By Sivasankar Venkatakrishnan (oshovenkat)
I belong to what the world now calls the X Generation—a bridge between tradition and modernity. We were born in a world that still held the values of the past, yet we stood at the doorway of a fast-approaching future.
In our time, life was simple and grounded. There were no smartphones, no internet, no digital distractions. But there was connection—not virtual, but real. We talked face-to-face, laughed without filters, and listened without rushing.
In our generation, family was sacred. Every festival was a reason to gather—not just with our immediate family but with cousins, uncles, aunts, and grandparents. We shared meals, stories, and silence. Respect for elders wasn’t taught—it was lived. We knew our roots, and we grew from them.
We played under the sun, got our feet dirty in the soil, cycled through villages, and walked miles just to meet a loved one. Nature wasn’t a luxury; it was a part of our daily rhythm. The wind, the trees, the rivers—they were our silent companions.
Then came the shift. We watched as the world transformed around us. We were the first to witness the arrival of mobile phones, the internet, and digital life. At first, it was exciting. It felt like a miracle. But slowly, the pace became dizzying.
Now, we see the rise of the Millennials and Generation Z—generations born into the world of speed, screens, and surplus. They have everything we once couldn’t imagine—money, access, comfort, and technology. Yet, something seems missing.
In this modern world, people run faster but seem more lost. Families gather less. Relationships are often digital. Celebrations are for social media, not for the soul. Children rarely know the joy of climbing trees or running free in nature. Nature has become a weekend retreat, not a daily companion.
Most painful is the shift in values. With all this advancement, many are trapped in the pursuit of instant pleasure—smoking, alcohol, synthetic highs, and even new forms of addiction. Even in spiritual spaces, crowds gather, but the inner silence is missing. Temples are full, but hearts are empty.
People believe in God, but act against the very values they claim to uphold. In our generation, right and wrong had weight. There were limits, fears, and a sense of responsibility. Today, everything is available, but very little is sacred.
Despite all their knowledge, younger generations struggle to follow even simple truths. There’s more information, but less wisdom. More freedom, but less discipline. More comfort, but less contentment.
And so, I dream—not of futuristic machines or space tourism—but of a miracle. A silent awakening of the human soul.
A return to human warmth, to family bonds, to respect, and to the beauty of simplicity. A world where children know the smell of soil after rain, where people sit together without screens in between, where festivals are for hearts to meet, not just for photos to post.
I dream of a future where technology serves life—not replaces it. Where growth includes grace. Where speed does not leave behind soulfulness.
This is my miracle dream—a longing for a world that remembers how to be human again.