Meet Mr. "No One": The Invisible Force Behind the Independent FB & Insta Post

 

You have all seen the post.

You’re scrolling through Instagram and stop on a photo of a woman you know or you might not know. She looks magnificent, standing on a cliff edge in a beautiful place, arms outstretched, embracing the universe. The lighting is perfect. The caption is inspiring: "She conquered the storm alone. She needs no one to be happy. Just me, myself, and the sky. #Independent #SelfMade #INeedNoOne"

It is a beautiful sentiment. Truly Its is. 

But as you look closer, a question begins to knock the logical part of your brain: Who took the picture?

Did a passing seagull learn how to adjust the aperture on an iPhone or a DSLR? Did she set a timer and sprint 50 yards to the edge of the cliff? No. Behind that lens stands a man. He is likely sunburnt, holding a heavy backpack that isn’t his, and he has just been told that he is "No One."

Welcome to the phenomenon of the Invisible Man. In the curated world of social media, where women proclaim they need "No One," it turns out "No One" is actually a guy named Mr. X, standing three feet away, holding the purse.

There are Many Roles of "No One"

To understand this phenomenon, we must recognize that "No One" is actually the hard-working employee in the relationship.

1. The Director of Photography:

The caption reads "Just me and the horizon," but the camera angle suggests the photographer is hovering six feet in the air. This isn't a drone; this is the famous "Boyfriend Squat."

You have seen him in the wild, legs spread, spine twisted, contorting himself into a human pretzel just to get the Eiffel Tower and her shoes in the same frame. He snaps 300 photos in rapid succession. She selects exactly one.

She posts it with the hashtag #FindingPeace. Meanwhile, "Peace" is standing two feet away, frantically deleting his own apps just to make storage space for her next video.

2. The Silent Investor

Then there is the "Boss Babe" dinner post—a manicured hand holding champagne at a Michelin-star restaurant with the caption: "Treating myself. I know my worth."

Sometimes she did buy that ticket. But often, if you panned the camera 180 degrees, you’d find "No One" checking the wine list. He is the Venture Capitalist of her lifestyle brand, funding the operation only to be cropped out of the profile picture because he "ruins the aesthetic."

3. The Logistics Sherpa

Notice how in "Solo Travel" photos, the woman is walking through anywhere in world holding nothing but a gelato and a purse that wouldn't fit a chapstick. Where is her luggage? Where are the three jacket options she brought "just in case"? Turn around. Look ten paces back. "No One" is there, dragging the suitcase while trying to navigate Google Maps. He is the roadie for the rock star, shoved behind the curtain so she can shine "alone."

4. The Chaos Containment Officer:

You see a photo of her sitting in a sun-drenched nook, reading a book with a steaming mug. The caption: "Slow mornings. Finding my center. #MomLife #Zen"

Do not be fooled. The house is not quiet. The house is a war zone. Just outside the frame, "No One" is physically restraining two toddlers. He is the dam holding back the flood. He is handling children with games and stories and whispering, "Shh, Mommy is creating content," just so she can get that one second of "silence" to prove she has it all under control.

5. The Renovation Ghost:

This happens after every home improvement project. She posts a photo of the new renovated house. She is standing there, smiling, perhaps holding a single, clean paintbrush. Caption: "So proud of what we built. #DIY #NestBuilding"

"We"? Zoom in on her hands. They are manicured. Now look for "No One." He isn't in the photo because he is may be currently lying on the floor, covered in drywall dust, nursing a herniated disc, and trying to figure out why the plumbing is leaking. She picked the paint color; he inhaled the fumes.

6. The Unpaid Uber:

This is the classic "Car Selfie" or the video story recorded from the passenger seat. She is looking fresh, singing along to the radio, updating her followers on her day. Caption: "Road trip vibes! Adventure awaits!"

Who is driving the car? "No One." He is the chauffeur. He is not allowed to listen to his podcast because it interferes with her audio. He is not allowed to speak because it ruins the take. He is simply a pair of hands on the wheel, silently transporting the Main Character to her next location while she filters the lighting on her face.

A Toast to the "No Ones"

Why do Men do this? Because "dependence" is out of fashion. Men have been rebranded from "Partners" to "Staff." Men are the boom mic operators of her life movie—essential to the production, but forbidden from being on screen.

So, here is a toast to the men in the background.

To the guys holding heavy coats while she poses in the snow.

