Why Won’t He Sit Still?” — A Healing Dialogue on Attention, Screens, Sugar & Stillness
- Madhukar Dama
- Apr 8
- 5 min read
Late afternoon.
Madhukar’s mud home sits quiet under a neem tree.
Birds chirp softly, the smell of cow dung, neem leaves, and sun-dried amla fills the air.
A couple arrives, tired and impatient.
Their son, 5-year-old Arav, is darting around the courtyard, jumping on rocks, pulling leaves, and poking a sleeping dog with a stick.
Characters:
Madhukar, the Healer – 56, earthy, sharp-eyed, soft-spoken. Former engineer turned minimalist and lifestyle guide.
Sneha, 35, mother – Interior designer, sharp, anxious, overwhelmed.
Manoj, 37, father – Software developer, logical, irritated, detached.
Arav, 5 – Hyperactive, bright, unable to focus for more than a minute.
Sneha (embarrassed):
Sorry, Madhukarji.
He’s always like this.
We’ve tried everything—yoga class, sensory toys, even a focus app.
Nothing works.
We’re exhausted.
Manoj (half-laughing, half-sighing):
I’ve installed seven apps to make him sit for just fifteen minutes.
He still runs in circles during Zoom school.
Is it ADHD?
Madhukar (smiling calmly):
Maybe.
But first tell me—does the sun diagnose the wind, or simply learn to dance with it?
Sneha (confused):
Umm... what?
Madhukar (gently):
Tell me, how does Arav spend a usual day?
Manoj:
Mornings he has online school—he fidgets a lot.
Then an hour of screen time, maybe two... okay, sometimes more.
Evenings are packed—phonics class, abacus, swimming twice a week.
Sneha:
We try to tire him out.
But nothing works.
He comes home, grabs the phone, opens YouTube Kids on his own.
His eyes go glassy.
But it’s the only time he’s still.
Madhukar (nods slowly):
Ah.
He’s still on the outside.
But inside, he’s boiling.
⚡ The Unpacking Begins:
Madhukar:
Tell me—do rivers flow in silence?
Sneha:
No… they rush, they move, they crash.
Madhukar:
Exactly.
Energy must move.
When it’s blocked by screens, sugar, and sofa cushions, it turns wild.
Not free, just chaotic.
Has Arav climbed trees?
Manoj (blank):
We live on the 11th floor.
There are no trees.
Madhukar:
Has he jumped in puddles, thrown mud, chased cows?
Sneha (awkward):
No… he plays with sensory sand on his tablet.
Madhukar (smiling):
That’s not sand, dear.
That’s pixels pretending to be nature.
Arav’s body knows it’s being fooled.
His soul knows.
That’s why it rebels.
🍭 Madhukar’s Gentle Diagnosis:
“What you call hyperactivity is often unspent joy, suppressed curiosity, and nature withdrawal.”
Madhukar (counting on fingers):Let’s look at a few friends of this issue:
Screen Flicker – Fast-paced images overstimulate his nervous system. His brain becomes a popcorn machine.
Refined Sugar – Hidden in ketchup, biscuits, cereal. It spikes, then crashes his energy.
Indoor Prison – No sun, no mud, no animals. His senses are starving.
Too Many Classes – Rushing from one task to another—no pause, no boredom, no breath.
Parental Anxiety – Children mirror nervous systems. If you're always tense, how can he sit still?
💡 The Realisation:
Manoj (rubbing forehead):
So you're saying he’s not broken?
Madhukar (smiling wide):
No child is.
But the system they grow in can be.
Sneha (tearfully):
I thought I was doing everything right.
Giving him everything.
Madhukar:
Sometimes everything is too much.
Give him space.
Slowness.
A goat to chase.
A stone to throw.
Silence to get bored.
🛠️ The Prescription (Ahar, Vihar, Aushad, Yoga, Samvaad)
Ahar (Food):
Remove sugar, processed snacks.
Add soaked nuts, banana, ragi malt, ghee, whole rice, and sabzi with bright colors.
Let him touch the food, help cook.
Vihar (Lifestyle):
No classes for 3 months.
Let boredom enter. Then creativity will walk in.
One hour of barefoot play on soil/sand daily.
Aushad (Healing Substances):
Brahmi ghee (tiny drop on tongue before sleep).
Sunlight as medicine.
