Arjun Kapoor's viral post exposes us: We knew, and we mocked anyway

Have we already failed? At being compassionate, at drawing boundaries, at knowing when enough is enough. If not, you may carry on with whatever you were doing before you clicked on this link and agreed to read ahead. But if yes, if you believe that we have wronged people in some way or other, then I ask you to stay.

This is not about you, or me, or a certain Bollywood star. This is about us. Collectively. About what we have been taught as a society, and more importantly, what we have unlearned while becoming an ever-evolving internet society.

Actor Arjun Kapoor on Tuesday remembered his mother in a post on Instagram. He shared an old photograph of his late mother, Mona Shourie Kapoor, who died after a battle with cancer in 2012. The 40-year-old has always been open about his inability to fully accept her absence. There is always a part of him -- in interviews, in public conversations, at events -- that carries the weight of that loss. His sister, Anshula Kapoor, feels it too, but that is a conversation for another day.

In the post he made earlier this week, Arjun wrote that he had been dealing with a difficult phase. He addressed his mother directly in the caption, writing that "life has been kinda cruel lately" and that he has "taken punches before." The language was unsettling, not dramatic or exaggerated, but revealing. It conveyed far more than what was written.

While the post appeared to be about grief on the surface, somewhere underneath it was about survival. Survival in the absence of a figure without whom he could perhaps never imagine his life taking shape. Growing up without a mother is devastating enough. What Arjun appears to be navigating now feels far more cruel, and far more alarming.

You can stop reading here if you feel this is an overreach, if you believe we are projecting meaning where none exists, or if what Arjun Kapoor feels does not matter to you. But if you choose to go on, let me say this plainly: it does matter. What he said, and what he implied, matters to all of us. As emotional beings. As a society that claims to know when to stop beating a dead horse.

Arjun did not come across as a man seeking sympathy. He came across as someone admitting weariness. He knew thousands would read his words. He knew they would be interpreted, dissected, and judged. And he still chose to post them. That act was not fearless, do not confuse the two. It seemed more like a resignation. It was the voice of someone so exhausted by what he had been carrying that it no longer mattered who cared to read.

This was not a cry for help. It appeared more like the silent acceptance of someone saying, 'what else can I do but endure and wait for it to pass'.

We can decode his words endlessly, but the real task lies elsewhere: in collective self-intervention. Because if Arjun Kapoor, with his influence, lineage, and visibility, can feel this beaten down, anyone can. If he can be affected by relentless trolling, personal ridicule, and internet cruelty, so can we.

This is not to speculate on what exactly triggered his words. There may be reasons we know nothing about. But it would be dishonest to completely separate his state of mind from the toxic celebrity culture that has surrounded him for years.

Look at the comments on the very post where he remembered his mother. A man grieving for his dead parent was still deemed fair game.

Some examples:
"If you cannot support him, please insult him."
"Aag bujhadi. Aag bujhadi. Aaj bujhadi."
"Shame on them who aren’t trolling him."
"Zyada yaad aa rahi hai toh chale jaao."

And on his other posts:
"Allah aapko success se bachaye."
"19 ka recharge aapse zyada mehenga hai."
"Aapka 349 ka recharge karwa doon?"
"Aapke unsuccess ka raaz kya hai?"
"Penguin aapse zyada hit ho gayi."

Funny? No. Cold. Heartless. Mean.

For years, Arjun Kapoor has been reduced to a punchline; his acting, his body, his career trajectory, even his silence mocked and dissected. The internet's defence is always the same: He chose this life. But choosing a profession does not mean forfeiting one's mental health.

Bollywood's mental-health conversation remains selective; loud when tragedy strikes, conveniently forgotten otherwise. Arjun's post is a rare space where endurance becomes visible, forcing us to confront an uncomfortable truth: when did we normalise emotional violence in the name of honest opinions and harmless banter? Because none of what we saw was harmless.

Does all criticism deserve protection under free speech? Should anything be said simply because it can be? Should sustained public ridicule, especially in the age of viral memes and algorithm-fuelled outrage, not demand accountability? Arjun's post is a reminder of what prolonged hostility can do to someone already carrying private grief. We often say you never know what battle someone is fighting. In this case, we know parts of it, and still choose cruelty.

Writing this piece felt necessary to me, not because Arjun Kapoor needs defending, but because his emotions -- long dismissed, trivialised, or laughed away -- deserved some sort of acknowledgement. And it made me wonder why it took a moment like this. Why did we wait for visible exhaustion? Why did empathy arrive only when he appeared to be breaking?

And this is not limited to Arjun.

The conversation around mental health, particularly among actors, people who live under constant scrutiny, remains deeply flawed. Privilege does not grant immunity from psychological distress. Mental health does not check your surname before arriving. It depends on experiences, loss, pressure, self-doubt, and sometimes on nothing at all.

Arjun exists in the same industry where Sushant Singh Rajput's death sparked conversations about toxicity, isolation, and neglect. The same industry where Deepika Padukone spoke openly about her depression and went on to build a mental-health foundation. The same space where Karan Johar has admitted to living with clinical depression and body dysmorphia. Again and again, the myth that celebrities have it easy has been challenged, often by people who paid a heavy price before speaking.

It is possible that I am reading deeply into Arjun Kapoor's post. I am okay with that. I do not regret being someone who gives people the benefit of the doubt, who believes there is always more to a life than what we see on a screen or an Instagram grid. I want to believe that his words carry an honest reflection of where he stands right now -- living with absence, with fatigue, with resilience, and somewhere a clutch of hope that being human will still count for something.