WHEN PROGRESS STEALS THE ‘KICK FROM LIFE’ ..... (THE FUTURE-FUTURE MADDENING WORLD) : Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

 WHEN PROGRESS STEALS THE ‘KICK FROM LIFE’

(THE FUTURE-FUTURE MADDENING WORLD)

Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

The other day, while travelling to my native village, something quietly unsettling happened. I have known that route since childhood, not just the main road, but every deviation, every Banyan and Neem Tree, every shortcut connecting at least fifty surrounding villages. I was born there, grew up there, and spent the better part of my youth navigating those paths long before signboards existed. Yet this time, urged enthusiastically by my children, I switched on Google Maps for the driver. As the blue arrow obediently guided us turn by turn, efficiency replaced memory. Certainty replaced curiosity. And there was no kick.

I felt a gentle sadness realizing that we no longer have the chance to ask directions from a village passer-by, with a hand-rolled tobacco cigar in his hand, and his waistcloth hitched up in the easy rural manner. The brief conversation with a stranger who becomes a guide correcting human doubt was absent. That small thrill of being lost and found again, by people, not by pixels- small dots of light on a phone was missing. Well, it was not about a road. It was about life.

That small surrender, choosing certainty over experience, convenience over engagement, felt harmless, even sensible. Yet it reflected something much larger than a navigation choice. It captured the spirit of our times that, a steady movement away from effort, involvement, and human exchange toward seamless efficiency. What was gained in speed quietly replaced the kick, and the lived satisfaction that once accompanied. Once, progress meant effort, now effortlessness, and tomorrow, it will mean the complete absence of human involvement. No matter, how far can we go, but what do we lose as we go further?

When we imagine ‘The Future-Future, a Maddeningly Advanced World,’ we must pause and ask: where is the kick, the thrill, the struggle, the satisfaction, that once defined living! For instance, consider the humble car. Its earliest avatar demanded intimacy between man and machine. A peculiar Z-shaped iron rod had to be inserted and rotated with force. One wrong move and the engine could kick back, injuring the driver. It was risky, noisy, physical, but alive. The driver felt the machine, though demanded skill, patience, and respect. Then came self-starts, gears became smoother, brakes sharper, lights brighter. Eventually, automatic transmission arrived. Today, cars park themselves, correct the driver, and soon will drive without one. We call this evolution, but something disappeared. And that was the Kick.

There was a time when Cricket matches stretched across five days, players wore whites, and patience was as important as power. The umpire stood as the final authority where human judgment was final. Decisions were debated later, not reversed instantly. Then came One Day Internationals followed by T20s. Faster. Louder. Shorter. Then, third umpires, replays, ball-tracking, edge detection. Today, the umpire’s decision is almost provisional. What next? And no Kick.

Life itself is becoming mechanical, from childbirth to death. Food arrives at the door with a click. Milk no longer knows the cow. Curd is cultured in factories. Medicines are suggested by algorithms. The barber has been replaced by apps, the doctor by search engines, and the hospital by online opinions. Google is the new multi-super-specialist, never tired, never wrong. We eat without hunger, rest without fatigue, learn without curiosity, and speak without listening. Everything is available, yet nothing is earned. And no Kick.

Once, cloth itself was a personal choice. We touched it, held it against the light, imagined it becoming part of our daily life. We walked to a familiar tailor, who knew our posture, our habits, even our temperament. He measured not just the body, but the person, for a slight looseness for comfort, a tighter cut for confidence. The first fitting, the second adjustment, the final satisfaction, and that was the kick. Today, the tailor is almost extinct. We are expected to settle for ‘Ready-Mades’ that fit no one perfectly. Every provision we require comes packed, sealed, barcoded, sanitized. Choice exists in abundance, yet involvement is absent; buy without knowing, consume without connecting.

Reading has followed the same path. Books once had weight, smell, margin notes, damaged pages that marked not just chapters but moments in life. We returned to passages accidentally and rediscovered ourselves. Today, everything is searchable. Kindle remembers for us, Google summarizes for us, and ChatGPT writes for us. We no longer linger with ideas. Knowledge is instant, but wisdom slow, repetitive, reflective, and endangered. Letters have vanished. Handwriting once required thought, revealed mood. Pauses meant something. Receiving a letter was an event. Now messages arrive instantly, carelessly, and disappear just as fast.

(Photo courtesy ChatGPT)

Music, too, has changed its nature. There was a time when we waited for a song on the radio, adjusted the antenna, sat still, listened fully. The wait sharpened the pleasure. Now music plays endlessly in the background, unheard, unfelt. Even memory has been outsourced. We no longer remember phone numbers, birthdays, routes, or recipes. Forgetting is no longer human, it is mechanical. All these changes point to one truth that, life has not become easier, but has become thinner. The question is: How can we live meaningfully in a world rushing ahead, when our wisdom belongs to a slower rhythm?

The answer is not resistance, but selective slowing to restore the Kick. For the young, speed is excitement. For the old, depth is joy. Society must learn to respect both. The tragedy would be to force everyone into the same tempo. Late life does not need acceleration, but it needs meaning. It needs spaces where experience is valued over efficiency, where the kick comes not from novelty but from recognition. Progress should add years to life, as also, life to years. And that life, often, moves best at a human pace. To me at seventy-eight years of age, optimism is no longer noisy.

Technology will not reverse. The world will not unlearn speed. Convenience, once tasted, is never surrendered. In that sense, pessimism is not a choice, but it is an acknowledgment. The kick, in many areas of life, may never fully come back. Yet surrender is not wisdom either. There remains a narrow but vital space where choice still survives. We may not decide the direction of the world, but we can decide the distance we keep from it. We can step back without stepping away, and participate without dissolving.

We sit with crossed fingers, not in fear, but in fragile faith. Faith that wisdom still matters, that slowness still has dignity, and that the last chapters of life need not be rushed to keep pace with a restless world. Progress may be unstoppable. But meaning, if guarded carefully, still is not.  Whom do we blame? The scientist who invented? The engineer who refined? The market that demanded convenience? The youth who adapted quickly? Or ourselves, who welcomed ease without asking its price? There is no single culprit and so, none to be blamed.

Change did not arrive as an intruder, but it arrived as an invitation. We accepted gratefully. And yet, consequences remain even without culprits. If blame must exist, it may rest nowhere outside us, but in our collective impatience, our preference for speed over substance, answers over understanding, convenience over connection. Not a moral failure, but a human one.

The question does not point outward. It circles back quietly that, When everything became easier, why did we stop asking what we were giving up? There may be no one to blame. But there is still something to learn. And perhaps that is the last responsibility left to us, to leave behind not solutions, but questions worth asking, before the world moves on too fast to notice them. This shall remain the question mark.