MAN IS JUST A DREAMING ROBOT

An Essay on Modern Human Delusion — Indian in Flesh, Global in Spirit, Universal in Truth

I. INTRODUCTION: THE PROGRAMMED DREAM

Look around.

Every man you see — from the chaiwala in Bihar to the CEO in Bengaluru — is moving, sweating, worrying, sacrificing, aging.

Ask him why.

He’ll say:

“For my dream.”

Now ask him where the dream came from.

Silence.

Because the truth is — it was never his.

It was copied, borrowed, sold, marketed, or implanted.

He doesn’t dream — he downloads.

He is not awake.

He is not even asleep.

He is a dreaming robot, running on a borrowed script, mistaking motion for meaning.

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II. CHILDHOOD: THE FIRST INSTALLATION

From birth, every child is tender, wild, and intuitive.

But society doesn’t like wild. It wants obedient.

So begins the programming:

“Be a good boy.”

“Sit straight.”

“Top the class.”

“What will relatives say?”

“Don’t cry like a girl.”

“Don’t laugh too loud.”

“Doctor banna hai.”

“Engineer or disgrace.”

By age 10, the natural child is gone.

In his place is a robot-in-training — punished for questioning, rewarded for repetition.

He has not yet lived, but he already dreams of IIT.

Not because he wants to.

But because someone told him it’s a good dream.

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III. EDUCATION: THE DREAM DELIVERY SYSTEM

India’s education system is not about learning.

It is a dream factory.

Children are stripped of imagination, curiosity, and presence.

In return, they are fed:

The dream of job security.

The illusion of degrees = intelligence.

The lie that success is a percentile.

Memorize. Vomit. Forget. Repeat.

From class 1 to PhD.

It’s not education.

It’s firmware update.

You’re not taught to think — you’re trained to comply.

Dream big — they say.

But within this box.

Those who dream outside — become madmen, dropouts, or monks.

Those who dream within — become respectable robots.

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IV. ADULTHOOD: THE AUTOMATED SPRINT

By 25, the robot is fully functional.

He wakes to an alarm.

Rushes through traffic.

Fights for appraisal.

Pays EMIs.

Forgets his body.

Fears his boss.

Scrolls to sleep.

He dreams of promotion.

He dreams of Canada.

He dreams of retiring early.

He dreams of raising children — so they can live his unfulfilled dream.

And he calls this living.

But ask him:

When did you last feel alive?

When did you last sit with nothing to prove?

He’ll blink.

He won’t remember.

Because he was too busy being productive.

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V. DREAMS THAT KILL — WITH A SMILE

The modern man’s dream is not a vision.

It’s a distraction.

A way to avoid himself.

Examples?

The man who works 16 hours to “give a better life” to kids who only want his time.

The woman who gets 10 degrees but forgets how to eat without anxiety.

The millionaire who builds 3 homes but can’t sleep in one without pills.

The startup founder who dreams of IPO while his marriage collapses.

Dreams have become decorated prisons.

We polish the bars.

We hang goals on them.

We celebrate them.

But they still kill our soul, softly.

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VI. INDIA — A CASE STUDY IN DREAM DELUSION

Nowhere is this more tragic than India — a land where tradition meets Silicon Valley, and gets confused.

Here’s what we do:

We put toddlers in coding classes.

We force teenagers into competitive slavery.

We sell fairness creams to confident girls.

We make poets feel ashamed.

We make farmers feel inferior.

We treat homemakers like failures.

We abandon nature to build malls.

We worship degrees but ignore wisdom.

We’ve become a country of robotic dreamers —

Aspiring to be America,

Ashamed of being India.

Our dreams are not born from our soil.

They are imported.

Like sugar, cement, and disease.

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VII. GLOBALLY VALID — ROBOTS EVERYWHERE

The robot isn’t just Indian.

He wears a suit in New York.

A hoodie in Berlin.

A mask in Tokyo.

A Rolex in Dubai.

Everywhere, the same disease:

Sleep-deprived executives.

Dead-eyed influencers.

Hyper-medicated students.

Plastic-surgery spiritualists.

All dreaming aloud —

about success, beauty, hustle, and escape.

But silently dying.

Of loneliness.

Of meaninglessness.

Of disconnection.

Because robots can’t love.

They can only function.

