Civilized Man Lives Away From The Civilization

Prologue: The Soft Trap

There’s a man who wakes up at 7, brushes his teeth with mint-flavored foam, scrolls through bad news, and wears a tie like a leash. He takes a cab to an office that smells of burnt coffee and artificial dreams. He talks about progress, productivity, and policies. He eats lunch wrapped in plastic. He talks to screens more than people. He buys insurance, swipes cards, fights traffic, and returns home to a flickering rectangle that tells him what to think and what to want.

He is called civilized.

But if you take a long enough walk — past his cement walls, through the forgotten fields, across a dried-up river — you might find what he lost. His roots. His breath. His silence. His rhythm with the world. His civilization.

Because in reality — civilized man now lives away from civilization.

This is the story of how that happened.

Not a sudden war. Not a tragic collapse. But a slow erosion — masked as development.

---

I. The Real Meaning of Civilization

What is civilization?

Is it having flush toilets, Wi-Fi, and legal contracts?

Or is it a way of living that sustains life, community, and meaning across generations?

The ancients built civilizations near rivers. They watched the moon to plant. They shared food in circles. They built with stone, not debt. They sang their myths, passed on memory, and respected both fire and silence.

Civilization wasn’t concrete. It was continuity.

It wasn’t shopping. It was sharing.

It wasn’t speed. It was season.

---

II. The Great Displacement

Modern man calls himself “civilized” — yet he lives far from nature, far from soil, far from silence.

He has:

Lights but no stars

Phones but no stories

Options but no wisdom

Appliances but no skills

He can scroll endlessly but cannot sit still. He can drive 200 km but can't walk barefoot for 10 minutes. He can Google anything but understands nothing when a cow looks him in the eye.

He has a climate-controlled box, but not the cool of a neem tree. He has packaged water, but not the memory of a flowing stream.

In chasing progress, he ran away from civilization.

---

III. The Urban Mirage

Modern cities are the loudest proof of our uncivilization.

Water doesn’t come from rivers but tankers.

Food doesn’t grow — it’s imported.

Neighbors don’t know each other.

Children don’t play — they perform.

Festivals don’t unite — they stress.

A city looks developed, but it cannot survive two days without electricity, internet, and petrol. It is a bubble of codependency — sterile, anxious, and noisy.

You live in a “society” but don’t know your own breath.

You rely on a system you don’t control — and call that freedom.

---

IV. The Polite Brutality

This so-called civilization has taught us to be “nice” — but not kind.

To “keep in touch” — but not care.

To use “soft skills” — while masking real emotion.

We say “I’m fine” while breaking inside.

We keep relationships alive through forwarded jokes and emoticons.

We are lonely in ways no tribal man has ever been.

We are emotionally starving in AC rooms.

And we call it evolution.

---

V. The Cult of Convenience

We worship ease. We want everything delivered.

But in doing so:

We forgot to make things.

We forgot to wait.

We forgot to earn through time and effort.

Now, we are fed by machines, tracked by algorithms, soothed by pharmaceutical sedatives, and numbed by entertainment.

We are no longer humans.

We are consumers, clients, patients, users, and targets.

We say we are advanced, but can’t live without charging cables and cloud passwords.

---

VI. The Collapse of the Commons

True civilization is built on the commons — shared spaces, water, trust, time.

Modernity turned commons into commodities:

Land became property

Seeds became intellectual property

Knowledge became degrees

Care became therapy

Food became industry

Now, even your attention is bought and sold.

There is no forest that is free.

No silence that isn’t broken.

No ritual that hasn’t been monetized.

And yet, we keep saying, “We’re moving forward.”

---

VII. The Child of Now

The modern child is born into gadgets, screens, processed food, noise, rules, exams, and soft chairs.

He doesn’t climb trees.

He doesn’t know rivers.

He doesn’t know hunger or satisfaction.

He cannot sit alone. He cannot walk far.

He is “civilized” — in the most sterile, addicted, indoor way possible.

And it’s not his fault.

We handed him this diluted world and called it development.

---

VIII. The Collapse of Inner Civilization

Most terrifying of all — the inner civilization is gone.

