Slowing Time
On the Joys of Reading, Conversing, and Writing.
It seems incredible that another month has gone by.
So much appears changed. In the world, in our lives.
What we once took for granted now carries an eerie sense of the past.
In an instant, changed.
Rules. Policies. Orders.
Whimsical, or not.
In Indian mythology, a hundred — or a thousand — years are no more than an instant.
Perhaps that is why there is little reverence for historical buildings here.
What are 300-year-old buildings compared to the soul’s journey of a thousand years?
Our modern world — driven by the visual, and often, the superficial — continues its spin on a wheel of WhatsApp messages, sound-bites, and pointless videos.
Whether it’s authentic, witty, reflective, or thought-provoking is irrelevant. As long as it captures the wheel of attention.
Scroll. Forward. Reply. React. Repeat. Emojis. Memes. Jokes. Repeat.
Less connecting through conversation; liking of shared videos is its own language now.
Visually intensive and superficially engineered content surrounds us.
Amid the noise, the chaos, the digital medley: more noise. More chaos.
A valued minute, gone watching a random YouTube short: a baby gurgling in some corner of the world. A beautiful thing to behold.
No sacred and private moments anymore.
Just chasing of the inconstant viewer.
To resist being pulled in is to reclaim your life.
Resist the siren call of well-intentioned messages.
Devouring focus and attention — away from building, to consuming.
At crossroads, traffic police scan phones. Standing for eight hours in the hot sun, navigating non-stop traffic manually, battling pollution, because automated lights don’t do the trick. Sometimes, he stops an errant bike rider or two, riding without a helmet. Out come the challans. Minor variations in the day: issuing fines, monitoring the flow, then returning to the screen.
An auto driver, buttressing a monotonous day, watches songs on his phone mounted under the handles. With one hand on the wheel, he presses ahead — artfully dodging the pedestrian, the cyclist, and the scooter. He maneuvers his odd-shaped three-wheeler to the front of the line and waits, still watching. Sometimes, he continues driving, listening to the video. For YouTube is the new radio.
A bearded youth, walking on a major road while reading a text message on his phone, nearly gets hit by a car — and sheepishly jumps when the driver honks. He adjusts his path, eyes still on the phone.
People — scattered around the tables of a premium lounge — eating with family and friends, conversing with only half an ear and eye, the other half locked onto their phones.
Whether in NYC or Bengaluru, the effect is the same.
Our attention span: so precious, so scattered.
Even at the temple, cameras trying to capture an elusive God.
Yet, what is the alternative?
Taking conscious time to truly talk, pause, read, reflect — and perhaps, also write?
To escape the noise, and the chaos, somehow.
In the real world, of course. Not as another virtual escape.
So, on some days, I wish I could tiptoe around life, writing my way through it — and, like an ancient archaeological dig conducted in real time, someone might find a remnant of a thought or a story, and maybe it would mean something to them.
But is reading optional?
If so, what of the joy, I wonder, that so many writers of the past and present have given me through the varying hills of life — moments that, in memory, remain perfectly still, like a butterfly on a favorite flower.
Times when words help us smile, or even laugh, at the shared absurdities (or marvels) of our world — and perhaps buffer the hardships of life. The loss of friends. Of passing time. Of words that hurt. Or those that judge.
Of moments that may not return.
The lack of attention in a world immersed in a digital fog run by algorithms.
So today, I thought about the joy of conversing, and slowing down to read — whether it is a short or long post, or a lazy day spent at the beach or in the garden, reading under an approaching summer sky.
Just a pocket of food and drink at hand, some sunscreen, a hat perhaps — and green grass all around, for miles.
A wave from a passing human on a hike as you remain best friends with your book, and enter the world of another, willingly.
Thank you for your precious time in reading my posts, and for sharing your thoughts. It is a gift I value immensely.
Until next month, here’s to sun-soaked days, slow reads, and many glorious spring and summer days ahead.
p.s. If this resonated with you, you might enjoy my other monthly musings here!
If you missed any of this month’s posts: they included modern retellings of ancient stories — when a monkey became a god, the forgotten wife, and the power of women: a tale of vengeance — as well as a retelling of a famous literary story of lost love. Other posts featured everyday encounters: an updated reflection on pills, paracetamol, and the power of turmeric; modern-day diagnostic testing; and a visit to a local doctor (updated).
Jayshree:
This post is exactly correct. Well stated. Well communicated. Modern life has exchanged one shortchange for another. I suspect it has always been that way and always will be.
Hi Jayshree, what excellent writing. Very poetic, very moving. Thank you!