Tag: anthropology

  • Write Your Own Myth

    Storytelling Isn’t Just for Children

    Storytelling is an underrated art, often dismissed as mere entertainment or something reserved for teaching kids values. But have you ever noticed how we adults still use storytelling to guide our lives?

    Every Conversation Is a Story

    The gossip we indulge in, the content we engage with on social media, the way we talk about people, places, and ideas—our tone, expressions, and framing—all of it becomes a story.

    It reveals who we are: our likes, dislikes, philosophies, spiritual leanings, and passions.

    Even the person who sells you groceries starts forming a story about who you are, based on the narratives you live and tell.

    The Stories We Tell Shape Our Society

    But it doesn’t stop at revealing who we are. The stories we share, whether publicly or privately, shape the worldviews of those listening, consciously or subconsciously.

    A simple chat in a park or restaurant about a social issue gives passersby a glimpse into the kind of world their peers are helping create.

    When One Narrative Dominates

    When you hear only one kind of story, it leads to one kind of messaging. What you hear often becomes the path you follow, especially if you’re cut off from other perspectives.

    Without exposure to diverse cultures and experiences, we may never realize that different problems have different solutions, shaped by entirely different mindsets and traditions.

    The Hidden Influence of Popular Stories

    This shapes society in subtle but powerful ways.

    Stories influence:

    How we raise children

    Where and how they study

    How far people move

    How marriages happen

    What caste or religion is “acceptable”

    How beauty is defined

    How we treat our partners

    What jobs are considered respectable

    How old people should live

    What we expect from the government

    They shape our moral compass, set thresholds for outrage, and influence how we express dissent.

    Stories tell us whether we should only care for ourselves—or for our neighbor, too.

    They don’t just shape our happiness, they define how much abuse is “acceptable.”

    If the common narrative is about enduring suffering, speaking up becomes difficult unless your pain meets a certain threshold.

    The Tone of a Story Matters

    The impact of a story depends on its tone and delivery. Stories which are shared as obvious norms to be followed, quickly become the trend of the contemporary society. They are depicted as norms followed by the wise, rich and powerful of the society, so shouldn’t be questioned by common man.

    Some stories are amplified through loudspeakers, repeated on social media, organically or through paid campaigns, aimed at normalizing certain ideas or instilling fear.

    Others are spread quietly. These may be the stories that challenge the status quo, initiate cultural shifts, or simply deserve to be heard.

    Stories worth attention

    Maybe it’s the ones rooted in kindness, peace, and truth. The ones that don’t center power and ego but instead prioritize community, harmony, and creating space for everyone to thrive.

    Who Gets to Be Heard?

    If stories shape us so deeply, it’s worth asking: who gets to tell them? And who gets listened to?

    Ironically, popular stories often glorify conformity. They celebrate tradition, patriarchy, and dogmatism, while we simultaneously idolize past rebels who didn’t conform.

    History celebrates the antiheroes of their time, while the present vilifies today’s rebels.

    So, why don’t we listen to the rebels of today? Why are they being shunned? Aren’t they the ones trying to wake us up from the Matrix?

    If human and moral values are the mountaintop we aspire to, why are stories of violence, division, power struggles, and abuse interest us the most?

    Stories from Childhood

    If we look back, our ancient stories, even those about gods, often ask us to break norms in the name of compassion. Give up ego. Fight for those who can’t fight for themselves.

    Sometimes, even show kindness to the enemy.

    They teach us to choose right over wrong. And when faced with right vs. kind? Choose kind.

    But they also warn us: don’t be kind at the cost of yourself. Don’t tolerate abuse in the name of goodness either.

    These stories remind us: the power lies within us—to write our story, even if no one is listening.

    Are Our Stories Making Us More Humane?

    So we need to ask: are the stories we’re choosing to believe making us kinder and more humane—or simply repeating the traditional values of our ancestors, too scared or scary to question?

