness before the vast grandeur of nature and God.

Awards—from the Dadasaheb Phalke (2020) to the IFFI Centenary—celebrate not just his craft but his cultural impact. His fans don’t just watch his movies; they follow his life philosophy, embracing self-respect and inner strength.

The Ripple Effect: One Man, Millions of Mirrors

For me, watching Rajinikanth wasn’t just entertainment—it was liberation, as a boy. His confidence translated into mine became my armor. His success dismantled centuries of prejudice, allowing an entire generation to stand taller.

Even in a world still tangled in fairness myths, his story is a beacon. In his words: “En vazhi thani vazhi”—My way is a unique way. And what a way it is.

Trapped by Labels, Stalled by Lies

The Unseen Hustle of James

Imagine James, a high school sophomore, charging down the soccer field, his heavy frame defying gravity with every nimble step. A hormonal condition keeps his weight stubbornly high, no matter how many miles he runs or salads he eats. Doctors, trainers, endless workouts—nothing shifts the scale. At school, he’s a target for cruel jabs: “lazy,” “slob,” the words hit like fists. But those same classmates who mock him freeze, stunned, when James scores a goal or fires off a brilliant answer in class. His energy and intellect shatter their assumptions, yet the body shaming cuts deep, testing his resilience every day.

Beyond his physical struggle, James also learns differently. Traditional bookwork isn’t his strength; he thrives when he can do—build, experiment, move. Yet teachers often label him “slow” because he doesn’t ace rote memorization, overlooking his hands-on brilliance.

Tyler’s Tears and Tantrums

Now meet Tyler, James’s classmate, also struggling with weight—this time from a life of snacks and screens. Tyler has learned how to tell a good story. With quivering lips and well-timed tears, he spins tales of body shaming that never happened. It’s not that he’s evil or broken—it’s that he’s discovered something that works. Sympathy opens doors, lightens workloads, and deflects responsibility.

In class, he coasts. He claims he’s “not good at school,” but instead of trying, he leans on this narrative to avoid effort. When challenged, he plays the victim, and more often than not, people back off. His tactics shield him from failure but also from growth. Tyler’s not just struggling physically—he’s trapped in a cycle of self-preservation that keeps him dependent on others’ pity instead of building real strength.

Stereotypes Beyond the Body

James and Tyler reveal two poisons: shaming to tear people down, and exploiting victimhood to skate by. These aren’t just about appearance—they shape how we perceive minds, too. James’s experience echoes that of many kids who don’t fit the mold of traditional learning. Some students excel at abstract thinking or memorizing facts. Others, like James, are tactile thinkers—they learn by building, doing, and moving. Yet schools often mislabel these learners as “underachieving,” overlooking their unique brilliance.

Tyler’s manipulation extends into the intellectual realm as well. “I’m not good at this” becomes a shield against accountability, and his classmates often get caught in the fallout. Both behaviors—judgment from the outside, and avoidance from within—undermine the honesty and nuance that real learning requires.

The Damage to Society’s Fabric

Body shaming and intellectual stereotyping, like what James endures, create a world where snap judgments replace truth. They erode connection, punishing those who are different and discouraging perseverance. But Tyler’s behavior is damaging in a different way. When false victimhood becomes currency, it dilutes the power of real stories—like James’s—and makes it harder for genuine struggles to be seen and supported.

Over time, this breeds distrust. People become cynical, unsure whose pain is real and whose performance is strategic. The result? A fraying of the social contract where truth should matter, but theater often wins.

The Cost of Dishonest Exchanges

Life runs on exchanges: effort for reward, truth for trust. When honesty disappears, the system breaks. Tyler’s short-term wins—avoiding assignments, earning sympathy—keep him emotionally stagnant. He doesn’t build resilience or skill. He isn’t learning to stand up, just how to stay afloat by leaning on others.

James, meanwhile, is fighting a double battle. He spends precious energy proving his worth—not just physically, but mentally. Every cruel comment, every dismissive glance from a teacher, chips away at his confidence. And yet, through that hardship, James is growing. His struggles are shaping him into someone resilient, empathetic, and creative—someone who solves problems in ways others can’t. He’s the kind of person who could lead, invent, or inspire—if only society stops holding him back.

When we misjudge or overlook people like James, we all lose. The engineers, artists, or healers we fail to nurture could have changed the world.

The Path to a Richer Society

To break this cycle, we need to look deeper—at ourselves and at the stories we choose to believe. Introspection helps us catch the moments we’re tempted to shame someone like James for their body or their learning style. Discernment helps us see through performances like Tyler’s, ensuring empathy flows toward those who truly need it.

This shift builds wealth—not just in dollars, but in depth. Physical wealth, when effort is celebrated over appearance. Intellectual wealth, when diverse learning styles are respected. Emotional wealth, when trust is earned, not faked.

A society that lifts up strivers like James—body and mind—and lovingly challenges Tylers to grow beyond their comfort zones becomes stronger, smarter, and more just. That’s the kind of world worth building.