The Unscripted Smile: Why Ishitta Arun Chose Joy Amidst Profound Loss

In our hyper-connected, ever-watching world, it seems there’s little room left for the messy, unvarnished truth of human emotion. Every gesture, every fleeting expression, is fair game for public dissection, often without context, always without empathy. And perhaps nowhere is this more glaringly evident than in moments of deep personal sorrow.

Actress Ishitta Arun, daughter of the late advertising legend Piyush Pandey, found herself at the receiving end of just such a judgment, a rather harsh one at that. At her father’s funeral, a moment, you could say, of profound finality, she was seen smiling. And oh, how quickly the digital pitchforks came out. The internet, ever eager to prescribe the 'correct' way to grieve, erupted in a chorus of disapproval, deeming her smile inappropriate, even disrespectful.

But Ishitta, to her credit, didn't shy away from the scrutiny. She broke her silence, offering a response that, honestly, felt like a much-needed breath of fresh air in a stifling landscape of performative grief. "We don't stage grief," she declared, and that, my friends, truly gets to the heart of the matter. Because, in truth, isn't that precisely what society, or at least certain corners of it, often expects? A public display, a theatrical rendition of sorrow, complete with tears and solemnity, whether felt or not.

Yet, for Ishitta, and quite clearly for her family, the farewell to Piyush Pandey was something different, something richer. It wasn’t merely an occasion for tears, though undoubtedly tears were shed; it was a celebration. A vibrant, poignant remembrance of a life lived fully, a life that brought immense joy and creativity into the world. Her father, a man of remarkable spirit, deserved, she implied, to be remembered with that same zest, that same joyous appreciation he embodied.

And here’s the thing about grief, isn't it? It’s not linear. It’s not a one-size-fits-all experience. Some find solace in quiet reflection, some in boisterous anecdotes; some cry, others find a strange, comforting peace in laughter, even amidst the deepest pain. To smile, to remember the happy times, to honor a person’s essence—their light, their warmth—even as they depart, is, for many, a deeply authentic form of mourning. Her mother, too, she pointed out, shared a similar perspective, also choosing to remember her husband with a smile, not just a furrowed brow.

Perhaps it's time we, as onlookers, learned to step back a little, to allow individuals the grace to navigate their private moments of loss in ways that feel true to them, to their relationships, and to the memory of those they've lost. Because when it comes down to it, real grief, authentic grief, resists any script. It certainly doesn’t ask for an audience, and it absolutely, profoundly, does not need to be staged.