A Lost Generation

We do yoga in the mornings in search of an elusive peace of mind and body.

We work our ass off during the day chasing money we spend on things we don’t really need.

We go on holidays so we may have something to talk about and nice pictures to upload on social media.

We party ritualistically on weekends as if our lives depend on it. We drink till we drop to make the rest of the week bearable.

We smoke weed looking for a temporary nirvana.

We read to quote, write to impress.

We got all the basic necessities of life on a platter. Hardship for us is a measly 10% increment.

We don’t know what we are after or where we want to be. But we are running like mad to get there. With the spirit of competition injected in our blood since childhood, we scamper breathlessly up the corporate ladder to prosperity, two steps at a time.

Perpetually lost between the poverty of our past and the promise of prosperity of future generations. Living cozy, causeless, casual lives.

Cocooned in glittering urban centers of the “shining” parts of India, we are untouched by untouchability and other grim realities of caste, class, race and gender that continue to shape the lives of millions of others of our generation. Rohith for us is just another “Breaking news”. Our Protests beginning and ending with the click of a Like button on Facebook.

Breathing our careers, we are immune to the faint, barely audible call of Identity.

Our lives parched of Politics. Of Passion. Of Poetry. What will your legacy be, they ask us. We stare into space for a long moment, snigger at them and click a few selfies to clear our minds.