The Social Circus: Lies We Live, Truths We Bury
- Madhukar Dama
- Apr 18
- 7 min read
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INTRODUCTION: A LIFE OF POLISHED DECEIT
From the moment we learn to speak, we’re taught what not to say.
Don’t ask too many questions. Don’t say that out loud. Don’t make people uncomfortable. Don’t tell the truth if it might offend.
By the time we enter adulthood, we’ve mastered a survival artform: lying.
Not the criminal kind. The social kind.
We don’t steal wallets, we steal realities.
We live inside an elaborate masquerade — where roles matter more than souls, appearances more than intentions, and pretenses more than pain.
We don’t live with others. We perform for them.
And this performance? It has a cost.
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I. THE INVENTORY OF SOCIAL LIES
1. “I’m fine.”
Even when we’re not. Especially when we’re not.
2. “So happy for you!”
Jealous, insecure, but too scared to admit it.
3. “Let’s catch up soon.”
A reflex goodbye with no intention behind it.
4. “You’re so talented!”
We offer praise as currency to earn favour.
5. “I love my job.”
Because to say otherwise would reveal the void.
6. “Family is everything.”
Even if it’s the source of deep pain and repression.
7. “God has a plan.”
A way to avoid asking painful questions.
8. “Everything happens for a reason.”
No. Some things happen because we lie, tolerate, and submit.
9. “Be positive.”
The modern silencer. Bury the grief. Smile wider.
10. “You’ve changed.”
Translation: You stopped pretending like we do.
Each of these statements — so casual, so common — slowly builds a wall between the self and the soul.
Brick by polite brick, we suffocate.
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II. THE SOCIALLY ACCEPTED MECHANISMS OF SELF-BETRAYAL
Attending weddings of people you detest
To maintain peace? Or to maintain the illusion?
Sitting through family dinners soaked in tension
Because “it’s what good people do.”
Posting filtered joy
To convince others — and ourselves — that we’re happy.
Celebrating festivals while dreading the rituals
Because not participating might expose us.
Wearing clothes, accents, and identities not ours
Because true selves are too risky.
Society doesn't require truth. It requires obedience in smiling masks.
Authenticity is a rebellion.
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III. HOW THIS CAUSES DISEASE, ADDICTION, AND SILENT SUICIDE
Lying is not free.
Every time we lie to others, a small part of us learns to lie to ourselves.
This internal distortion warps our biology.
Disease:
Chronic inflammation, hormonal chaos, immune dysfunction — all triggered by prolonged stress, inner conflict, and emotional repression.
The body keeps the score when the mouth doesn’t.
Addictions:
When truth is too painful to face, we sedate.
Food. Alcohol. Screens. Porn. Shopping. Dopamine is cheaper than honesty.
Frustration:
When you do everything “right” and still feel hollow, it’s not a mystery.
It’s misalignment. Between your reality and your performance.
Helplessness:
We outsource decisions to astrology, therapists, bosses, spouses — because we’ve never been taught to trust ourselves.
We don’t know our instincts anymore.
Loneliness:
Because everyone knows your mask. No one knows you.
Sleep disorders, digestive issues, migraines, infertility, panic attacks:
All messengers.
All begging you to stop faking peace.
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IV. WHY DO WE MAINTAIN THE LIES?
Because truth is dangerous.
If you say you hate your job — people will ask, “Then quit.”
If you say you don’t like your parents — people will call you ungrateful.
If you say you don’t believe in marriage — society will excommunicate you.
If you say you’re scared — you’ll be labelled weak.
So we lie.
Because telling the truth invites consequences.
But here’s the irony:
Lying has consequences too — just slower, invisible ones.
Like a tumour.
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V. THE COST OF THIS CIRCUS
Lost relationships that could’ve been real.
Because no one ever spoke what mattered.
Lost lives to silent depression.
Because everyone looked “fine” till the end.
A society of actors with no audience.
Everyone’s on stage, no one watching.
Generations of children learning to suppress.
Because truth was never welcomed at the dinner table.
A culture where laughter is nervous, and love is scripted.
Because real emotions are too raw to manage.
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VI. THE ANTIDOTE: BRUTAL HONESTY
It doesn’t mean being rude.
It means no longer participating in the farce.
Don’t say you’re fine if you’re not.
Don’t go to events you hate.
Don’t congratulate what you don’t respect.
Don’t worship traditions that damage you.
Don’t lie to protect someone’s ego if it kills your soul.
Don’t teach your children to “adjust.” Teach them to speak.
Truth is not a weapon. It’s a release.
And when you begin to live honestly — the body relaxes, the mind clears, and life begins.
Yes, people will leave you. But so will the lies.
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CONCLUSION: THE INVITATION TO END THE CIRCUS
Social life, as it stands today, is a carefully choreographed game of concealment.
