What’s the first thing that a modern man does when he wakes up in the morning? He grabs his phone and spends precious morning minutes bouncing around between a bunch of social media apps. Then he goes to the washroom, does the thing, brushes his teeth, and washes his face. He then goes into the kitchen to have some finely made loaves of bread with tea, burning his stomach.
Having had the tea, he then enters his room, changes his at-home clothes to some fine ones, applies perfume on his body. And then he makes his way to the office or school or college — wherever he’s supposed to go. He reaches the spot, wastes a few hours, doing whatever he’s supposed to do there. From listening to talking to doing things until it’s time he finally had lunch. No doing something that nature could take pride in him. That gods could feel good about him. That air could feel good about offering itself to him. Having not exercised, he gets cursed by his whole body. Everything that doesn’t appreciate his ways of living his life sends curses his way.
Anyhow, after he’s had lunch, he comes back to what he’s doing until it’s time he feels he reached home. Home, he takes off his clothes, throws them off to some lonely corner of his home, puts on the same at-home clothes. Ordering whomsoever in home to get him expresso is what follows. He throws himself into his rocking chair, hands resting against his exhausted head, sinks deep into the pool of the thoughts of the day gone; and ultimately, he finds himself wasting another hour or two for having sometime to get drifted off. He talks to the family as if some beast is after him, and has given him a certain amount of time to share certain things with the family. If he crosses the limit, he’s doomed to God-knows-what. He quickly enters his room, sits down, makes his body stretch as far as possible, the bones in his back sending blessings his way.
He’s another cup/mug of whatever he’s fond of: coffee, tea, hot milk etc. And then again he grabs his phone and wastes a great deal of time: doing nothing, just scrolling pages up and down on the Internet, commenting wherever he feels his comments are all that’s needed there. His eyes fixated on screen. For hours on end. Sitting in the wrong posture. Only his cursed fingers in motion. How unfortunate!
God! Sometimes, as it happens, if he couldn’t find his phone as soon as he tries to find it, it’s as if something more precious than diamond he seems to have lost.
“Where are you?” A familiar voice comes from somewhere. Oh! It’s time he had dinner. He goes down the stairs, fills his belly to the full. Too swift in gulping down the food; the sensible sitting by him gets the feel his abdomen will explode.
He rushes to his room, locks his room’s door, and lies beneath the covers (In such a hurry he forgets to switch off the lights). Eyes glued to his phone, until he finally drifts off. Another day comes, and he does the same banal stuff again.
That’s the life of a modern man.
We’ve nothing to do but damage our already-weak psyche with the pressure our jobs and screens give us. We are stuck in a rut. We don’t have time to appreciate nature, her beauty. We don’t have time to love ourselves, let alone others. We are busy doing the same thing today we did a year ago. Nothing new. Badly stuck! How cool our lives could be if we were supposed to do different things daily? How cool our lives could be if we didn’t have this dreadful obsession with technology?