We humans live in the shadow of secrets. We spend half our lives collecting secrets and the other half leaking them, even if accidentally. If Truth is supposed to set us free, then secrets are the locks we have the keys to—“Ah, no one knows what I know!” It is the ego’s favourite pastime.
However, secrets are like fertile seeds buried underground. They may not be visible in ordinary circumstances. But they come to life in unguarded moments. They show up as dreams, defensive behaviour and verbal blunder. Secrets never die. They spread their roots in the psyche like arteries. They are reborn in fertile circumstances, such as family gatherings or situations of extreme stress. Here are some classified performers from the grand circus of secrecy.
First, there are Identity secrets where someone is mired in lifelong shame and guilt for backstabbing a colleague or a close friend. The holder of the secret experiences himself as a fraudulent character. Identity secrets are of the most common variety. People spend their whole lives pretending to be someone they are not. A man grows a beard so that others may think he is powerful or wise, and then he must spend years stroking it thoughtfully to maintain the illusion. A woman practices her accent in front of the mirror—half headmistress, half heroine—Queen’s English for the office, filmi flourish for the wedding buffet line.
Then there are family secrets. Ah, the classics. Family secrets are the heirlooms nobody wants but everyone gets. Aunt Anjana didn’t actually go to “summer camp” for three years; she was spending time with her son, born out of wedlock. Every family has a secret harvest of shadowy bushes that hide behind family trees. These are the “don’t-tell-your-cousin” stories. The uncle who “went abroad for work” but was actually in jail for trying to smuggle marijuana. The grandmother who insists on the recipe for a saintly satvik diet but gorges on devil cutlets in a nearby restaurant. Entire generations survive on these half-whispered myths, as though the family honour would collapse if the world knew grandfather watched reels of Bollywood heroines in the bathroom.
We must never underestimate the sacred art of corporate secrecy. Like the “highly confidential” layoff plan, carefully discussed in whispers—then uploaded to the shared drive. How about the “hidden strategy deck” accidentally left on the printer next to the office canteen? Even the C-suite, self-appointed guardians of hush-hush PowerPoints, can’t resist sabotaging themselves—usually with the help of Reply All.
At the end of the day, secrets aren’t really about hiding—they’re about accepting and integrating our unacknowledged and unclaimed ‘shadows’ within ourselves. They hand us drama, comedy, and that delicious thrill of whispering, “don’t tell anyone.” However, your secrets do leak out. The truth? The world isn’t fooled—it’s just politely waiting for you to admit what they’ve known all along—that you are human after all.