Fifty years from now things would be a lot different. Rahul
Gandhi will be dead. Modi will be ash. And Advani would be playing chess with
his pet turtle that he has had since second grade. There will be new problems,
like Abram and Salman’s illegitimate child having a tiff. We’d be talking less,
chatting more. Human interaction will be at an all-time low since the Neolithic
times when a rock to the forehead was the common form of hello. Wasting clicks
after clicks on shit more useless than the last thing you wasted your click on.
The important stuff, it’s all getting lost somewhere between home to work and
back. Think for a moment, when did you last smile? When was the last time, the
smile fairy paid a visit and washed your face with honey dipped sunshine?
NO, that ‘furry kitten pawing the cuddly puppy’ video that made you smile doesn't count.
Everything is changing. But the failure to notice the obvious can be
attributed to the fact that you are moving along the same pace. Look back 6
weeks and you won’t see much change. Look back three years and you’d get a
nauseating feeling. Did you do the important things then? Would you rather do
things differently if given a chance? The impulse to crave a time machine says
nothing but regret.
But fifty years from now, when I am sitting with you on a
park bench, holding your hand as tightly as my weak muscles allow, I’ll look
into your blurry eyes. And if see, what I see now; that one glance which tells
me ‘Nothing has changed. We’re still the same’, I’d die a happy man.
