Why I Rejected Tradition as well as Modernity
- Madhukar Dama
- 16 hours ago
- 9 min read
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1. My Journey to This Realisation
I was born and raised in India, a land where tradition is woven into every breath. I grew up seeing rituals, customs, and inherited beliefs treated as sacred. Later, when I entered the world of science — first as a veterinarian, then a pharmacologist, and later as a medical researcher — I thought modernity was the cure for the suffocation I had felt in tradition.
But as years went by, I saw another truth: modernity too was a cage, painted in brighter colors. What I rejected in tradition as blind obedience, I found in modernity as blind speed. Both crushed something deep within me — my freedom to live fully, to live humanly.
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2. Why I Rejected Tradition
Tradition in India often comes wrapped in poetry, festivals, and the comfort of continuity. Yet beneath that surface I saw weight — heavy weight.
It silenced questioning. As a boy, asking “why” was often considered disrespect.
It glorified suffering in the name of duty, especially for women and children.
It protected the hierarchy of caste and authority, making obedience a moral law.
It made fear and guilt more powerful than truth.
It drowned individuals in collective rituals, leaving little room for personal meaning.
Tradition offered belonging, yes, but at the cost of suffocating the individual. I could not breathe under its layers of obedience and shame.
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3. Why I Rejected Modernity
When I turned to science and modern living, I believed I had escaped. For a while, modernity felt liberating — the freedom to choose, to question, to innovate. But soon, another face appeared.
Modernity replaced community with isolation.
It created noise, speed, and restlessness where silence once lived.
It disconnected us from the soil, the seasons, the rhythm of nature.
It celebrated money, consumption, and endless growth as if they were higher truths.
It brought technology into every corner, but pushed meaning out.
I saw modernity create individuals who were free but lonely, informed but shallow, connected online but starved of touch. It was a freedom that often tasted like emptiness.
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4. Walking Away From Both
So, I walked away — not into some utopia, but into a slower, simpler life with my wife and daughters. We chose to unschool our children, to let them learn not through books and institutions alone but through living. We chose to grow our own food, to touch the soil, to watch seeds become nourishment.
I live with minimal interaction with people, because both tradition and modernity make noise where I prefer silence. I am not against society — I am simply not willing to let its cages, old or new, decide how I should live.
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5. The Indian Context of My Choice
In India, tradition and modernity constantly clash, like two elephants fighting while ordinary people get crushed beneath. On one side, there are rituals that bind without reason. On the other, there is blind copying of the West — consumerism, endless career chase, and shallow modern pride.
Both fail to answer the simple question: how should a human being live, here and now, in harmony with himself, his family, and his land?
I have found my answer not in temples or shopping malls, not in scriptures or scientific journals, but in the morning soil, in the sound of a bird, in the laughter of my daughters learning freely.
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6. Beyond Tradition and Modernity
I did not reject tradition to become modern, nor did I reject modernity to return to tradition. I rejected both because both were incomplete, both demanded my submission.
My life today is not about rejecting, but about living. Growing food, walking with my wife, teaching my daughters through unschooling, observing the world silently — these are not alternatives to tradition or modernity. They are simply life, lived directly, without filters.
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7. A Universal Note
The truth I discovered is simple and timeless: any system — whether ancient or modern — that takes away my freedom to live attentively, lovingly, and consciously is not for me. What matters is not whether something is old or new, but whether it allows me to breathe as a free human being.
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Neither Tradition, Nor Modernity - Only Life
-- a dialogue with Madhukar
Scene: Early morning near Yelmadagi. The mist clings low over the fields. Smoke rises gently from a small stove. A few hens peck at the soil. Madhukar is tending to his garden when Dr. Raghav, a cardiologist, and his wife Ananya, a software engineer, arrive after a rattling auto ride from the main road. They are eager, a little restless.
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1. Arrival
Raghav: (looking around, catching his breath) This feels like another world. No noise, no rush. Thank you for receiving us, sir.
Madhukar: (smiling softly) No need for thanks. This land doesn’t belong to me — it belongs to anyone who steps gently on it. Sit. My wife will bring tea.