To the guys navigating foreign subway systems while she captions a photo "Where the wind takes me..." (The wind didn't take you there; The Man (Read The No One) did. The Man has Google Maps open right now).

I see you Mr. No One. I know you exist. 

The next time you see a post declaring a woman needs "No One," just smile. You know the truth. "No One" is a pretty great guy.

Just don't tag him. You’ll ruin the vibe.

The Fly

 

"The Fly" is one of Katherine Mansfield’s darkest and most famous stories. She wrote it while dealing with deep sadness after World War I. The story is about a powerful man known only as "The Boss," who is visited by an old friend.

I’m not here to retell the whole story today, as the entire thing is a masterpiece. However, there is one specific part that really stays with me. I wanted to expand on that moment in my own way, mixing in my own thoughts and feelings.

Here it goes:

The Boss sat still at his desk, his long shadow falling across the wood. A fly drifted in through the window and landed softly on the table. Its wings were like delicate lace, catching the light as it moved.

The Boss dropped a single drop of ink onto the fly.

It hit like a heavy, cold stone. The ink pinned the fly down, sticking its wings to its body. The insect began to fight. Its tiny legs worked frantically against the wood, trying to scrape the thick, black liquid away. It was a massive effort—a tiny life fighting against a giant’s mess. Eventually, the fly’s wings began to shine through the black again. It stood up on shaking legs, getting ready to fly away.

The Boss dropped the second drop of ink.

This time was even harder. The new ink mixed with the old, making the weight twice as heavy. The fly started to struggle again, but its energy was fading. It dragged its body through the sticky mess, its movements slow and painful. Still, it refused to give up. With incredible persistence, it cleared its wings one more time. It reached a dry spot on the wood, looking like a shivering ghost of its former self, and tried to fly.

The Boss dropped the third drop of ink.

It became a slow, sad cycle. Every time the fly was about to escape, the Boss put Ink drop onto the Fly. With every new drop, the fly’s strength leaked away. Its legs slipped in the growing puddle of black. The beautiful glow of its body was buried under layer after layer of ink.

The breaks between its movements grew longer. The Fly is tired and lost its strength to fight. It made one last, painful effort to lift its head, but the weight was simply too much. Its legs gave out, its wings stayed pinned in the dark, and the fly died.

I am tired too.

The Modern Ratnakar

 

The ancient legend of Ratnakar, the bandit who would later become Valmiki, is often told as a story of spiritual transformation. However, hidden within this myth is a chilling domestic reality that resonates deeply with the modern man.

When Narada asked Ratnakar if his wife and children would share in the sins he committed to provide for them, their answer was a cold, resounding "No." They were happy to consume the fruits of his labor, but they refused to bear the weight of his struggle.

In the 21st century, the setting has changed from the dense forests of ancient India to the glorified Job culture, but the core dynamic remains hauntingly similar.

Today’s man is often viewed through the lens of a "Provider." From a young age, society conditions men to believe that their value is directly proportional to their utility—what they can bring to the table, the bills they can pay, and the security they can offer, the wishes they can fulfill, the comfort they can bare.

Like Ratnakar, the modern man often engages in a "moral and physical grind." He might endure a non loving day to day job, sacrifice his physical health in manual labor, or spend decades in a soul-crushing commute. He does this not for himself, but for the comfort of his family. Yet, a strange phenomenon occurs: the family often falls in love with the lifestyle, but forgets the life force being drained to maintain it.

The tragedy of the modern "Ratnakar" is the invisibility of the sacrifice of Men.

While the family enjoys the high-speed internet, the annual vacations, and the comfortable home, the man often sits in a silent corner, processing the burnout he isn't allowed to express. When a man’s contribution is taken for granted, he begins to feel like a "living ATM." If the money stops or the success wavers, he fears—much like Ratnakar realized—that his presence might no longer be valued by those he spent his life serving. Even sometimes his presence is not been valued even after going thru the hurdle and given his best to bring the warmth to his family. Society rewards men for being "strong and silent." This silence, however, becomes a double-edged sword. Because he does not complain, the family assumes he is not suffering. His exhaustion is mistaken for "just doing his job."

The story of Ratnakar ends with a profound realization: he was alone in his actions. This realization led him to drop his weapons and seek a higher purpose, eventually becoming the Great Valmiki.

