Bob’s Banter
By Robert Clements
There’s a reason why the violin is the star in an orchestra. She’s slim, elegant, gets the limelight, and squeals at the highest pitch. But tucked right beside her, in the shadows, sits the viola. Slightly larger, slightly heavier, and always called the “second fiddle.” Nobody claps for her. Nobody asks for her autograph. Nobody even remembers her face. But without her, the violin sounds like a Bollywood hero singing in the bathroom—full of pitch, but lacking in depth!
And so I often wonder—what about those who play second fiddle in life? How do they feel? Do they resent the applause going elsewhere? Or do they smile, knowing that while the frontman struts, they hold the rhythm, the harmony, and sometimes, the real power?
To clear my doubts, I decided to interview India’s biggest Second Fiddle. Now, don’t ask me how I got the appointment—it wasn’t through a secretary or PA. You don’t need one when the boss doesn’t even know you’re running the show!
“Sir,” I began reverently, notebook in hand, “how do you keep playing second fiddle?”
He leaned back, his bald head tilted a bit, his eyes evasive and clever as a faint smile played on his lips, and whispered: “By making the first fiddle think I’m playing second fiddle. The trick, my dear friend, is to let him believe he’s conducting the orchestra, while I’m tuning the strings, writing the notes, and deciding which audience to play for.”
“Don’t you ever feel tempted to take center stage?” I asked.
He chuckled, “Why would I? The spotlight blinds you, the microphones catch every wrong note, and the cameras follow your every frown. Me? I stay behind, and while the great maestro hugs the wrong people on foreign stages, I quietly fiddle with the home keys—lock away freedoms, keep Manipur burning, open and shut internet connections like a switchboard operator, and yet, no one accuses me of being the lead violinist! Isn’t that bliss?”
I nearly dropped my pen. “So, you enjoy being a second fiddle?”
“Enjoy?” he laughed. “It’s paradise! Imagine being invisible but indispensable. When people cheer the first fiddle, I bow with him. When they boo, I vanish into the shadows. Who wouldn’t want a job like this?”
I thought back to the usher who found a seat for two boys in a crowded revival tent in Charlotte, North Carolina, in 1930. One of those boys was Billy Graham, who went on to preach to millions. That usher, a perfect second fiddle, never got his name in lights, but without him, Graham might have walked away. That was second fiddling at its noblest.
But here was a very different second fiddle—one who had turned the art into a science of manipulation. Not harmony but dissonance. Not support but sabotage. And I wondered—how many second fiddles in our nation are actually playing their own secret symphonies while the first fiddle struts in borrowed spotlight?
“Sir,” I asked cautiously, “doesn’t your conscience ever prick you?”
“Conscience?” he replied, stroking an imaginary viola. “That’s for first fiddles! They’re the ones who must look noble on the front pages. Me? My job is to keep the background score running, even if the tune is out of key.”
I walked away from that interview, notebook heavy with revelations and heart heavier still. Because I realized that in our country, playing second fiddle has taken on a new meaning. Once it meant sacrifice, humility, and service—like that usher in Charlotte. Today, it means sly maneuvering, silent plotting, and fiddling away while the house burns.
And maybe that’s why we citizens feel the heat. The first fiddle waves, beams, and hugs. The second fiddle tightens the screws, pulls the strings, and calls the shots. Together they make music, yes—but it often sounds more like a dirge than a symphony.
Still, the lesson remains: Second fiddles shape history. Sometimes for the better—when they support without ego, when they harmonize without stealing the tune. And sometimes for the worse—when they use their shadowed place to twist the melody of a nation.
So, dear reader, if you find yourself playing second fiddle—at home, at work, in politics, or even in your housing society—ask yourself: Are you providing harmony or are you quietly rewriting the score for your own pleasure? Are you holding the tune together, or are you just fiddling while Rome—or Manipur—burns?
Because make no mistake, the world is full of second fiddles. The parent who sacrifices dreams so their child can shine. The colleague who supports the boss without seeking credit. The friend who keeps quiet so another can grab the mic. These are noble fiddles. But there are also others—the ones who pull strings from the back row, who make sure their tune dominates even when the conductor isn’t watching.
As for me, I’ve decided there’s no shame in being a second fiddle. But there is great shame in being one who plays only for himself.
Because the true second fiddle knows this secret: The sweetest music is not in who gets the applause, but in whether the orchestra plays on, while ours plays only for himself, and most everybody thinks the wrong notes are made by the first fiddle all the time, as its happening now in our country..!
You can request for Bob’s Banter by Robert Clements as a daily column on your whatsapp by sending him your name and phone number on [email protected] .