Ananya: We read your essay — Why I Rejected Tradition as well as Modernity. We talked about it the entire way from Hyderabad. Honestly, it unsettled us.
Madhukar: Good. Truth unsettles before it soothes. What troubled you most?
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2. The Pull of Tradition
Raghav: For me, your rejection of tradition. My parents expect me to follow rituals, send money for festivals, raise children “properly.” If I don’t, I feel I am betraying them. Isn’t tradition what keeps families alive?
Madhukar: Sometimes. But tell me, Raghav, when you light a lamp at Diwali, do you feel joy — or only duty?
Raghav: (pauses) Mostly duty.
Madhukar: Then the lamp is smoke, not light. True tradition should free, not bind. Families joined by love don’t need rituals to hold them. Families joined by fear need thousands.
Ananya: But aren’t festivals beautiful? Colors, food, lights — don’t they give life meaning?
Madhukar: Beauty is not tradition. Beauty is life. If a song still breathes, sing it. If a dish nourishes, eat it. But don’t worship dead rules. As a boy, I once asked my grandmother why we performed a ritual. She said, “Because we always have.” That was the day I knew obedience was not wisdom.
Raghav: (defensive) But without traditions, don’t we risk becoming rootless?
Madhukar: Roots are not rituals. Roots are love, memory, and soil. Even a wild tree has roots.
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3. The Promise of Modernity
Ananya: But modernity isn’t the same. Modernity gave us education, technology, medicine. Surely you don’t reject that?
Madhukar: I don’t reject tools. I reject worship of tools. Modernity promised freedom but sold dependency. In my research years, I watched discoveries bent to markets. Medicine became an industry, not healing.
Raghav: (bristling) But I save lives, Madhukar. I cut blockages, I extend years. Without modern medicine, thousands would be dead.
Madhukar: (gently) And yet, do they return to you again?
Raghav: (after a pause) Yes. Many do.
Madhukar: Because you cut branches but not roots. Food, stress, loneliness — untouched. A pill cannot heal a life. A bypass cannot repair emptiness. Modernity succeeds in extending life, but often fails in making life worth extending.
Ananya: In software too, I see it. Endless upgrades, endless deadlines. We are “connected” always, yet I’ve never felt more alone.
Madhukar: Connection is not relation. Tradition suffocates. Modernity empties. Different poisons, same thirst.
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4. The Pushback
Raghav: (firmly) But aren’t you being too harsh? You live here off-grid. That itself is possible because of modernity — your research salary, the tools you still use, even this stove. You can’t escape it fully.
Madhukar: You are right. I don’t escape. I choose. I take what serves life, drop what enslaves it. A knife can cut food or kill. I use the knife, not worship it.
Ananya: (insistent) And tradition? You still speak Kannada, eat dishes passed down, even grow seeds your ancestors grew. Isn’t that tradition?
Madhukar: (nodding) I keep what is alive. I drop what is dead. To speak a mother tongue is not blind tradition — it is breathing. To follow a caste rule is dead weight. I keep breath, drop burden.
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5. The Overlap
Ananya: But they are opposites, aren’t they? Tradition binds, modernity frees.
Madhukar: Look deeper. Tradition calls a woman “pure,” modernity calls her “consumable.” Tradition demands conformity through shame; modernity demands it through shopping. Different cages, same jailer.
Raghav: (quietly) Both leave us small.
Madhukar: Yes. Both tell you how to live, instead of letting you live.
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6. What Madhukar Embraced
Raghav: And so you left. What did you find here?
Madhukar: Not a system. Just practices. Silence. Slowness. Attention. My daughters count seeds and find mathematics. They watch compost smoke and learn chemistry. They climb trees and understand balance. My wife and I trade fewer clients for more mornings together. We plant what belongs here, not what a market demands. We live at a human scale, not a corporate one.
Ananya: (pressing) But isn’t this extreme? Not everyone can leave cities.
Madhukar: True. You don’t need to leave everything. You only need to live honestly. Each time, ask: does this ritual serve love or obedience? Does this technology serve life or profit? Keep what serves. Drop what doesn’t.