For the modern man, the "Ratnakar Moment" is the realization that he must be more than just a paycheck. But even after realizing, how many can change the way of living. How many can even think of following his passion and dreams. How many decides to Live for himself only. According to my knowledge - hardly any Man can come out of the hustle. Life goes on and a Man has to accept that there is no escape.

The Modern Ratnakars remains as Ratnakars even if they wish from the core of their heart to become Valmikis.

Living life on my own terms - The Selfish Trend

 

Behind every "Living life on my own Terms" person - there is someone who didn't live his life on his own terms.

Burning in silence. Dream sacrificed. Freedom worn like a crown built on negligence.

Behind every person who proudly claims to live life on their own terms, there is an invisible cost—a hidden story of sacrifice, pain, and dreams left to burn in the shadows. Living life on your own terms is often painted as the ultimate freedom, the heroic choice to break free from chains and live authentically. But underneath that glowing light is someone whose dreams were dimmed or sacrificed so another could shine.

It’s a selfish act wrapped in courage. Someone had to wilt so someone else could bloom. Someone had to bear the darkness, so the other could walk in the light. The freedom to say "I choose" is rarely born from thin air; it is shaped in the furnace of sacrifices—silent sacrifices that often go unseen and unacknowledged.

For every heart that roams free, there is another that stayed behind, tethered by duty, expectation, or pain. It could be a parent who gave up their passions to provide safety. A friend who swallowed their ambitions to support another’s dream. A soul who accepted confinement, so another might breathe air unbound.

This is the bitter truth hidden behind the triumphant cry of independence. Living on one's own terms is not just freedom; it is the privilege granted by someone else’s surrender. And sometimes, the light that guides is burning someone else’s flesh.

So when you proudly live life on your terms, remember the sacrifices that paved your way. Honor the silent fires that smoldered in the dark. Because freedom, at its core, carries a price tag etched with someone else’s withheld dreams.

Because in the end, to live on your terms is never just about you. It is about the lives quietly burned so you might shine.

I Am Not Letting It Go

 

I’ve read countless pieces of advice telling me to master the art of letting go. Whatever is weighing you down—just release it, and peace will follow.  I came across a story that struck a chord deep within me: 

If a snake bites you, don’t go chasing the snake to ask it to say sorry. First, treat the venom spreading inside you. Even if the snake apologizes, the poison has already taken hold.  

Until I turned 40, this was exactly how I lived. Whenever life threw something bad my way, I treated it like a snake bite—I focused on neutralizing the venom. I didn’t chase the snake. “Don’t chase the snake” became my mantra, my way to remind myself to heal without getting sucked into anger or pain. Did it work? I’m not sure. The venom did its damage every time—it burned me alive. But the snake roamed free, untouched.

Now, past 40, I’m trying something different. I’m not letting the snake go. Instead, I want to cage it. Let it bite me again... and again... until I grow immune to its venom. Until I can smile with poison in my veins, I’m not letting it go.

Every night during meditation, I picture that cage. I reach in, open it, and let the snake bite me. I tell myself: there is no forgiveness here. No such thing. I’m no saint. I’m selfish—this is my body, my mind, and I decide how long the snake stays by my side.

This is an experiment. I want to see if my body will stop reacting to the venom or It dies. If I can grab the snake’s jaw and ask it for one more bite. I believe, One day, I’ll hold the snake till its last breath, till it dies. I’ll gather every drop of venom and say, “Thank you for making me someone who no longer feels pain.” I’ll hold on until one of us dies—me or the snake.

What am I hoping to achieve? A mind that never forgets the moments that tested my very existence and efforts. A mind strong enough to face any unwanted situation with a smile. It’s like burning myself to ashes so I never burn again.

আসছে বছর - আবার হবে তো?

 গাড়ি তে ব্যাগ তোলা হয়ে গেলে দ্রুত মা বাবা কে প্রণাম সাড়ে ছেলেট।  প্রতি বার যাওয়ার সময় খুব তাড়াহুড়ো করে এই সময়টা। মা আসি, বাবা আসি এই চলো চলো, গাড়ি তে ওঠো, এলাম এলাম বলে দ্রুত গাড়িতে উঠে এয়ারপোর্ট রওয়ানা দে।  তাড়াহুড়োয় মা বাবার চোখে জল আসার সুযোগ পায় না।  হয়তো এই চোখের জলে বিদায় এড়ানোর জন্যই এই তাড়াহুড়ো।  

