Today, my internet went down. It’s funny how "outdated" it feels to be offline for even a few hours. Even those of us born in the 80s—who remember a world before the buzz of a smartphone—struggle to adjust.
When I told my son to imagine a time when I lived without a TV, a fridge, or a phone, he looked at me with genuine wonder. His only question? "Did you live in a 'kaccha' house or a 'pucca' house?" To a child of the digital age, a life without modern appliances sounds like ancient history.
But in the silence of the internet shutdown, I found a different kind of connection. After finishing my Shivratri fast yesterday, I spent the day reading the newspaper, diving into my books, and taking a long-deserved nap. Without the digital noise, my mind began to wander through the stories I encountered.
While scrolling through some saved articles, I stumbled upon a sobering statistic: most living organ donors today are women. It struck me how, irrespective of willingness, the female gender is often expected to shoulder the flagship of sacrifice in all its forms—biological, emotional, and social. It is a heavy mantle we carry, often treated as a "default setting" rather than a choice.
I then read a piece by a highly successful woman leader discussing the necessity of intense planning before bringing a child into this world. She spoke of financial stability and emotional intelligence. Her points were valid for the age we live in, yet I felt she missed the most vital element: the dynamic nature of humanity.
Can any intellectual discussion prepare you for the reality of sleepless nights?
Can financial planning truly predict a recession or a sudden hospitalization?
Can a woman predict how her hormones and psychology will shift once she becomes a mother?
These things are beyond our intellect. We dwell on the "grass on the other side of the mountain"—the couple who had kids early might regret losing their freedom, while the couple who delayed may regret the difficulty of conceiving later.
In the end, I’ve realized that nothing is objectively "right" or "wrong." If you navigate the odds and put up a "good show," you feel accomplished. If the odds overwhelm you, you feel you’ve failed. But the "show" goes on regardless of our plans.
My day ended with a meeting that grounded all these heavy thoughts. I met an elderly couple in our society; they are here with their daughter for cancer treatment. His cancer had relapsed after six months, and he is back to undergoing chemotherapy. Yet, there they were, thankful that he had few food restrictions and was able to keep fighting.
As I rested after my fast, I realized that life isn't found in the perfect plan or the high-speed connection. It’s found in the resilience we show when the plans fall apart.
Have you ever had a 'digital detox' that led to an unexpected realization? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
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