I spent an astronomical sum two evenings ago to watch Wicked the Musical, at that grand Ambani theatre in Bandra, where even the chairs seem to have better posture than the audience. I walked in as a storyteller, expecting a powerful narrative that would grip my heart, twist my emotions, and leave me wondering about life.
Instead, I was nearly lifted off my seat by sound effects that could wake up the ancestors, lights that flashed like Diwali fireworks and a witch who flew so close to me I instinctively checked if my insurance was up to date.
The audience roared. They clapped. They howled. At one point I suspected the lady next to me had come not for the play but for a vocal audition.
And somewhere in all this excitement, I quietly searched for the story.
It seemed to be hiding backstage, possibly tied up and begging to be released.
As a storyteller, I have always believed that a story is like a good meal. It has a beginning that whets your appetite, a middle that fills you, and an ending that leaves you satisfied. This one felt like being served only the sizzle without the steak.
Lots of noise, plenty of smoke, but when you looked for substance, you found decorative garnish smiling at you politely.
Halfway through, as I bravely battled sleep, I realised this was not just about one musical. This was about us.
We have become a people who cannot sit quietly unless something explodes every few seconds. Cricket is no longer about patience or strategy. It is about smashing the ball so hard that even the bowler begins to reconsider his career choices.
Our attention span now comes with a timer. If nothing dramatic happens in ten seconds, we scroll. Imagine applying that to life. A child is born, and if he does not start speaking in subtitles within five minutes, we swipe left and look for another baby.
The journey, which once mattered, is now considered a delay. We want the climax before the introduction and the applause before the effort.
But a story is not built on excitement alone. It is built on growth, struggle, crisis, and quiet moments that shape who we become. Without that, all we have is noise dressed up as entertainment.
As I walked out of the theatre, slightly deaf but deeply thoughtful, I realised something important.
Excitement can lift you off your seat, but only a story can move you forward.
And if we continue choosing excitement over substance, we may find ourselves clapping loudly, while going absolutely nowhere.
So my prayer as I end this column today, is that we start writing our story, chapter by chapter moving ourselves from the wicked of excitement into the stillness of goodness..!
The Author conducts an online, eight session Writers and Speakers Course. If you’d like to join, do send a thumbs-up to WhatsApp number 9892572883 or send a message to bobsbanter@gmail.com