We praise, flatter, agree, and suppress — all to keep the illusion alive.
But deep down, every human being is tired of it.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of smiling.
Tired of not being known.
The world doesn’t need more polite people.
It needs honest ones — even if they shake the room.
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A BRUTAL DETAILED CONSCISE SUMMARY QUOTE:
Social life is a stage play where we smile, nod, and applaud while quietly dying inside. The applause is fake, the audience is tired, and the performers are sick. Truth is not rude — it’s medicine for a species that has forgotten how to be real.
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FOLLOW-UP DIALOGUE:
“The Day I Stopped Lying” — A Conversation Between a Man and the Hermit
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Characters:
Ravi – 39, married, father of two, middle-class job, socially respected, quietly depressed.
Madhukar – the Hermit, lives alone in the hills, known for uncomfortable truths.
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Scene:
A quiet veranda in the hills. A clay lamp flickers. Ravi sits across Madhukar, wringing his hands. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.
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RAVI:
I don’t know what’s wrong.
I have everything… job, house, family.
But I feel like a ghost.
Invisible in my own life.
MADHUKAR:
When did you last speak the truth?
RAVI:
Truth? About what?
MADHUKAR:
About anything.
RAVI:
(pauses)
I told my son he sang well.
He didn’t.
MADHUKAR:
Why did you lie?
RAVI:
Because he would’ve cried.
Because that’s what good fathers do.
MADHUKAR:
Good fathers raise children who can handle the truth.
Not children who crumble when the world doesn't clap.
RAVI:
I lie to my wife too.
That I like our life.
That I enjoy the sex.
That I’m not attracted to anyone else.
MADHUKAR:
And what happens to a man who lies that much?
RAVI:
He loses his appetite.
He forgets how to laugh.
He stares at the ceiling at 2 AM.
He hates mirrors.
MADHUKAR:
That’s not depression.
That’s suppressed honesty.
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RAVI:
But what am I supposed to do?
Tell my wife I’m miserable?
Tell my friends their conversations bore me?
Tell my parents they were wrong?
I’ll destroy everything.
MADHUKAR:
No. You’ll destroy the lie.
And behind it, maybe there’s a life worth living.
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RAVI:
Even my job...
Every day I smile at people I wish I never met.
Nod in meetings that insult my intelligence.
Celebrate sales targets like they’re salvation.
MADHUKAR:
And your body?
RAVI:
I’ve got acidity, migraines, premature greying.
I drink every night.
My libido’s gone.
But the doctor said it's “normal stress.”
MADHUKAR:
No. It’s a body screaming,
“Get me out of this lie.”
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RAVI:
Why doesn’t anyone talk about this?
Why do we all pretend?
MADHUKAR:
Because we were trained.
Trained to perform.
Smile for the camera. Say the right thing. Don’t offend.
Truth became impolite.
And lies became manners.
RAVI:
So what now?
Do I quit everything? Become a monk?
MADHUKAR:
No.
Start small.
Stop saying yes when you mean no.
Stop going where your soul doesn't follow.
Say one honest thing a day.
To your wife. Your boss. Your son. Yourself.
RAVI:
They’ll hate me.
MADHUKAR:
No, Ravi.
They’ll finally meet you.
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RAVI:
I don’t even know who I am anymore.
MADHUKAR:
That’s because you buried yourself under applause.
Strip it off.
All of it.
And when nothing is left — that’s you.
And he’s been waiting for a long time.
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RAVI:
What if it’s too late?
MADHUKAR:
It’s never too late to stop lying.
But every day you delay, another part of you dies.
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RAVI:
Will it hurt?
MADHUKAR:
Yes.
Like hell.
But it will be the first honest pain you’ve ever felt.
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[Scene fades. The lamp flickers again. Ravi doesn’t speak. He just breathes. For the first time in years, it feels like his own breath.]
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"The Truth Itches Like a Rash"
— in the voice of a man who's done pretending
they said smile
so I did.
for thirty-nine years.
weddings,
funerals,
boardrooms,
bedrooms—
I wore the face they gave me.
applauded mediocrity,
laughed at stale jokes,
called liars “leaders,”
called my own silence “peace.”
but peace don’t twitch at 2 A.M.
peace don’t pop pills.
peace don’t stare at the mirror
and wonder who the hell
that polite ghost is.
I told my son he’s talented.
he ain’t.
told my wife it’s okay.
it ain’t.
told my boss I’m thrilled.
I’m not.
and one day—
I met a madman in robes
on a hill,
sipping silence like it was wine.
he said,
"your lies are leaking from your spine,
your liver is weeping,
your skin misses the sun.
your truth is rotting inside you.”
and just like that—
I puked up thirty-nine years of masks.
now I walk weird,
talk odd,
people avoid me.
but my breath smells like freedom.
and my guts don’t itch anymore.
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