We no longer have:

Patience

Reverence

Silence

Attention

Surrender

We have loud opinions but no listening.

We have ambition but no direction.

We have access to spiritual quotes — but no experience of grace.

We are civilized only in cosmetics.

Inside, we are lost.

---

IX. Signs of Recovery

But not all is lost.

Some are waking up:

The farmer who left his software job

The woman who grows her own herbs

The father who took his child out of the schooling factory

The youth who quit the noise and walked the Himalayas

The family that eats together with hands, no screens, no rush

These people are reclaiming civilization — not by rejecting all tools — but by returning to rhythm, relationships, and roots.

They are the slow rebels.

They may never trend.

But they may survive.

And they may help others recover.

---

Epilogue: Coming Home

In the end, it’s not a war between rural and urban, or tradition and technology.

It’s a war between extraction and renewal, between disconnection and rhythm, between vanity and grace.

Civilization is not Wi-Fi, not GDP, not smart homes.

It is food that remembers the soil, speech that remembers silence, rituals that remember time, and lives that remember meaning.

To be civilized is not to perform progress.

It is to belong — to people, to time, to land, to soul.

And until we return to that belonging, we may be many things — engineers, influencers, consultants, professionals…

…but not truly civilized.

---

THE MAN WHO MISTOOK DECAY FOR CIVILIZATION

-- a healing dialogue with Madhukar

Here is a healing dialogue — a slow, layered conversation between Madhukar, the rural healer, and a man named Mr. Kulkarni, a proud, well-traveled, urbanized individual who believes that everything modern is a mark of human progress. He’s confident, polished, and educated — but deeply unaware of his own disconnection. The dialogue peels his layers gently, without insult or lecture.

---

Scene:

A calm early morning. A neem tree sways gently in the breeze outside Madhukar’s small mud-walled home. Birds sing. Inside, a steel tumbler of buttermilk is placed before Mr. Kulkarni, who is dressed in synthetic trekking pants and holding a smartwatch. He is fidgeting with his phone.

Madhukar wipes his hands and sits down slowly, barefoot, a mild smile on his face.

---

Dialogue Begins

Madhukar:

You're early. That’s good. City folks usually come late and leave quickly.

Mr. Kulkarni (smiling):

I had to be early, Madhukar. I respect time. My calendar runs tight. And anyway, it’s nice to get away from the pollution once in a while.

Madhukar:

From which pollution, sir? The one in the air or the one in the head?

Mr. Kulkarni (laughs):

Both, perhaps! But the air here is amazing. Still, of course, it’s not practical to live here. Civilization needs roads, industries, AI, banking, apps — not cow dung and neem trees.

Madhukar:

Is it civilization if you need a filter to breathe, a pill to sleep, and a screen to feel emotions?

Mr. Kulkarni:

You’re being romantic. Cities have hospitals, high-speed internet, ACs, automation. We’re solving real problems. You can’t compare that with this… simplicity.

Madhukar:

You’re solving problems… mostly caused by the last solution.

Mr. Kulkarni (pauses):

What do you mean?

Madhukar:

Take food. Earlier, people grew it, shared it, and ate it. Then came green revolution. Then came chemicals, trucks, packaged food, acidity, diabetes, cancer. Then came hospitals, insurance, diets, supplements, stress. Now we’re solving a problem that was never there.

Mr. Kulkarni (defensive):

But modern food systems feed billions.

Madhukar:

And yet half the world is obese, and the other half is starving.

---

[They sip buttermilk. Kulkarni checks his phone. No signal.]

---

Madhukar:

Do you know what your grandfather used to do after a meal?

Mr. Kulkarni:

Sleep, probably.

Madhukar:

No. He used to sit on a woven mat, chew fennel seeds, and talk to his cows. He knew every sound they made. That man was more civilized than all our satellites.

Mr. Kulkarni:

That’s nostalgia. We live longer now.

Madhukar:

We die slower. That’s different.

---

A moment of silence. A squirrel jumps on a branch above.

---

Mr. Kulkarni:

So what do you suggest? We abandon everything and go back to bullock carts?

Madhukar:

No. But you’ve mistaken speed for direction.

Civilization is not about faster cars and smarter phones.

