I LIVE INSIDE THEIR RUMOURS - IT'S THE BEST PLACE TO BE
- Madhukar Dama
- 6 days ago
- 6 min read
Why being talked about is the hidden sign of living truly
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I. THE THREE TYPES OF PEOPLE
Every society divides itself — silently, constantly — into three types of people:
1. The Spreaders – Those who create and circulate rumours
2. The Believers – Those who consume rumours as truth
3. The Targeted – Those about whom the rumours are spun
Most people are in the first two categories.
Very few become the third.
Fewer still remain there with dignity.
And here’s the paradox:
The third category is the only one that is truly alive.
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II. WHY PEOPLE SPREAD RUMOURS
Rumour is not just a lie.
It is a form of indirect violence — done safely, behind the back, without fingerprints.
People spread rumours because:
They envy what they don’t understand
They fear those who don’t conform
They need distraction from their own dissatisfaction
Rumour-spreaders are not necessarily evil.
They are simply controlled by fear, boredom, and insecurity.
They need targets —
Because it gives them purpose in a purposeless life.
They feel safer once they have made you smaller in public.
Because your freedom — your difference — makes them question their own cage.
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III. WHY PEOPLE BELIEVE RUMOURS
People believe rumours for the same reason they follow trends:
It’s easier than thinking.
It’s comforting to belong.
It’s thrilling to have someone to look down on.
To think critically, they’d have to ask:
“What if this is not true?”
“What does this say about me?”
But that takes courage.
And courage is rare.
So they believe.
And in believing, they avoid responsibility.
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IV. WHAT IT MEANS TO BE THE TARGET
To be the subject of a rumour is not a punishment.
It is proof that you have chosen something real in a world built on imitation.
It means:
You are not playing the script.
You are not keeping up appearances.
You are living your life in ways that others cannot digest.
Maybe you married late. Or not at all.
Maybe you left a job that everyone else would die to have.
Maybe you walked out of a toxic family gathering.
Maybe you speak the truth in a crowd of polite liars.
That is enough.
That is more than enough to become a target.
Because when you stop playing your role in society’s drama,
others feel betrayed — not because you harmed them,
but because you showed them it’s possible to live differently.
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V. WHAT THEY SAY WHEN YOU’RE NOT THERE
They will say:
“She thinks she’s too good for us.”
“He’s gone mad, left that high-paying job.”
“Something is wrong in their marriage.”
“They don’t mix with anyone — must be hiding something.”
But what they really mean is:
“I wish I had the courage to say no.”
“I can’t understand someone who doesn’t need approval.”
“Their peace makes me uneasy.”
“Their silence is louder than our shouting.”
You are not their target because you’re bad.
You’re their target because you’ve become a mirror they didn’t ask for.
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VI. THE PAIN IS REAL. BUT SO IS THE FREEDOM.
Let’s not romanticize it:
Being the subject of gossip hurts.
Friends vanish. Invitations dry up. Eyes avoid.
You are watched, dissected, misquoted, dismissed.
But after the pain, comes something rare:
You no longer seek validation.
You learn to walk alone — and love it.
You stop explaining yourself.
You become immune to public opinion.
You grow roots.
Deep, personal, ethical roots.
Not the shallow kind that depend on trends, praise, or family pressure.
And that is the beginning of real adulthood.
Not age.
But ownership — of your choices, your truth, your voice.
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VII. WHY IT’S THE BEST PLACE TO BE
Because once you're the target of their rumours,
you’re finally outside their system.
You are no longer a pawn.
You are no longer afraid of being “left out” — because you’ve seen how fake “belonging” is.
You’ve lost the world.
And found yourself.
This is not loneliness.
This is liberation.
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VIII. WHAT TO DO WHEN THEY TALK ABOUT YOU
Don’t defend. Let silence be your reply.
Don’t retaliate. Let your life expose their lies.
Don’t isolate. Find the few who see you without distortion.
Don’t explain. You owe no one an account of your sanity.
Don’t regret. You didn’t choose this — you earned it.
Remember:
The rumour dies the moment it no longer affects you.
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IX. AND ONE DAY, THEY’LL SAY:
“He was always a little different…”
“She knew something we didn’t.”
“Turns out he was right all along.”
“I wish I had her courage.”
But by then, you won’t care.
Because you’ll be far ahead —
Living a life they’ll never understand,
While they continue recycling fears in the name of tradition, duty, and respectability.
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X. CLOSING WORDS
If they are talking about you,
you’ve already escaped the cage they still call “home.”
Wear their gossip like a badge.
It means you’re alive.
Because in a society where everyone is either repeating or believing,
the most sacred role is to be the one they talk about.
And not shrink.
Not apologize.
Not stop.
But smile.
And walk on.
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RUMOURS ABOUT ME ARE GOOD FOR ME
(because they mean I finally stopped serving their story)
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they don’t talk about statues.
they talk about the ones who move.
who leave.
who drop the spoon and say,
“i’m not hungry for your approval anymore.”
and then it begins —
whispers in kitchens,
words on WhatsApp,
half-lies pressed between temple gossip and shampoo advice.
“he must be in some trouble.”
“something happened in their marriage.”
“why would anyone leave a government job?”
“must be mental illness.”
yes, yes.
they're right.
i am mentally ill —
with the sickness of truth.
the fever of silence.
the madness of not playing anymore.
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the first time they talked about me,
i clenched.
fought.
explained.
showed receipts.
proved i was innocent.
but then i saw—
innocence was never the problem.
my freedom was.
you can wear rags,
eat soil,
weep at dusk—
they won't care.
but the moment you smile without their permission,
the moment you laugh when they expected you to kneel,
you’ve become dangerous.
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let them talk.
please, let them.
each rumour is a signpost saying:
this one is no longer ours.
each whisper is a medal for surviving their conditioning.
each lie is a shovel—
digging up the graves they buried themselves in
while pretending to be alive.
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they think they are punishing me
by shaping my story in their mouth.
but they don’t know:
every sentence they invent about me
sets me freer.
they say: “he thinks he’s better than us.”
no.
i just stopped thinking like you.
they say: “he’s lost.”
no.
i just stepped off your map.
they say: “he’s full of ego.”
no.
i’m just done begging to belong.
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it’s funny,
how people who never knew your heart
claim to know your secrets.
how people who never sat with your grief
feel confident describing your life.
they pass you like coins,
flip your image in the air,
trade you for small talk.
you become
a myth in their mouth.
a storm in their circle.
a question they cannot answer
and will not admit they fear.
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so here’s the truth:
every rumour about me
has made me more untouchable.
not in status.
but in peace.
i don’t fear being misunderstood anymore.
because i understand myself too clearly.
i don’t want to be liked.
i want to be real.
i don’t need your version of me.
i’m busy living the one i bled for.
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yes, talk about me.
spin me into something unrecognizable.
because the more you lie,
the more i learn
who can sit in truth
and who only survives in stories.
your stories about me
are not mine to carry.
they are yours to choke on.
i owe you no correction.
no statement.
no interview.
no friendliness.
no goddamn performance.
i’m not running a PR campaign.
i’m just living.
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so talk.
fill the air with noise.
because every word you waste on me
proves one thing:
i’ve become free enough to threaten your imagination.
and that’s the best news
i’ve ever heard.
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