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7. On Health
Raghav: (challenging) But if everyone lived like you, what about advanced surgeries, research, vaccines? Wouldn’t we go backward?
Madhukar: (calmly) Not backward — sideways. There is a difference. Vaccines saved lives. But now, lifestyle diseases kill silently, despite all progress. Hospitals grow bigger, bills heavier, machines shinier — yet patients arrive younger, sicker, longer. Modernity gives survival, not wholeness. Tradition offers superstition, not strength. So I walked sideways: grow food, move with daylight, let necessity shape the body. It heals more than we admit.
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8. On Education
Ananya: (concerned) But your daughters… don’t you worry they’ll fall behind without school?
Madhukar: Behind whom? Behind what? Schools teach obedience, not wisdom. My daughters read when they are ready, not when a timetable demands. They learn by living, not memorizing. They will not fit into ranks, but they will know themselves.
Raghav: (defensive) But jobs? Careers? Survival?
Madhukar: Careers are cages too. If they want one, they’ll build it. But at least it will be chosen, not forced. Better an honest livelihood than a prestigious cage.
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9. On Family and Community
Ananya: Don’t your relatives criticize you for rejecting both tradition and modernity?
Madhukar: (smiling) Of course. Tradition calls me arrogant. Modernity calls me primitive. Both are wrong. I am simply free. And freedom frightens those who live by rules.
Raghav: And community? Don’t you feel isolated?
Madhukar: Not at all. I exchange seeds with neighbors, laughter with friends, silence with the soil. Loneliness is not here. It is in cities, where millions walk past each other without a glance.
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10. A Moment of Silence
The tea arrives. For a while no one speaks. Adhya climbs a tree, barefoot, fearless. Anju carries a bucket almost her size, spilling water and laughing. The couple watches, their words caught in their throats.
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11. The Universal Challenge
Raghav: (softly) Tradition suffocates. Modernity empties. You chose something else.
Madhukar: That’s all. And so can you. Without leaving Hyderabad. Plant one tree. Eat one meal slowly. Teach your child one thing directly, without school or screen. Begin there.
Ananya: (hesitant) And if we fail?
Madhukar: You will fail. Many times. So do I. But failure in living is learning. The only true failure is to live without asking.
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Scene closes: The sun rises higher. The couple finishes their tea. They don’t ask more, because silence has already answered.
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Neither Tradition, Nor Modernity
— Only Life
Not the drum of the old,
not the trumpet of the new,
but the quiet breath
between two heartbeats.
Not the chain of ancestors,
not the speed of tomorrow,
but the soil under bare feet
in this single morning.
Tradition says, Obey.
Modernity says, Consume.
Life says nothing.
It only opens a flower,
without permission,
without reason.
Slowly, slowly,
a river moves.
It does not carry scriptures.
It does not carry blueprints.
It carries silt,
it carries light,
it carries silence
to the sea.
The child born today
does not know your past.
The child born today
does not know your future.
The child born today
only knows hunger and touch.
That is life —
before names,
before systems,
before cages.
Neither the flag of the old,
nor the badge of the new
can cover the sky.
Clouds drift,
rain falls,
sun warms,
without asking,
without waiting.
Tradition is a shadow
clinging to bones.
Modernity is a mirror
chasing its own face.
Life is a seed,
splitting quietly in the dark.
There is no temple here,
no laboratory here,
only wind
through grass.
The wind prays to no god.
The wind proves no theory.
The wind just moves,
touching every cheek,
then gone.
Do not kneel to ashes.
Do not bow to neon lights.
Walk into the forest.
Walk into the street.
Walk into yourself.
If you are awake,
everything will teach you.
If you are asleep,
nothing will reach you.
Neither the hymns of the past
nor the slogans of the future
can replace
the stillness of watching
a sparrow drink water
and fly away.
The earth spins.
The stars burn.
The seasons turn.
Not for tradition.
Not for modernity.
Only for life.
So shed the weight.
Drop the noise.
Sit where you are.
Look at your hands.
One day they will fall.
Until then,
let them touch gently.
Let them plant seeds.
Let them lift water.
Let them hold another hand
without fear.
Neither tradition,
nor modernity —
only this.
Only life.
