Dear Friends,
A couple of days ago, I came across a meme: A grandfather is on life support, with the oxygen cylinder plugged into an electrical socket. Next to him, his grandson is playing a video game. The grandfather says, “I know how this will end — one of my grandkids will unplug my life support to charge their phone.”
It made me smile — it’s humorous on the surface, but also carries a profound message. It's not just about choosing a phone over a grandparent's life. It reflects how deeply our world and behaviours have shifted — subtly, yet significantly.
Last night, my two-wheeler broke down about 25 KM from home, around 9:30 PM. With limited options, I had to leave the vehicle by the roadside. By the time it was past 10 PM, transportation was scarce. Eventually, I caught a city bus. In front of me sat two boys (they seemed like brothers), engrossed in a video game. Their parents were seated farther away. I vaguely heard the elder boy say, “Bro, keep 40 rupees and kill that character.” I couldn’t tell if it was part of the game or something else, but their instincts were not sounding right. Persistent exposure to such narratives may lead to different behaviour.
That moment reminded me of another experience from a couple of months ago. I was at a hospital, helping a well-wisher with a non-emergency matter. While near the emergency ward, I witnessed something that deeply moved me.
A young painter, perhaps 25–30 years old, had fallen while working and was rushed in. Tragically, he was declared dead on arrival. He was the sole breadwinner for his family — a mother, a wife, and two young children.
Soon, relatives, neighbors, and friends began arriving. It was heartbreaking. The family, with very limited resources, struggled even to cover basic hospital expenses. I watched as people emptied their pockets — pulling out coins and small bills. Even with all that, it wasn’t enough. Some went out in search of additional help, while others sat silently through the night outside the hospital.
What stayed with me, however, was this small yet powerful detail: While the adults mourned — the mother, in particular, was inconsolable — the young children were given mobile phones to keep them occupied. They quietly played games. I’m not here to say whether that was right or wrong. But I did notice the contrast.
A few decades ago, in such a moment, children might have been taken aside, told to sit quietly, or even asked to pray. Today, the instinct is to distract, not reflect.
It brought back a memory from my own childhood. In October 1984, my maternal grandfather passed away in our village, 30–40 KM from Vizianagaram, Andhra Pradesh. He had a cow he loved dearly. That day, the cow cried — all day. Tears were visible in her eyes. Perhaps it was her way of mourning — an expression of love in a language we often fail to understand.
Even today, I rarely get tears in my eyes, even during intense moments. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel, or that my heart is hard. I'm not trying to draw exact parallels between these stories, but there’s a certain disconnect we can sense between generations.
Honestly, I don't know why I chose to share this story today. It wasn’t planned. But two pairs of children, a single meme, and a string of memories prompted me to write.
I’m not here to judge what’s right or wrong. Times are changing. So are our tools, habits, and ways of expressing emotion. We’ll likely see many more such memes in the future.
Let’s just hope they remain memes — not reality.
Ravi Saripalle
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