    The Discrimination of Stories

    Some people only want to hear one kind of story. They believe that denying all other perspectives makes their version more real. To them, their story is the absolute truth.

    But stories asking for change are often judged by who tells them.

    Is the storyteller “respectable”? Is the storyteller part of my social group? Are they acceptable by my peers?
    Does their story fit my comfort zone?

    If not, I won’t listen, because listening may require me to change. And change is uncomfortable.

    The Story of Me

    Stories have power. They touch our subconscious. They make us feel, even when we try not to. And those feelings demand reflection.

    What if you hear a story from someone you don’t like, and it moves you? What if it makes you empathize?

    That’s terrifying for some. It blurs the lines between good and bad, us and them.

    We grew up with stories that never asked us to change. We were told to follow them, like characters who never questioned the script. Our beliefs were handed to us. And because we didn’t choose them, questioning them now feels like betrayal.

    After all, we’re not gods or rebels—we’re “good people.” Raised not to be uncomfortable in the society that molded us.

    So we deny the uncomfortable stories. We pretend they don’t exist. We don’t share them, no matter how powerful, because we fear being rejected. Or we fear feeling like hypocrites.

    The story might force us to reassess our beliefs. And that’s hard.

    What if we lose our place in our social circle?
    What if we become the villain in someone else’s story?

    What If the Story of Rejection Becomes Our Story?
    What if they twist our truth and cast us as the demon?

    What if we’re not allowed to share our side of the truth?

    What if our children or descendants are humiliated because we dared to speak up?

    Leap of Faith

    But what if I believe in storytellers beyond my peers? What if stories transcend timelines?

    What I am depends on the audience—good or bad, right or wrong, rebel or revolutionary.

    Maybe I should trust the audience once. Trust their ability to hold space for my truth. Maybe they’re also tired of the same old stories, waiting for a new one.

    A story where the protagonist dares to try a different ending.

    What if you let go of fear and let destiny decide whether you’re remembered as a hero or a villain?

    What if the world, if not today, then someday, uses your story to awaken others?

    Aren’t we all standing on the shoulders of those who dared to write a different story?

    Final Word

    Maybe all that matters is giving your full self to at least one story, one where you are unapologetically you.

    Think you’re not worthy of a story?

    God may have written your destiny, but gave you the free will to shape its course.

    If you weren’t worthy, why would nature bother keeping you alive?

    The very fact that you’re here, reading this, means you have the power to change how your story ends.

    The choice was always yours.

    Maybe I’m the hero, the villain, the antihero, or even a silent spectator, in different stories.

    But I owe it to myself to be the true protagonist in at least one.

    The one that’s mine.

  • Masters Of The Stage Or Masters Of Fate?

    I am a novice when it comes to acting. Not only did I hold various assumptions about the talent required, thinking it was no big deal, but I also believed acting was for those who couldn’t do anything else.

    Recently, I had an epiphany, a newfound respect for actors, when I realized that acting isn’t just impromptu. It’s rehearsed. And it’s not just a monologue all the time. There is a group of people working together to present a real-life situation in the most convincing way possible. I now understand why the term “timing” was coined.

    An actor already knows what will come next, yet they still hold the expressions the scene demands. They know their next line, but they wait patiently for their turn, responding as though hearing it for the first time. And while they wait, they don’t look bored or fake their reactions, they seem to be immersed in that character and that’s the mark of a great actor.

    This got me thinking about the mystery in our own lives. What if we knew what was coming next? Could we still stay present and play our part convincingly?

    If we knew we were going to die, get hurt, or lose everything, could we still be as happy in the present moment as we are now, oblivious to the future? Personally, I doubt that about myself.

    If we can’t even be good actors in the small plays of life, how could we expect to be good humans if we knew our fate beforehand? Would living still be as exhilarating if we knew exactly how it would unfold?

