Skip to main content

The power of the unseen narrator

 


The Power of the Unseen Narrator



Sometimes, after the costumes are removed and the glamour dissolves, what lingers is not the face of the heroine but the voice in the background.


While watching Bridgerton and Gossip Girl, I realised that the real authority in both worlds does not belong to the socialite, the debutante, or the queen bee. It belongs to the unseen narrator — Lady Whistledown and Gossip Girl.


They are not seated at the centre of the ballroom. They do not demand attention. Yet they command it.


They do not create events ,they interpret them. They do not raise their voices , they frame the story. And in framing the story, they create reality.


That is power.


What fascinated me most was not the secrecy but the commentary. The real background score of these series is not the violins or the orchestra but the narration. A steady stream of observation guiding how we feel, what we suspect, whom we trust.


And then a quiet realisation emerged.


Isn’t that what our mind does every single day?


There is a constant narrator within us. A voice that analyses expressions, predicts outcomes, fills silences, and occasionally glorifies the reality. Someone walks into a room, and we have already constructed context. Someone hesitates before speaking, and we have drafted their emotional history.


There is always a Lady Whistledown within us.


She whispers:

“That seemed intentional.”

“They’re hiding something.”

“This won’t last.”

“Look closer.”


It is easy to call this gossip. But beneath the surface, it is observation searching for meaning.


The same inner commentary that tempts us to speculate is also the one that sharpens our perception. It notices insecurity disguised as confidence. It senses loneliness beneath pride. It reads ambition beneath charm. It studies human nature in real sense.


That is not trivial. That is awareness.


The danger begins when we forget that this narrator is internal. When interpretation becomes assumption. When commentary becomes strong judgement. 


But something shifts when we become conscious of the voice.


When we realise that we are not just hearing the story — we are writing it.


There is something boldly powerful about the observer. Not passive. Not detached. But attentive. The spectator who sees what others overlook. The listener who hears what is not spoken.


Perhaps that is why these unseen narrators intrigue us. They mirror a truth about ourselves — we are constantly editing life before it becomes memory.


For someone who feels the persistent urge to write, this recognition feels personal.


Maybe writers are simply people who decided to refine their inner narrator.


To soften her harshness.

To question her certainty.

To turn drama into depth.

To transform commentary into compassion.


Because the voice will always exist.


The real question is not whether we have one.


The real question is —

are we using it to expose…

or to understand?


And perhaps the greatest power is not standing beneath the chandelier.


It is sitting quietly in the shadows,

aware,

observant,

and choosing, with intention,

which stories deserve to be told.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Reflections on life and loss

 Reflections on Life and Loss: Beyond the Periphery by Nidhi Guglani  Lately, I find myself thinking deeply about life and death. Two very different prayer meetings I attended have left a lasting impression on me, shaping the way I view both ends of the human experience. The first was for my friend’s father—an old man, almost 80, who had lived a full and meaningful life. He had his family around him—children and grandchildren who loved him dearly. He lived life on his own terms, with a quiet kind of kindness that never made others feel indebted or overwhelmed. That in itself is such a rare trait. Though his final days saw him as a mere shadow of the man he once was, his daughter chose not to let that image define him. Instead, she celebrated his life—his strength, his love, and his gentleness. It was deeply touching. There was a calmness in that celebration, a sense of peace in knowing that he had completed the circle of life. The second meeting, though, was shattering. It was...
1 comment
Read more

From the teacher’s desk

  The Joy of a Teacher’s Heart If I’ve even touched one heart as a teacher… If I’ve ever helped a student grow in confidence, or contributed in some small way to their love for language, I feel the purpose of my being a teacher is fulfilled. Today, the Class 10 results were announced, and my phone was flooded with calls and messages—from students who reached out just to say thank you. And honestly, I felt elated. Humbled. Overjoyed. Words, for once, seemed too small to capture what I felt. There is a special kind of happiness that a teacher experiences—one that surpasses even personal success. When we see our students succeed, reach new heights, or simply remember us years later, it’s a joy that’s hard to describe. It’s like watching a seed you once planted bloom into something beautiful—on its own, but with a memory of your care. Today, I felt that. A child I taught in Class 8, now in Class 10, called me—just to thank me. I’m not even teaching him anymore. But he ...
1 comment
Read more

War’s lessons in Loss and the Illusion of Power

  The Unending Cycle: War’s Lessons in Loss and the Illusion of Power By Nidhi Guglani In the history of humankind, war has never truly ended. Battles cease, treaties are signed, but the cycle of conflict—driven by power, pride, and self-interest—resumes in new forms. The real cost, however, is paid not in territory gained or lost, but in shattered lives, displaced people, and the deep scars etched into the collective consciousness of nations. War teaches us harsh lessons: about loss, about ambition, and about the fragility of everything we hold dear. Despite the devastation it leaves behind, war often offers no real gain. At best, it provides the illusion of victory; at worst, it breaks both sides in body and spirit. Even after the final gunfire falls silent, the politics of accusation and retaliation continue. Ceasefires may be declared, but the air remains heavy with unresolved bitterness. Behind the curtain of diplomacy, powerful interests quietly prepare for the next confronta...
1 comment
Read more