The Invisible Generation in the Age of Performance

We grew up dreaming of Mr India’s watch — a device that granted invisibility on command, turning the ordinary into the heroic. Then we became adults and accidentally built a culture that makes our children feel invisible. This time, however, it’s not a superpower.

In February 2026, the pattern became impossible to ignore. A 15-year-old Class 10 girl in Etawah died days after the CBSE Mathematics examination, distressed about her performance. In Ghaziabad, three sisters—aged 12, 14, and 16—jumped from the ninth floor of their apartment after their phones were restricted. Investigations revealed deep immersion in online gaming, K-pop, and digital communities, compounded by prolonged post-COVID school absence, family strain, debt and complex domestic dynamics.

The triggers were different. The fracture felt the same: our youth appears visible in metrics but invisible in meaning.

The National Crime Records Bureau recorded 13,892 student suicides in 2023 — a 64.9% rise over the decade. The Economic Survey 2025-26 identified digital addiction as a growing public health concern.

It raises an unsettling question: have we industrialised conditional worth? Likes validate — briefly. Ranks certify — temporarily. Both evaporate quickly, leaving the individual alone with a far more enduring question: If I fail, do I still matter?

This is because we have made performance synonymous with personhood.

“Beta, kitne marks aaye?”
“Future ka kya plan hai?”

These questions greet kids every time they meet an adult. The grown-ups are not prying; they are loving and invested. Yet repeated over the years, they encode a silent equation: your worth equals your output.

Conditional Worth
Did you watch the viral IIT celebration videos? Parents beam with ecstasy; children often appear drained, speaking in milestones: “I will go to IIT Bombay. Then I’ll prepare for IAS.” These are success stories, and even here the pressure shows. And for those who don’t succeed? IIT, by definition, is competitive. Not everyone cracks it.

Children attend the best schools parents can afford. They are loved family members, with parents tracking homework, curating reading lists from Newton to Yeats to shlokas. They join leading coaching institutes; parents monitor friends. There is belonging. There is social support. But mattering runs deeper. It is the assurance that your existence carries intrinsic significance; that you are seen, heard, and accepted without edits, upgrades or polish.

IIT, IIM, IAS—these three ‘I’s have quietly become conditions for visibility. Perfectionism thrives, not as healthy striving but as defensive terror of ordinariness. Social media intensifies it. Earlier, it was Sharma ji ka beta. Today, it’s Sharma ji ka beta plus a stranger’s child on a reel your mother just watched. We don’t even know if it’s real or curated. There is always someone faster, sharper, more decorated. No one wins this game. The ladder has no summit.

In the process, we forget that humans are psychological beings. Food, water, and air aren't enough. We have a deep desire to feel significant. When that need is unmet, it doesn’t disappear; it turns inward as rumination, depression or self-harm. It may turn outward as hostility or aggression. Or sideways, into addictions that promise temporary significance.

Just as anti-matter destroys galaxies, anti-mattering destroys people.

A difficult paper becomes an existential verdict. A restricted phone feels like erasure. A delayed reply confirms invisibility. This is not confined to teenagers. Retirees wander malls feeling translucent. Professionals feel reduced to employee IDs. 

When we perceive that we no longer matter to others, self-mattering begins to collapse. If I do not matter to you, I slowly stop mattering to myself. It is a vicious loop: I distance myself. You read aloofness. You pull back. I feel even more invisible.

The good news is that mattering can be consciously created through undivided attention.

Remember your grandparents’ home? They lit up at the sight of you and gave you their full presence. Social psychologists say every child needs that.

We all need that one person who believes we can do no wrong, who values us not for what produce but for who we are. One teacher who notices effort. One manager who asks about struggle, not just targets. When the world goes to hell, that unconditional acceptance becomes an anchor.

Does your child experience you as that person?

When their world is collapsing or when they have made a mistake, can they come to you without fear of judgement?

Research shows that even one stable, affirming relationship buffers systemic stress. A manager who writes a note affirming character over achievement. A leader who follows up on quiet distress. A parent who puts the phone aside and begins a conversation that’s not about marks, growth plans or to-do lists. In doing so, we can recalibrate to a system where worth precedes performance.

We must also learn that we don’t need to wait for the world to make us feel like we matter. We can do it ourselves.

I know a lady who once managed the café at Prithvi Theatre. She no longer does. Her husband passed away and her children moved abroad. “Don’t you feel lonely?” I asked. “Not even for a second,” she replied. “I take food to those who have none. I connect elderly people who can’t afford healthcare to doctor friends — sometimes free, sometimes for a nominal fee. They need me.”

That sense of agency restores mattering. It shifts invisibility into impact.

Like Hanuman forgetting his super powers, we often forget the difference we make in other people’s lives. Practising mindfulness of mattering — reflecting on the value we add to others — helps us remember. 

As for our kids, they say every kid has a super power. And that is to make their moms smile by merely existing. Just as Jamwant reminded Hanuman of his strength, we must remind our kids of theirs. 

So tonight, can we pause the questions about scores and placements? Can we listen without agenda or correction? Can we genuinely say: I see you. You are perfect for me, just as you are. 

Because mattering is not a reward for achievement. It is the foundation that makes achievement sustainable.