Bored: The Battle Cry of the Overindulged?


 

Bored: The Battle Cry of the Overindulged?

Oh, the lament of the modern soul: “I’m bored.”
A cry as common as the tinkling of temple bells at dawn,
Yet as hollow as the honking in a never-moving traffic jam.

What does boredom mean, truly?
Is it the restlessness of existence,
The deep existential crisis pondered by philosophers for centuries
Yes- No - Maybe It’s the Netflix catalog failing to inspire ?
The Swiggy menu feeling a tad repetitive too !!

“Bored” in the age of instant gratification is a curious thing.
A momentary drought of stimulation in a downpour of distractions.
The Wi-Fi slows, the phone pings less,
And suddenly, life is unbearable—“What am I supposed to DO?”

“Read a book,” suggests the dusty shelf in the corner,
Its spines cracked from neglect,
But alas, who has the time for words longer than tweets?
“Take a walk,” chirps the cheerful sunlight,
But the steps don't count unless Instagram knows.

“Bored” is a luxury, a complaint for the cushioned.
For the ones who’ve never stood in a queue for ration cards
Or spent hours carrying water home on cracked feet.
The poor don’t say they’re bored;
They’re too busy surviving boredom’s cure: necessity.

And yet, the bored ones scroll endlessly,
Hoping that some algorithm will save them
From the existential void of too many choices.
Perhaps they’ll stumble upon this satire
And briefly wonder: Am I truly bored? Or just spoiled?

Ah, but introspection takes effort,
And that’s boring too.

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