Lies surround us so completely that we often stop noticing them. They sit quietly in conversations, smile through advertisements, travel with us to work, and even tuck us into bed with the evening news. They are not always malicious; sometimes they are kind, sometimes habitual, sometimes simply convenient. But taken together, a single day’s worth of lies is enough to fill a small theatre.
My day began not with sunlight (as the sky was grey as usual) but with the screen of my iPhone. Social media greeted me with its curated carnival of half-truths and exaggerations:
Friends posting holiday pictures weeks later but captioned “Just landed here!”
Influencers declaring “Best partnership ever!” while quietly chasing the next one.
Headlines promising “Shocking Revelation” only to deliver recycled gossip.
These digital lies are peculiar because they blur the line between intentions and reality. They hurt because they breed malice, and they confuse because repetition makes them believable. If lies are costumes, then social media is the world’s largest fancy-dress competition. It reminded me of Jack Nicholson’s Joker in Batman (1989), a villain who is part clown, part gangster. That is what social media often feels like.
American actor Jack Nicholson on the set of Batman, directed by Tim Burton. (Photo by Sunset Boulevard/Corbis via Getty Images)Later, I received a call from a friend. Her husband was diagnosed cancer at stage 3. She told me that that the doctor told her “Don’t worry, he will be alright.” I am sure she knew the truth was darker. Yet this was not deception for gain, but a kindness to soften pain. A white lie in its purest sense — a morphine for the mind. Was this ethical? There is no easy answer.
And then there is the category of lies that sit between truth and falsehood — the half-truths. The Mahabharata’s famous tale of Ashwatthama is a good example. When Yudhishthira answered Ashwatthama is dead but whispered softly the elephant under his breath, and it was both true and false at once. Such lies are not masala omelets, spicy and obvious; but they are poached eggs looking neat but hiding a runny middle. Most people prefer this route and prefer not to be direct and rather be polite or be safe and not get blamed in the future. This is a huge category and that is how most of us live.
In the taxi, I asked the driver anxiously, “Will I reach Bandra Kurla Complex in time? The meeting is important.”
Without missing a beat, he replied, “Don’t worry Saab, ho jayega.” (meaning, done Sir!)
It is India’s most common lie of reassurance, spoken in traffic jams, bureaucratic offices, and professional work alike. A cultural tranquilizer that promises everything while committing to nothing. You know about it, but you keep shut.
Billboards that I was watching in the traffic jam added their chorus: Eco-Friendly,100% Natural, Carbon Neutral. These are not just white lies — they are green lies, moral cover for consumerism. They let us shop guilt-free, as though virtue could be bought at checkout, proof that you are a more responsible consumer than the rest of the mortals.
The office provided me its own repertoire.
“The report is 90% ready.” On reviewing I found that it was 9%. Percentages are excellent disguises for the truth.
“Payment is under processing.” A client said in an assuring tone. Translation: we have no intention of paying right now, and delay is deliberate strategy.
A colleague arriving late with stories of traffic jams involving cows and ministers. Not deliberate deception but habitual lying — like the salt automatically sprinkled before tasting food.
I recalled a recent case: the promising candidate who declined my job offer at the last moment sent a sorrowful email about a “seriously ill family.” Later it turned out the illness was exaggerated and my letter was simply a bargaining chip for better terms and relocation the person wanted.
These professional lies are rehearsed with care. They may look polished, but they collapse easily once the curtain is tugged. But don’t these people know that we know that they are lying?
That evening, I accompanied a friend to an astrologer. Charts were studied, pauses inserted for effect, and predictions handed out like prescriptions. The difficult period, the astrologer said, would soon end. A gemstone, naturally, could accelerate the relief.
My friend nodded, reassured. I watched, half amused, half reflective. This was not quite a lie, not quite a truth. Perhaps, it was optimism on rent — and a smart business model of comfort.
Later in the evening, I was at Club in Shivaji Park to see a Friend who desperately wanted my help. I was waiting for more than 15 minutes in the lobby, and he messaged: “On my way Buddy.” Which, in local translation, meant “I just opened my cupboard to choose a shirt.”
Before sleeping, I turned on the news. A political leader who wants to make America great was announcing that he alone had prevented a war between India and Pakistan. Here there was no white lie, no half-truth, no harmless fib. This was a black lie — heavy, corrosive, inflated with ego. History itself seemed to protest silently from the shadows. Time will surely tell.
The following day, I met the Professor at our usual coffee shop. I told him about my day of living with lies — the social media theatre, the doctor’s kindness, the greenwashed ads, the professional excuses, the astrologer’s gemstone, the politician’s grandstanding. He listened quietly, sipping his coffee.
When I finished, he began his discourse.
“Your day was nothing unusual,” he said. “This is the texture of modern life. Lies are everywhere, and they come in many colors.
White lies, like the doctor’s words, soften reality.
Half-truths, like Ashwatthama’s death, balance precariously between fact and falsehood.
Green lies, printed on billboards, sell us false virtue.
Golden lies, from astrologers or marketers, trade in hope.
Black lies, from politicians, rewrite history for power.
And then there are habitual lies, told not with intent but out of reflex, so common that the liar forgets the line between truth and fiction.
So why do people lie? Because truth is often unbearable, impractical, or inconvenient. Lies protect fragile egos, delay confrontations, inflate self-worth, and sometimes even maintain social harmony. Some lies are acts of kindness, some acts of manipulation, and some are mere cultural – in the DNA.
But every lie is also a mirror. It does not only reflect what happened; it reflects fear, desire, ambition, and insecurity.
Remember your candidate with the sick family? That was not about illness at all. It was about fear of losing an opportunity and hunger for a better bargain.
As for social media, it has industrialized lying on a global scale. There, half-truths, and exaggerations are not side acts but the main performance. People lie to curate their lives for applause, and in doing so, they create envy, confusion, and hurt in others. It is a hall of mirrors, endlessly reflecting illusions.”
He paused. “The important thing is this: lies may win the stage in the short term, but truth is patient. It waits. Lies collapse under their own weight — sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. Life itself is the final critic, and its reviews cannot be dodged. To live is to navigate these performances, choosing when to forgive, when to resist, and when to simply watch and put lies in the footnotes of the script.”
The Professor finished his reflections, smiled wryly, and excused himself for some urgent work. I stayed behind to settle the bill.
At the counter, I almost collided with an old flame. After pleasantries, I asked, ‘Are you happy?’ She said ‘Yes,’ but her eyes suggested otherwise. Or perhaps I only imagined it. I could not tell which was truth and which was lie.
What colour was that lie — white, golden, grey, or something beyond categories?
I decided to leave the question for another day, perhaps to ask my Professor when we meet again.
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Source of image of the girl “she-wants-me-back-but-wont-admit-it” is ackowledged.
What does Professor think of attached Karma!