It’s about wiser living.

You don’t need to go back. You need to go deeper.

---

Mr. Kulkarni leans back. Something inside begins to soften.

---

Mr. Kulkarni:

But I’ve built my whole life on this — education, job, house, bank balance. You’re saying I’m wrong?

Madhukar:

No. You are not wrong.

But your compass may be broken.

You have gathered many tools — now gather some roots.

You have learned how to earn — now learn how to live.

You have accumulated information — now seek wisdom.

---

Mr. Kulkarni quietly watches a pair of birds bathe in the clay pot outside.

---

Mr. Kulkarni:

How do I begin?

Madhukar:

Begin where you are.

Eat food that rots.

Talk to someone without a screen.

Walk barefoot.

Sit quietly once a day.

Grow one plant.

Watch the moon.

Ask your body how it feels before asking Google.

And most importantly —

stop calling disconnection civilization.

---

Mr. Kulkarni (almost whispering):

I thought I was ahead of the world.

Madhukar:

You are. But you’re walking fast — in the wrong direction.

Come sit by the fire tonight. My daughter will sing an old Kannada song about what makes a life beautiful. You might not understand the words — but your body will.

---

Dialogue ends.

Mr. Kulkarni stays. For a week.

Then he returns to the city — but slower, gentler, and no longer proud of being so “civilized.”

---

ONE YEAR LATER

A MAN WHO LEARNED TO PAUSE

Scene:

The neem tree outside Madhukar’s home casts long shadows in the early morning. It’s late summer. Sparrows flit about the courtyard. Inside, Madhukar is arranging jars of dried herbs while his daughter Adhya notes patient records in her lined notebook. Anju is trying to light the wood stove.

A car stops just outside the gate. The sound is familiar.

It’s Mr. Kulkarni, in formal trousers, cotton shirt slightly crumpled. A cloth bag over one shoulder. He steps out with less rush than before.

---

Madhukar (wiping his hands):

Second visit?

Mr. Kulkarni (smiling):

Yes. I told my driver to wait at the village junction. I wanted to walk the last half-kilometre. The silence here feels good before I speak.

Adhya:

Last time you asked Appa if cow dung was sanitary.

Mr. Kulkarni (laughs softly):

And he said, “Cleaner than your banknote.” I haven’t forgotten.

---

They sit. Tumbler of buttermilk again. Anju brings some roasted groundnuts.

---

Madhukar:

How’s the city treating you?

Mr. Kulkarni:

The same. Noisier, maybe. But I don’t carry it inside as much now.

Madhukar:

Hmm.

Mr. Kulkarni:

I didn’t make any big changes. But slowly, I started noticing how I was living.

I stopped eating in the car.

I keep my phone out of the bedroom.

I’ve begun cooking once a week — simple things.

Started walking up the stairs again.

I sit quietly for ten minutes every evening before dinner. No screen. No music.

It’s not dramatic, but it’s real.

---

Madhukar nods.

---

Madhukar:

That’s more real than most detox programs.

Mr. Kulkarni:

I realized I had everything — apps, devices, policies, backups — but no real rhythm. I was tracking steps but not touching the ground.

Anju:

Amma says some people eat vitamins but forget to chew their food.

---

Mr. Kulkarni smiles gently.

---

Mr. Kulkarni:

Exactly. I thought I was advanced — now I think I was just over-informed.

I still go to meetings, still pay EMIs, still get stuck in traffic. But I don’t say, “That’s just life” anymore.

Now I ask, “Is this necessary?”

---

Madhukar pours a little castor oil into a small steel bowl. The aroma fills the space.

---

Madhukar:

Small questions change big things.

---

A brief silence. A goat bleats in the distance. A crow calls.

---

Mr. Kulkarni:

You didn’t try to fix me. You just made me sit still long enough to hear myself.

I think that’s the most civilized thing anyone has done for me in years.

---

Madhukar:

We don’t fix people here. We let them remember what’s not broken.

---

Epilogue:

Mr. Kulkarni didn't give up his work.

He didn’t sell his car or renounce the city.

But he began living with more pause, more attention, and less pride in his “modern” life.

He still owns gadgets — but they don’t own him.