    Actors don’t just play one role in their lifetime, they embody many. With each character, they get to live as sinners and saints, lovers and villains. They don’t just recite lines; they feel what their characters feel, diving deep into the emotional and spiritual depths of those experiences. Maybe that gives them an unusual perspective, a glimpse into different kinds of human existence. They witness what it means to be selfish or selfless, cruel or kind, broken or whole.

    In real life, they probably get to choose who they want to be, based on those experiences.

    And that made me wonder—as humans, do we experience something similar? If we believe in multiple lifetimes, could it be that, deep down, we remember the lessons from each? Maybe not consciously, but somewhere in the fabric of our being, we carry those experiences, shaping the way we choose to live.

    If we could see all the beads on the string of life—every role we’ve ever played, every lesson we’ve ever learned—would we finally understand why we are here? Would it make us better? Or is the forgetting just as essential as the remembering?

    It makes me wonder, are we all just actors in the grand play of existence, striving for our final standing ovation?

  • “At Least” सोच की परेशानी

    आजकल की सोसाइटीज़ में कृतज्ञता की संस्कृति धीरे-धीरे “at least” वाली सबकल्चर से दबती जा रही है। यह सबकल्चर अक्सर बुनियादी इंसानी शालीनता के न्यूनतम स्तर को भी पूरा नहीं करती, खासकर toxic रिश्तों और communities में।

    Gratitude और “At Least” का फर्क
    जब हम life में struggles face करते हैं, तो positivity ढूंढने की कोशिश करते हैं। Gratitude का मतलब है उन छोटी-छोटी blessings को recognize करना जो हमें hope देती हैं। यह एक अंदरूनी journey होती है, जो हमें survival से ऊपर उठने और life की अच्छाइयों को appreciate करने में मदद करती है।

    लेकिन जब बात relationships की आती है—खासकर toxic relationships—तो genuine gratitude को weaponize कर दिया जाता है। इसे distort करके “at least” जैसे शब्दों में बदल दिया जाता है। ये phrases अक्सर struggling person की feelings को invalidate करने और उनके दर्द को trivial बनाने के लिए use होती हैं।

    For example, अगर कोई toxic relationship में अपनी dissatisfaction या neglect express करता है, तो जवाब आता है, “At least वो तुम्हें मारते नहीं,” या “At least वो तुम्हारी financial needs पूरी करते हैं।” ये statements उस व्यक्ति की emotional needs और love language को ignore करती हैं और उन्हें टुकड़ों

    पर satisfy होने को कहती हैं, जबकि वो पूरी रोटी deserve करते हैं।

    “At Least” की Problem
    “At least” वाली सोच का सबसे बड़ा problem यह है कि यह bare minimum तक नहीं पहुंचती। यह neglect और underperformance को justify करती है और accountability को deflect करके suffering person पर burden डालती है। इससे message जाता है कि improvement ज़रूरी नहीं है, बस condemnation avoid करने के लिए minimum effort करना काफी है।

    यह toxic mindset सिर्फ relationships तक सीमित नहीं है। Societies में भी जब powerful लोग underperform करते हैं, तो उनका defense होता है, “At least they’re doing something.” इस mindset से accountability undermine होती है और mediocrity normalize हो जाती है।

    True Gratitude और Accountability
    “To move beyond the toxicity of ‘at least,’ हमें gratitude और accountability के balance को reimagine करना होगा। True gratitude का मतलब है अच्छाइयों को appreciate करना, लेकिन growth और improvement की possibilities को recognize करना।

    हमें relationships और societies में ऐसी culture को promote करना होगा जहां लोग अपने best selves बनने के लिए inspired हों। Mutual respect और empathy से भरा environment ही complacency (आत्मसंतोष)को challenge कर सकता है।

    Conclusion
    “At least” की toxic culture को सुधार, सहानुभूति और आपसी सम्मान वाली culture से replace करना ज़रूरी है। कृतज्ञता और जवाबदेही साथ coexist कर सकते हैं—दोनों एक-दूसरे की cost पर नहीं आने चाहिए। जब हम यह balance adopt करते हैं, तो हम ऐसी societies की ओर बढ़ते हैं जहां हर व्यक्ति उन्नति कर सके, expectations को lower करके नहीं, बल्कि उन्हें greater good के लिए raise करके।

  • The Toxicity of “At Least” Culture

    The culture of being grateful is slowly being replaced, or rather overshadowed, by a subculture of “at least,” which often fails to meet even the bare minimum of human decency, especially in the highly toxic societies we inhabit today.