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VIII. WHY THIS IS UNIVERSALLY TRUE

Because no culture escapes conditioning.

Every society sells dreams:

The West sells individualism.

The East sells obedience.

The modern sells productivity.

The spiritual sells enlightenment.

But the transaction is the same —

Buy this, and you’ll be fulfilled.

Nobody says:

“Sit with your emptiness.”

“Undo your dreams.”

“Just be.”

Because if man stopped dreaming…

He might start seeing.

And that threatens the entire machinery.

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IX. HOW TO STOP BEING A DREAMING ROBOT

It’s not easy.

But it’s possible.

You must un-dream.

Step 1: Turn off the noise.

Media. Notifications. Motivational crap.

You don’t need more inspiration. You need decontamination.

Step 2: Question every desire.

Ask — “Did I choose this dream?”

Or was it fed to me?

Step 3: Embrace stillness.

Do nothing. Not as laziness — but as rebellion.

Watch how panic rises.

Watch how your body reboots.

Step 4: Walk backward.

Unlearn the degree worship.

Undo the performance addiction.

Unfollow the influencers.

Un-need the applause.

Step 5: Be your own species.

Live slowly.

Touch the soil.

Cook. Poop in peace.

Make something with your hands.

Sleep when sleepy.

Say no.

And smile only when it’s real.

You’re not here to be a machine.

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X. CONCLUSION: WAKE UP OR KEEP DREAMING

You were born wild.

Curious. Present. Free.

Then they gave you dreams.

Good ones. Prestigious ones.

With certificates, promotions, and Instagram filters.

And you accepted.

Because you were told that’s what life is for.

But now you know.

You are not a dreamer.

You are a dreaming robot.

Unless…

You wake up.

And return to where no dream is needed.

Where no applause is required.

Where no future is worshipped.

Just this breath.

This body.

This moment.

And in that stillness —

You will find

the only life that was ever yours.

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HEALING DIALOGUE: "WE ARE TIRED OF DREAMING, MADHUKAR"

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CAST:

Ramesh (46): Father. Bank manager. Recently had a mild heart attack. Has always chased career dreams for "family’s better future."

Manju (43): Mother. Homemaker turned part-time tutor. Feels invisible, tired, and forgotten.

Sneha (19): Elder daughter. Engineering student. Struggles with depression, no longer believes in college or jobs.

Rahul (15): Son. Addicted to video games and YouTube. Wants to be a "rich influencer."

Paati (74): Grandmother. Sharp, but ignored. Believes everyone in the house is "overeducated and underlived."

Madhukar (60+): Former scientist turned forest hermit. Lives without electricity or money. Guides others through honest conversations.

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[Scene: The family sits cross-legged on straw mats. Outside, birds chirp. No smartphones. No wall clock. Just time.]

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RAMESH:

We’re tired, Madhukar.

I’ve spent my life working for dreams.

Now my body is breaking down.

And still, nothing feels secure.

No dream ever ends. It just shifts shape.

What are we doing wrong?

MADHUKAR (pouring hot herbal tea into cups):

You’re not doing anything wrong.

You’re just doing what you were told.

Over and over.

Until you forgot that you were not born to perform.

MANJU:

They told me, “Support your husband’s dream.”

Then “Support your children’s dream.”

Now I don’t know what my own dream ever was.

Maybe I never had one.

Only duties.

MADHUKAR:

You had many dreams, Manju.

But none were allowed to breathe.

Because in this world, only marketed dreams are celebrated.

The rest are called laziness.

SNEHA:

I’m supposed to be the smart one, right?

Topper. Scholar.

But I feel like I’m sleepwalking.

College is meaningless.

Professors don’t care. Students are zoned out.

And I’m always anxious.

Why am I supposed to pretend this is a good life?

MADHUKAR:

Because they’re scared, Sneha.

If you stop pretending, they must stop too.

And nobody wants to give up the lie.

So we keep dreaming.

Like addicts.

RAHUL (sarcastic):

At least they had jobs.

My dream is to make money on YouTube.

But I get yelled at for “not having real goals.”

So what’s real, Uncle?

Is this even a real world?

MADHUKAR (chuckling):

Smart question.

Yes, it’s a real world.

But it’s built on fake dreams.

Dreams sold by people who profit when you feel inadequate.