He still uses speed — but he’s not led by it.

And once a year, without fanfare, he returns to this quiet village — not for treatment, but for reminder.

That civilization is not what you build around you —

but what you carry quietly within.

---

THE ANIMAL WITH AIR-CONDITIONING

he wears shoes to forget his feet.

he wears deodorant to hide what he’s become.

he puts tiles over soil

calls it real estate

then plants a fake tree in his living room

and clicks a photo

with a hashtag that says #blessed.

he thinks he’s arrived

but he doesn’t know where.

he eats food that’s been dead for months

from packets that took 100 years to die

then washes it down with filtered water

and filtered thoughts

and filtered breath.

the man in the mirror looks healthy.

his lab report agrees.

but he hasn’t taken a deep breath since 2009.

---

Progress Report

he invented apps

to order things

so he never has to talk to anyone.

he has friends.

but none of them know how he smells.

he listens to nature sounds on headphones

while ignoring the tree being cut outside.

he calls it work

but it’s mostly pressing things

until other people give him numbers.

then he uses those numbers to buy stuff

to distract himself from how numb he’s become.

he says “let’s catch up soon”

to people he will never meet.

and says “I’m fine”

in ten different ways

while slowly

falling apart.

---

The Modern Fire

he doesn’t cook anymore.

fire is dangerous.

oil is messy.

time is expensive.

so he nukes frozen things

in buzzing boxes

that beep like ICU machines

and eats them alone

staring into blue light

chewing

but not tasting.

---

His Kingdom

he has a house.

it has a gate.

the gate has a camera.

the camera sends him footage

of a world he doesn’t step into.

he has a bed

that cost him three months' salary

but his back still hurts

and sleep still runs from him

like a stray dog from a kicked bucket.

he has everything.

except rest.

---

Civilization

he has never planted anything.

never dug a hole in the earth.

never watched a seed rise.

he doesn’t know

how coriander smells when crushed

or how a tomato tastes

before it’s washed in chlorine.

he talks about sustainability

but doesn’t know how to mend a torn shirt.

he has meetings about ethics

while the coffee in his hand

came from another continent

grown by a man who hasn’t eaten lunch.

---

The Civilized Body

he wears a smartwatch

to tell him when to stand.

he pays a therapist

to teach him how to breathe.

he downloads an app

that reminds him to drink water.

his spine is shaped like a question mark.

his gut is a war zone.

his eyes are red

but his LinkedIn says “Thriving.”

he can code in four languages

but hasn’t squatted to shit

in twenty years.

---

The Child of Now

his child knows how to swipe

before he knows how to speak.

he knows the names of cartoon brands

but not the names of leaves.

he has 900 toys

but not one patch of soil

he can call his own.

he wears plastic shoes

and eats food from plastic

and grows up believing

that forests are places you “visit.”

---

How He Worships

he doesn't pray to the sun

but he knows how to adjust the white balance on his phone.

he doesn’t speak to his ancestors

but he celebrates Independence Day

by ordering discount pizza.

he calls himself spiritual

but only if it’s convenient

between a meeting

and a motivational podcast.

---

The Funeral March

he’s afraid of death

so he never lives.

he plans for retirement

but not for real afternoons.

he says “once things settle”

but things never do.

and by the time he looks up

his knees are too stiff

his soul is too dry

and the neem tree he never planted

has already withered.

---

Last Words of a Polite Corpse

“he was a good man”

they’ll say.

“civilized. cultured. successful.”

but the earth won’t recognize him.

and the birds won’t stop to mourn.

and the wind won’t know his name.

he will leave behind

a 3BHK apartment

a collection of receipts

a USB drive of tax returns

and one sad child

who will grow up

the same way—

disconnected,

efficient,

and quietly

starving.

---

But Maybe…

one day he will look at his hand

and not see a screen.

he will feel his pulse

without a machine.

he will taste a fruit

he didn’t buy.

he will take off his shoes

without rushing to wear them again.

he will smell cow dung

and smile.

he will sit beside a tree

and say nothing

for the first time in years.

not a revolution.

not a documentary.

just a man

remembering what he forgot.

and maybe

that will be enough.

---

.end.