Many years ago, a friend of mine—a film buff to the core—told me something curious over a shared samosa and a matinee show.

“I don’t watch the stars,” he said, eyes fixed on the screen. “I watch the extras.”

“The extras?” I asked.

“Yes. Especially the dancers in the background. Watch them closely,” he whispered.

And I did.

In the middle of the lead actor’s dramatic lip-sync and the heroine’s perfectly timed hair flip, I began to notice them—the nameless faces moving in rhythm behind the spotlight. Some looked nervous, their smiles not quite reaching their eyes. Others danced with such earnestness; you could see they were giving it everything.

One young woman, I remember, kept glancing towards the camera as if hoping, just hoping, she’d be seen.

At first, we chuckled—my friend and I—at the missed steps, the awkward expressions, the occasional drops of sweat. But as I continued to watch, something shifted.

I saw not comedy, but quiet desperation. Not clumsiness, but courage.

Those background dancers—hundreds of them, every year—aren’t there to chase fame. Most are there because it’s the only work available. Trained in classical dance, folk, or sometimes nothing at all but raw energy, they travel from villages and small towns to Mumbai’s film sets, clinging to hope. A few rupees per day. Twelve-hour shifts. Meals on the floor. Costumes that itch. Smiles that must stay fixed, even when feet bleed.

They are not stars, but they hold up the stars.

And I began to think about the extras in my life—and yours.

The house help who tiptoes past my Netflix movies. The driver who waits without complaint when I have that extra drink during a dinner out. The security guard who salutes, even when we forget his name.

Are they just ‘background’? Do we see them, really see them, or are they blurred out in the scenes of our daily lives?

It’s easy to applaud the lead actor, the boss, the one with the mic. But what about the ones who ensure the show runs smoothly, quietly, every single day?

There’s something deeply human about wanting to be seen. To be acknowledged. For someone—anyone—to say, “I noticed you.”

The extras in Indian cinema rarely get a mention. Their names don’t make it to the credits. But without them, there would be no spectacle. No movie. No magic.

And maybe that’s true of life too.

Maybe it’s time we paused the scene, turned our gaze from ourselves and looked behind. At the woman who dances on our stage, even though her heart is heavy. At the man who sweeps the floor before we step on stage.

Maybe it’s time we recognised that no one is truly ‘extra’.

Everyone is part of the story…!

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