Nature Did Not Create You for Work - Society Did
- Madhukar Dama
- 2 days ago
- 7 min read
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1. Who told you that your life is meant for work?
Did the trees say that?
Did the rivers? The birds? The sky?
When a child is born in a tribal forest, with no ID, no school, no plan — is that child born defective?
Is he less of a human because he does not grow up to become an employee?
Or is it possible that he, like you, was born complete — to live, to feel, to breathe, to walk the land?
So where did this idea come from — that life is for work, and work defines your worth?
Who taught you that your time must always be used, your hands always busy, your day always productive?
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2. But don’t we need to work to survive?
Of course. A deer walks to find water. A bird builds a nest. A farmer grows rice.
Life involves effort.
But here’s the difference:
Effort in nature has purpose — not performance.
You gather food. You build shelter. You care for those around you.
That’s not the same as being trapped in systems of endless, repetitive, meaningless tasks.
There’s a difference between working for life, and working for a living.
A difference between doing what is needed, and being made to do what is never enough.
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3. So when did this shift happen — from living to working?
Slowly. Gradually. Over centuries. Across empires and economies.
Even in ancient India, certain groups worked the fields, while others read scriptures.
But there was rhythm — seasons, harvests, festivals, rest. Not this current madness.
Colonialism made it worse. British rulers introduced railways, revenue, paperwork, bureaucracy.
They needed obedient clerks, not wise villagers.
The factories came. The schools copied the factories.
Timetables, bells, uniforms — all designed to prepare you to obey.
Then the jobs came — bank, railways, government office.
Your father stood in line for them. You inherited the dream.
Now the dream has become the trap.
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4. But isn’t work noble? Doesn’t the Gita say we must do our karma?
Yes, but karma means action, not employment.
It means doing what is right, not what is profitable.
It means fulfilling your nature — not your manager’s quarterly target.
Krishna did not say, “Work 9 to 5 and wait for promotion.”
He said: Do what you must, without greed for results.
In that sense, cooking for your family, planting vegetables, helping a neighbour,
cleaning your home with presence and love — is more in line with dharma
than many so-called high-paying jobs.
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5. So is this about quitting all jobs and becoming lazy?
Not at all.
This is about remembering that you were human before you were a worker.
And you will still be human after your retirement letter is issued.
Work if you must — but don’t confuse it with who you are.
You are not your designation.
You are not your CV.
You are not your salary slip.
You are a child of earth.
Meant to walk slowly.
To notice the sound of wind in trees.
To sit with a sick person and hold their hand without checking the time.
To watch your child grow without turning them into a product.
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6. But what about responsibilities? EMIs? Children?
Society has built systems that bind you through fear.
Buy a house. Now pay for 20 years.
Put your child in an expensive school. Now you must earn more.
Buy things to prove success. Now you cannot stop.
This is not your fault. You were born into this net.
But you can pause. You can question. You can choose differently.
You can say: “My children need my time, not my gadgets.”
You can say: “My value is not based on how busy I am.”
You can say: “I will live with less, so I can be free.”
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7. But what will people say?
Ah — the eternal Indian worry.
Log kya kahenge?
They will call you lazy.
They will say you lack ambition.
They will say you are wasting your potential.
But remember — these are the same people
who applaud the man who dies young from stress,
but look down upon the one who sits quietly under a neem tree.
In the end, your body will know the truth.
It will tell you,
whether it is tired from chasing someone else’s dream
or peaceful from living your own.
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8. Then what is life for, if not for work?
Life is for being alive.
For seeing, feeling, growing.
For making mistakes.
For healing.
For feeding birds.
For singing bhajans even if off-tune.
For telling your grandchildren stories without checking the clock.
Life is for experiencing — not just achieving.
It is for offering, not just earning.
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9. So how do we reclaim ourselves from this system?
One small act at a time.
Cook your own food.
Walk when you can.
Talk to an old person with full attention.
Stop glorifying “being busy.”
Take naps without guilt.
Say no to things that eat your soul.
Teach your child to value time, not trophies.
Sit in silence for five minutes and just be.
These are not escape routes.
They are returns — to your original nature.
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10. Final truth: You were not born to be useful. You were born to be real.
