There was a time when waiting was a way of life. People had space to breathe, think, and truly be. Today, every silence feels unbearable. Every pause is filled with scrolling. And every question demands an instant answer.

We live inside a constant rush, feeding a hunger that never ends.

From one-minute reels to chatbots that respond before we finish typing, impatience has become our silent disorder. We are so used to the fast lane that stillness now feels like failure.

This change is everywhere in Kashmir. The hum of conversation has faded under the tap of screens. The habit of reading, once a proud part of Kashmiri culture, is slipping away. Libraries stand still while reels race ahead. A story that once took days to read is now reduced to seconds of content. We crave speed, not understanding.

Even our tables have lost their warmth. The Kashmiri meal, once a space of laughter and gratitude, has become another screen-lit ritual. We eat without tasting, scroll without thinking, and talk without listening.

The zaiqa of food lies in presence, but presence is what we've surrendered.

The loss runs deepest in prayer. Focus during salah feels fragile. The heart tries to connect while the mind drifts toward the phone outside. What was once an act of surrender now feels like a race against distraction.

One afternoon at Jahangir Chowk, I saw a mother scrolling reels as her child leaned dangerously from an electric auto. She didn't notice. That moment said everything. We are losing awareness itself. Our screens have become more real than the world around us.

Psychologists call it the attention economy. Companies no longer compete for money, but for focus. Each click and swipe teaches an algorithm how to keep us restless. The result is a generation that cannot wait, reflect, and feel deeply.

Patience once defined our culture. It built the poetry of Habba Khatoon, the craftsmanship of pashmina, and the pulse of the seasons that shaped our orchards. That patience gave meaning to everything we created. Losing it means losing ourselves.

MENAFN29102025000215011059ID1110262894