ছেলেটির বাবা প্রতিবার জিগেস করে - এয়ারপোর্ট ছাড়তে যাবো? যখন প্রথম ঘর ছেড়েছিলো, তখন স্টেশন ও ছাড়তে যেতে চেয়েছিল। ছেলেটা না করে।  "কি করবে এতো দূর গিয়ে? কোনো দরকার নেই", রুক্ষ ভাবেই বলে।  এই রুক্ষতা ছেলেটির বাবা মায়ের অভ্যেস হয়ে গেছে।  এক ই উত্তর প্রতিবার, এক ই রুক্ষতা, তাও জিজ্ঞেস কর।  হয়তো বোঝে যে বিদায় বেলায় বাবা মা এর চোখের জল দেখে গেলে বাইরে মন টিকবে না।  কেই বা সাধ করে ঘর ছেড়ে, শহর ছেড়ে, বন্ধু বান্ধব, আত্মীয় স্বজন ছেড়ে দূর দেশে পারি দেয় !

আমি কলকাতার কোনো এক লেনিন সারণির প্রান্তিক কোনো এক গলি - যে এক সপ্তাহের ব্যবধানে এক বাড়ির এক ছেলে এক মেয়ে কে বিদেশ পারি দিতে দেখল।  হৈহুল্লোরে গম গম করা বাড়ি - শান্ত, নিঝঝুম হতে দেখল। মেয়েটির যাওয়ার পর তার মা বাবা কে বাক শূন্য হয়ে চোখের জল আটকাতে আটকাতে ঘরের মধ্যে ঢুকে যেতে দেখল।  ছেলেটির যাওয়ার পর তার মা বাবা কেও এক ই ভাবে শান্ত ধীর পায়ে রোজ নামছে ফিরতে দেখলো।  ছেলে মেয়ের ছেড়ে যাওয়া অগোছালো ঘর, ভুল করে ছড়িয়ে রাখা জামা কাপড়, বাচ্চা দের ছড়িয়ে থাকা খেলনা,দেওয়াল ই পেন্সিল এর আঁকিবুকি, যা দেখে দু দিন আগেও রাগ হয়েছিল, তা দেখে চোখে জল এলো তাদের।  বৃদ্ধ বাবা মে দের নিঃসঙ্গতা দেখি রোজ।  আমার মতো গান্ধী সারণি, নেতাজি সারণি, নেহেরু সারণি আরো অনেক সারণি - সবাই এক ই ছবি দেখে রো।  ছেলে মেয়ে গুলো বাড়ি এলে, সেটাই হয়ে ওঠে দূর্গা পুজো, কালী পুজো, লক্ষী বা সরস্বতী পুজোর মতো উৎসব।  হৈ হৈ করে চোখের নিমেষে কেটে যায় দিন। 

আবার শুরু অপেক্ষা।  

Making Memory - Earning Smile

After 6 years - I realized that I didnt get chance to write anything to my Blog. 6 long years. So many things got changed in between. But olets not talk about the changes. Lets talk about how was my last 6 years.
Looking back at a glance - i see i can re-collect very few achievements like:
1. I got my First Onsite. SWITZERLAND. A dream country for all indians. 
2. Booked a Flat. 
3. Got a Baby Boy. By now he is 4 years already.
4. Brought Parents and In-Laws to Switzerland for a 1 month trip.

Now - what was most satisfying for me? Earning Money? Booking Flat? Having Kid? Or Bringing Parents to Switzerland. I feel the last one. This i feel like an achievement.

Being in parenthood i realized that this is one of the toughest job in the world. Parents sacrifices so many things in life to give the best to the kids. I still remember my Mother - taking me to school and waiting for the whole time outside school campus and take me home back. I still remember my father wanted to give best possible schooling, tution going byond his capabilities. 

When i started planning for their Switzerland trip - i was able to understand their joy, excitement and at the same time fear for a long journey. But finally when they reached i realized the joy in them. A satisfaction of their whole effort to make me eligible enough to be self independent. A 28 days trip, unlimited wow, awesome, etc etc for the trips over Alps mountains, Paris, Germany - made it a trip for their lifetime. 

For me i gathered all the smile that i could. Smiles - that i earned. Smiles that i wished to give to my parents and in-laws through out the life. It hampered my savings - but the memory i gained - cannot be compared with any amount.