    To put this into perspective, when we’re struggling, we naturally want to find positivity in life. So, we start looking for good things, in situations, in people, in the small moments that give us hope.

    Gratitude, in this sense, becomes an internal journey. It helps us rise above mere survival and feel worthy of the blessings in our lives, many of which others might only dream of.

    But when we shift to relationships, especially toxic ones, whether at the community or family level, this genuine gratitude is often weaponized. It gets sugarcoated, distorted, and replaced with the word “at least.”

    This phrase is then used to invalidate the feelings of the struggling person, turning their pain and longing for love into something trivial.

    Instead of addressing the root of the issue, “at least” becomes a way to silence, minimize, and dismiss.

    For instance, when someone in a toxic relationship expresses dissatisfaction or emotional neglect, they might be met with phrases like, “At least they don’t hit you,” or “At least they provide for you.”

    These statements diminish the person’s needs, invalidate their love languages, and imply that they should be content with crumbs when they deserve the whole loaf.

    This is not to deny that there are exceptions, some individuals might truly be narcissistic or overly self-centered, always fixated on their own needs.

    However, in most cases, the “at least” culture reflects a systemic failure to acknowledge the emotional and physical well-being of those who depend on us.

    The problem with “at least” is that it often doesn’t even meet the bare minimum. It excuses underperformance, justifies neglect, and absolves responsibility.

    By using “at least” as a defense, the burden of improvement is shifted from the person who should be accountable to the one already suffering. It sends the message that striving to do better isn’t necessary, as long as one does the absolute least to avoid outright condemnation.

    This toxic mindset isn’t limited to interpersonal relationships, it’s deeply ingrained in societal structures. When those in positions of power underperform or fail to fulfill their duties, toxic societies quickly defend them with arguments like, “At least they’re doing something.”

    This rhetoric not only undermines accountability but also perpetuates a culture of mediocrity, where improvement becomes an afterthought rather than a priority.

    The damage of “at least” lies in its ability to stifle growth and diminish the potential for positive change. It creates an environment where people settle for less, stop striving to be their best, and feel justified in placing their burdens on others.

    It normalizes complacency and discourages meaningful efforts to be better, whether as partners, leaders, or even human beings.

    To move beyond the toxicity of “at least,” we must reimagine what gratitude means. True gratitude is about appreciating the good in our lives while recognizing areas for growth and improvement. It’s about valuing others’ efforts while holding them accountable for the roles they play in our lives.

    It’s about finding balance, celebrating what’s good without tolerating what’s harmful.

    Instead of settling for the lowest benchmarks, we must strive for a culture where everyone feels valued and respected.

    We must cultivate environments that encourage people to be their best selves, not through shame or pressure, but through mutual respect and empathy.

    When we stop using “at least” as a justification for mediocrity, we open the door to healthier relationships, better leadership, and stronger communities.

    The key is to challenge complacency and embrace a mindset of continuous growth. By expecting more from ourselves and others, we can foster a society where genuine effort and accountability are the norms, not exceptions.

    Conclusion
    The culture of “at least” must be replaced by a culture of improvement, empathy, and mutual respect.

    Gratitude and accountability can coexist, one doesn’t have to come at the expense of the other.

    When we embrace this balance, we move closer to building a world where every individual can thrive, not by lowering our expectations, but by continually raising them for the greater good of all.