The Price Of Progress

It was such a lovely day. The sun shone cheerfully down on a vast population of mostly ungrateful people who took this beautiful brilliance totally for granted. 

An old man was sitting under a shady tree watching the world go by. He belonged to a different era, a much more decadent one. He was used to a slower pace of life, where gratification was hard-earned, and rewards were wholesome. He was also witness to two genres of humans, the pragmatic ones like him who were not necessarily in his age group, and the tech-savvy people like his son and grandson, who were glued to their smartphones and counted on Alexa to fulfill their little demands.  

He reminisced about his own childhood which was spent climbing trees and fishing for tiny fish in the little streams that ran behind his house. He and his cousins who all lived together would spend their afternoons running to the little stream with muslin cloths and stand knee-deep in the cool water trying to catch the little silver fish that were unfortunate enough to venture into their makeshift muslin nets. Summers were spent climbing nimbly up the magnificent mango trees and being amply rewarded with ripe juicy mangoes that would leave them with nectar dribbling down their chins. His younger sisters would play with little pots and pans made out of coconut shells and bamboo, cooking over little piles of stones that served as makeshift stoves. Their grandparents had a treasure trove of ancient folk stories, some fictional some not so, but always keeping them spellbound and hanging onto every word. The old man sighed as he thought of his little granddaughter who listened to stories on some app on her parents’ phone. And his young grandson who was totally tech-savvy but had never climbed a tree. Or sat under one either, he contemplated resignedly.  

He worried about the effect all this technology had on their little minds that provided them with instant gratification. And just yesterday he had heard his dear friend, a retired colonel talking about something called the Metaverse with awe and controlled excitement. But from what he could gather, the Metaverse sounded just like a premium platform for numbing the senses. So instead of seeing the red flag and trying to pull the future generation from technological maladies, the stage was being all set for shoving them mind, body, and soul into the virtual unreal world of addiction and momentary gratification. 

Well, it was not all bad really. There was the fact that he could Facetime his daughter who lived in London every day. Or whenever he felt like seeing her. But he wished there was a council of authority who could monitor the extent of screen time and gadget use.  

He missed being able to voice his concerns to his late wife who had passed away a few years ago. Theirs was a real love story very different from his son and daughter-in-law, who had met each other on an online portal. He remembered how he used to sneak his lady love little lemon candies wrapped in newspaper from the big glass jar in the little store around the corner from his school. And he remembered the smile and twinkle in her eyes when she shyly extended her hand that jingled prettily with her bangles. OH, how he missed her! 

The old man suddenly felt very very tired caught in a world that spoke a language that was going too fast for him, leading everyone young and old, man and woman, who were addicted to technology towards a false parallel realm that was devoid of worldly emotions. He loved his children and grandchildren dearly, and every day he wished for them what he was fortunate to have experienced for himself. A world where children played under mango trees and fished in freshwater streams. A world where people found joy in the radiance of sunshine and love under the stars. A world where people found joy in little things and in each other. 

 

Storyteller