Fresh air on wet feet.
Yoga:
No forceful asanas. Just playful animal stretches. Let him be a frog, a cat, a snake.
Breath with him. Show, don’t teach.
Samvaad (Conversation):
Tell stories. Silly, long, repeated. Let him interrupt.
Ask questions. Laugh. Cry with him.
Most of all, listen.
Sneha:
But how will we measure if it’s working?
Madhukar (chuckles):
Measure laughter.
Eye contact.
Calm moments.
The way he hugs you without reason.
🌳 Closing Words:
Madhukar:
Don’t aim for focus.
Aim for flow.
Children aren’t machines.
They’re rivers.
Let them splash, swirl, soak the earth.
Then… they’ll find their rhythm.
And so will you.
🎨 “Three Months Later: The Pause That Healed”
Location:
Madhukar’s mud courtyard under the neem tree, early morning.
The air is crisp, filled with the scent of tulsi, and a gentle sunlight dapples the ground.
Birds chirp, a soft breeze rustles the leaves, and the scene is alive — yet profoundly still.
[The family enters — slower this time, lighter, calmer.]
Sneha (with a bright smile, greeting Madhukar):
You were right, Madhukarji.
Not a single hospital visit.
No therapist.
No medication.
Just our own home… our time… our breath.
He’s changed.
We’ve changed.”
Madhukar (chuckling softly):
I see no magic, only rhythm.
The child hasn't changed.
He simply remembered who he was before the noise swallowed him.
Manoj (grinning):
You know, we didn’t think it would work.
We fought.
We slipped.
We binged on reels the first week.
But now?
Our phones charge less than once a day.
Sneha:
We switched off the WiFi every evening.
We started eating on the floor.
Simple home food.
Same time daily.
No screens.
We began sitting with Arav during play instead of filming him.”
Madhukar:
And what happened to the rage?
The tantrums?
The pushing?
Manoj (glancing at Arav who is calmly poking a stick into a small mud pond):
Vanished.
Almost like… he was waiting for us to become human again.
Madhukar (nodding):
Children don’t have disorders.
They mirror them.
Sneha:
He speaks in his own way now.
Little sentences.
He says things like, ‘Amma water’, or ‘See bird!’
But more than words, he looks into our eyes.
That never happened before.”
Manoj:
And we’ve found new words too.
Like… patience.
And quiet.
And mud. (laughs)
Madhukar:
And your acidity, Manoj?
Manoj (stretching his back):
Gone.
My back too.
Once I stopped scrolling till 1 a.m. and started walking barefoot in the park.
Madhukar:
Sneha, your cycles?
Sneha (beaming):
Regular.
I didn’t even notice the pain disappear.
I think my body just stopped begging me to pay attention.
[There’s a long, content silence. Arav runs up and shows a snail shell to Madhukar. He kneels beside him, eyes level.]
Madhukar (gently):
A whole house on his back, yet he moves with grace.
See? (to Arav)
Like your Amma and Appa now.
Slow.
But steady.”
[Arav smiles and touches Madhukar’s beard, then runs back to the mud pond.]
🪔 Madhukar’s Final Words in this Visit:
“Don’t rush this. Healing is not a task to finish. It is a way to walk. The village lives in you now. Protect it — even inside the city.”
“Feed the child real food. Speak less. Listen more. Let nature be his nursery. And when you forget, come sit under this neem tree again.”
🌱 Epilogue of the Scene:
Arav plays with a twig, humming a made-up song.
Sneha and Manoj sit cross-legged, quietly sipping warm tulsi water from clay cups.
A puppy dozes near Madhukar’s knee.
A goat bleats softly in the background.
A bird flies off into the golden sky.
-----
the boy said bird
they came in
with less weight
on their tongues.
three months ago
they brought a storm,
now they carry
a cloudless sky.
the boy said
“bird.”
and the world turned
its noisy head
to listen.
no therapist.
no five-star toys.
no apps,
just a neem tree,
mud,
and a mad old man
with nothing to sell.
they unplugged their war
and plugged in
to dirt,
to heat,
to the sound of a goat
snorting like god
behind a bamboo fence.
they learned to eat
with their hands again,
sleep before the dead hours,
and speak
only when
they meant it.
the boy
picked a snail
and smiled.
the kind of smile
that costs nothing
and fixes everything.
