Plastic Mind: A Dialogue on Synthetic Living

“In the silence between plastic comforts and ancient soil, the barefoot awakens the mind. The Earth does not sell its wisdom — it offers it to those willing to touch it with humility. In that touch, the synthetic world begins to melt, revealing a rhythm deeper than logic, older than language. This is not rejection of science, but remembrance of balance — where rubber soles no longer silence the soul, and nature once again whispers truths through the feet we had forgotten to feel with.”

A long-form philosophical healing dialogue between Madhukar the Hermit and a young man named Neel Deshpande—a 34-year-old UX designer from Hyderabad, burnt out by the synthetic speed of urban life. He arrives at the mud home in Yelmadagi, Karnataka, seeking something beyond comfort. What follows is a raw, soul-stirring conversation that unfolds through silence, questions, memories, and truth.

---

[Scene: A neem tree by the hermit’s mud house. Afternoon sun dapples through leaves. A small breeze carries the scent of woodsmoke and wet earth. Chickens peck lazily nearby. A peaceful puppy lies sprawled on a cool stone. A young man in athleisure, with noise-canceling earbuds around his neck, steps out of a cab and stares at the hut.]

Neel:

Is this… the place?

Madhukar (walking out slowly, smiling):

It doesn’t look like much, I know. But it’s more than walls.

Neel (half-laughing):

I thought there’d be some kind of gate or board. You don’t even have a doorbell.

Madhukar:

The trees alert me. And the wind. You rang.

Neel (pauses):

Right.

I’m Neel. UX designer. Hyderabad. Burnout. Insomnia. Overthinking.

Google said I should take a “detox break.”

My therapist said I’m “too full of noise.”

A friend who came here said you helped her… remember herself.

Madhukar (nodding slowly):

Then you’re here not to get fixed.

But to shed.

Shall we begin?

Neel (sits awkwardly on a rock):

I mean, look, I live in a pretty optimized setup. Smart fridge, scheduled routines, AI everything.

But lately, nothing tastes real. My relationships feel… shallow.

I get 200 likes and feel lonelier.

Even my hobbies are curated by algorithms.

I plan holidays just to post reels.

I eat organic food… delivered in plastic boxes.

What is happening to me?

Madhukar:

You are experiencing the ache of artificiality.

The soul is trying to rebel.

Plastic isn’t just outside—it’s become the shape of your mind.

Neel:

Plastic mind?

Madhukar:

Yes. Moulded by marketing. Manufactured by fear.

Designed for speed, not depth.

Convenience over connection.

Reaction over reflection.

Efficiency over essence.

You’ve been taught to scroll past your own life.

Neel:

But what’s the alternative? I mean—I can’t just vanish into the woods. I have EMIs. Parents. Team meetings. Apps I built that keep people addicted.

Madhukar:

Then let us not escape. Let us remember.

Tell me—when did you last truly feel something real?

Neel (thinks):

Maybe… my grandma’s lap, when I was 9. She used to oil my hair. I remember the smell of her sari.

It felt… soft. Honest.

Madhukar:

Truth leaves fragrance.

Plastic leaves residue.

Neel (eyes moist):

She passed.

We replaced her with Alexa.

Now my mom talks to devices more than people.

Madhukar:

That’s the wound, Neel.

We replaced presence with performance.

We build relationships on emojis, meals on preservatives, memories on filters.

We don’t live our moments—we archive them.

Neel (whispers):

I don’t know how to come back.

Madhukar:

Then let me ask you— When did you last walk barefoot?

Neel:

What? I mean… I don’t. I’ve got arch support shoes, anti-fatigue mats, pressure-monitoring soles…

Madhukar (smiles):

Exactly. You no longer touch the earth.

You’ve insulated your body from the world.

And your mind from truth.

Neel:

But walking barefoot doesn’t fix existential emptiness!

Madhukar (quietly):

It begins something.

It says: I’m willing to feel again.

Soil under foot. Pain without pills. Hunger without panic.

Real things.

Neel:

Why is this so hard? Why do we need the plastic?

Madhukar:

Because we fear rawness.

Raw means vulnerable. Open. Unpredictable.

Plastic is smooth, safe, sterilized.

But it’s dead.

Neel:

So how do I live? I mean really live?

Madhukar:

First, stop performing wellness.

Don’t buy bamboo bottles to feel better.

Don’t do yoga for selfies.

Instead:

Eat food your hands made.

Sit where the wind touches you.

Speak with someone without trying to impress them.

Cry without numbing.

Love without backup plans.

Neel:

You make it sound simple.

Madhukar:

It is. That’s why it’s so hard.

Neel:

I don’t even know who I am beneath all this. The clothes. The career. The curated self.

Madhukar:

Then strip gently.

Not your role, but your illusion.

Let the questions ache.

Let boredom return.

Let silence scare you.

That’s how you begin to remember.

Neel:

Remember what?

Madhukar:

That you are not a product.

You were not made for optimization.

You were made to touch, taste, stumble, sing, weep.

You were born barefoot, and whole.

[They sit in silence. A hen clucks nearby. The wind shifts. Neel slowly removes his shoes, unsure. Then, as his bare feet press into the warm earth, he breathes—deep and slow. For the first time in years, he doesn’t feel synthetic.]

---

barefoot, finally

in the style of Charles Bukowski

they told me

comfort was rubber,

and health was hygiene,

and the dirt —

was for the poor.

so I wore shoes

like I wore lies:

tight, polished,

expensive.

but one day,

a madman with a mud floor

and a dog that didn't bark

said,

"strip."

not your pride.

not your shirt.

your shoes.

"touch the goddamn earth

like you're one of her children,

not her CEO."

I laughed.

then limped.

then cried.

because under my feet

was something warmer

than my woman ever was.

something more honest

than my bank account.

no incense,

no mantra,

no app.

just the skin

meeting the skin

of an old planet

that still

waits

for us

to remember

we were never

meant to float

on plastic.