Society wants you to be useful.
The market wants you to be productive.
The system wants you to stay busy.
But nature?
Nature wants you to thrive.
To glow with life.
To bloom. To rest.
To touch and be touched.
To be wild and soft and slow and alive.
So next time you feel “lazy” for resting —
remember, the tiger in the jungle rests too.
The sun takes time to rise.
The tree grows slowly, quietly, strongly.
You are not a machine.
You are a miracle.
You don’t need to earn your right to exist.
You already belong.
You Were Not Born for This Shit
they told you to wake up early.
not because the morning sun will heal you,
but because the company gates open at nine.
they told you to be ambitious.
not because you had dreams,
but because someone else needed numbers to rise.
they said: do something with your life.
as if breathing wasn’t already something.
as if sitting under a neem tree wasn’t valid.
as if the silence of your soul
wasn’t already a holy thing.
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you were born soft.
with fists closed like seeds.
you didn’t know what money meant.
you didn’t care about work ethic.
you wanted milk, warmth, arms.
you wanted to sleep when tired,
cry when lonely,
laugh when it rained.
but they snatched that right slowly.
they trained you like cattle.
lined you up.
made you repeat alphabets you never asked for.
taught you how to sit, stand, speak, obey.
the bell rang.
you marched.
lunch at 1.
discipline at all times.
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a clock replaced the sun.
a screen replaced the sky.
deadlines replaced play.
and your parents applauded
because they too were broken
by the same machine.
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by 18, you had a resume.
not a story.
by 25, a job.
but no time to feel.
by 30, a loan.
and a fantasy of freedom at 60.
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you told yourself:
it’s just how the world works.
but have you seen the world?
have you walked barefoot on wet soil?
have you watched an old woman sip tea with nothing urgent to do?
have you heard a koel sing without performance anxiety?
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the world doesn’t “work.”
it breathes.
it sways.
it pauses.
it dies and is born again.
it doesn’t rush.
only you do.
because someone else told you to.
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they gave you Sunday.
and took six days.
they gave you AC cabins.
and took your lungs.
they gave you performance reviews.
and took your self-worth.
they gave you status.
and took your presence.
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you want a break?
you’re called lazy.
you want time for your child?
you’re told you’ll fall behind.
you want to live simply?
they ask: what’s wrong with you?
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you think the bird asks the squirrel
how productive it was today?
you think the river checks its growth rate?
you think the tree feels guilty for just standing still?
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somewhere deep inside
you know this is all wrong.
you feel it in your chest
when the alarm rings and you wish
you were anything but human.
you feel it
when you sit on the toilet
at 6:45 a.m.
wondering how the hell
your life turned into a countdown.
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you think your worth lies
in those pay slips,
those goddamn meetings,
those plastic smiles.
but look —
the best part of you
is the part you’ve never monetized.
the way you hold your mother’s hand.
the way you make tea for your partner.
the way you hum while chopping onions.
the way you cry when no one’s watching.
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your softness is a threat
to a world built on noise.
your stillness is an insult
to an economy run on exhaustion.
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they don't want you slow.
because slow people see too much.
they notice the cracks.
they ask too many questions.
they don’t buy as much.
they don’t chase shiny things.
and worst of all —
they begin to live.
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you were not made for this circus.
not for managers.
not for school bells.
not for policies.
not for LinkedIn affirmations.
you were made
to sit by a river and feel its pace become yours.
you were made
to gather food with your own hands
and share it without tracking bills.
you were made
to sleep when tired,
not when permitted.
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they will call you mad
when you walk away.
when you stop answering work calls at dinner.
when you take naps without shame.
when you say no to things that murder your soul.
they will mock you
until they see
you’re glowing.
without titles.
without status.
without applause.
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and slowly, they’ll envy you.
and then fear you.
and then, maybe, follow you.
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you are not a worker.
you are not a role.
you are not your boss’s opinion.
you are not your bank balance.
you are a creature of soil and sun.
born to bloom.
not perform.
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take off your shoes.
lie down in grass.
cancel something.
quit something.
stop pretending you were born for this.
you weren’t.
nature didn’t make you for work.
society did.
and you don’t owe it a damn thing.