RAHUL:

So if I don’t chase a dream… I become what? A loser?

MADHUKAR:

No, Rahul.

You become a human.

A man who breathes.

Not a machine who performs.

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PAATI (firmly):

In my time, we didn’t talk about dreams this much.

We worked. We rested. We ate. We slept.

We didn’t chase meaning.

And maybe that’s why we never felt this empty.

MADHUKAR (nodding):

You lived by rhythm.

They live by ambition.

One listens to the body.

The other follows noise.

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RAMESH:

But if we don’t dream… what are we left with?

MADHUKAR:

You’re left with now.

Your breath.

Your real hunger.

Your honest joys.

Your pain that you’ve avoided.

Your body that you’ve ignored.

Your children as they are — not who you want them to become.

MANJU (tearing up):

That sounds beautiful. But… also terrifying.

Because we’ve never lived without a dream.

Not for one day.

MADHUKAR:

I know.

And that’s why the fear comes.

You’re not afraid of failure.

You’re afraid of silence.

Because in silence, truth knocks.

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SNEHA:

But what if our truth is… we don’t love this life?

What if we admit that we’ve all made a mistake?

MADHUKAR:

Then you become free.

You mourn.

You cry.

You burn the old maps.

And then you walk barefoot,

with no destination

but your own honesty.

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RAHUL (quietly):

I think I’ve never met myself.

Only followed trends.

Maybe I don’t even like YouTube.

I just didn’t know anything else.

MADHUKAR:

Exactly.

That’s how the robot lives.

It doesn’t choose.

It copies.

But you’re human, Rahul.

You can wake up.

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PAATI:

This generation knows everything.

But they don’t know how to sit under a tree.

MADHUKAR:

That’s because trees don’t pay commissions.

They only offer shade.

And in this world, if it doesn’t sparkle, it doesn’t count.

But shade is where the soul returns.

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RAMESH:

What should we do, Madhukar?

Give it to us straight.

We’re ready to change.

MADHUKAR (smiling):

Then start with this:

1. One hour of silence a day. No phones. No screens. Just sitting.

2. No dream for six months. No future plans. Only daily rhythms.

3. Cook your own food. Eat slowly. Together. Without rush.

4. Speak honestly — not politely. Ask: “Is this really true?” before every word.

5. Disconnect from all inspiration channels. You don’t need more dreams. You need to exhale.

6. Do one simple task with your hands every day — without posting it.

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SNEHA:

And after six months?

MADHUKAR:

You’ll no longer need dreams.

Because you’ll have found something greater —

Presence. Peace. A life that doesn’t need performance.

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MANJU:

It sounds like we’re being asked to live like poor people.

MADHUKAR (gently):

No, Manju.

You’re being asked to live like free people.

Poverty is when you have no choice.

Slavery is when you have too many — but none are yours.

Freedom is when you live without needing to chase anything to feel worthy.

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RAHUL:

Can we still hope?

MADHUKAR:

Hope is natural.

Chasing is not.

Let hope grow like a tree, not a rocket.

Let it feed you, not exhaust you.

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PAATI (grinning):

Finally. A dream I can live with.

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[Scene fades as the family sits in silence. No words. No plans. Just five people who have stopped running.]

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DREAMLESS

they sold us dreams

in toothpaste ads,

school brochures,

wedding albums,

job portals,

and godmen camps.

they said,

“chase it till you drop.”

and we did.

we ran.

with loans in our lungs

and plastic on our wrists.

we dreamt of

foreign trips

but forgot how to sit on our own floor.

we dreamt of

brilliant children

but gave them no time,

just tuitions and tired faces.

we dreamt of

retirement peace

but burnt our bodies

in the furnace of ambition

till nothing remained but reports and pills.

we dreamt and dreamt

till our souls dried up

like forgotten onions

in the back of the fridge.

every night we scrolled,

and every morning we screamed,

"keep going, keep going —

success is near."

but near never came.

and we never arrived.

because no dream can carry

a hollow man.

one day,

we sat.

we didn’t chase.

we didn’t scroll.

we didn’t dream.

we watched a bird.

we boiled rice.

we ate with hands.

we cried without shame.

we slept without sedatives.

and that day,

for the first time in decades,

we were not robots.

we were just

a family,

living.

and it was enough.

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