In Search of Stillness

It’s Diwali time, and most brands release festival films that aim to capture the spirit of the festival, their brand essence, and oodles of emotions in their storytelling. One such film I came across is the new Parle G Biscuits Diwali ad (link here). The film tries to revive cherished memories of traditional Diwali celebrations, which are often lost in today’s ‘instant’ world. Yet, the brand fit feels forced, especially with the image of a boy carrying a pack of biscuits that stands out awkwardly. And somewhat abruptly, the ad transitions into a message about finding happiness in the happiness of others. But, looking at the YouTube comments and the number of views (13+ Million in the last count)…the film seem to pull the right chords.

What struck me, however, was an unspoken idea the ad triggered—the idea of waiting. Maybe my recent article on the ‘weight’ of communication subconsciously resurfaced, nudging me to reflect on how we are losing the fine art of waiting.

Waiting, once an inevitable part of our daily rhythm, now feels like a relic of the past. Time has shrunk, and so has our patience. Technology has brought the world to our fingertips and, in doing so, has redefined our relationship with time and anticipation. What used to be a natural pause in our lives is now an inconvenience to avoid at all costs.

As kids, waiting was woven into the fabric of our daily life. I remember the anticipation of Sunday evening Doordarshan movie broadcasts or the weekly serials—the excitement building long before the show aired. We’d huddle together as a family, our day shaped around that moment. Waiting wasn’t an absence of activity; it was a shared experience that felt meaningful. The signal would sometimes falter, the sound would waver, but the wait made it all the more precious.

Today, even a second of buffering on Netflix frustrates us. We've become conditioned to expect instant gratification, whether it’s downloading a movie, receiving an Amazon order in less than 24 hours, or chatting with someone across the world in real-time. In fact, the folks of the 80’s and early 90’s would remember waiting for 9’O clock to make that STD call. The more we remove waiting from our lives, the more we lose something intangible yet essential. 

Take our festivals, for example. Preparing for Diwali once meant weeks of cleaning, shopping, and making sweets at home. The wait was part of the celebration, part of the anticipation that made the festival so special. Now, with e-commerce and pre-packaged sweets, the lead-up has become a blur of transactions. The act of waiting, which once deepened our connection to the occasion, has been replaced by a rush to get things done quickly. In this hurry, we often miss the point of the ritual itself.

Waiting creates space—mental, emotional, even spiritual. It gives us time to reflect, to anticipate, to grow. The longer the wait, the sweeter the reward, as the saying goes. Think of how we wait for the rain during a long, hot summer. The first drop feels like a sigh of relief, a gift from the heavens. It’s the waiting, the months of longing, that make that moment so profound. Maybe this is why our wise men and gurus, like Sai Baba, taught us about Shraddha and Saburi—Faith and Patience.

In our fast-paced urban lives, we resemble a frenzied rush to nowhere. We scroll through social media feeds while waiting at traffic lights, check our phones in queues, and call cabs that arrive within minutes. It’s almost as if we fear the stillness that comes with waiting, so we fill every gap with distractions. It’s not just about staying busy—it’s about fearing the idea of being unproductive, even for a moment. But in this constant race, what are we losing?

By eliminating waiting, we’re erasing the space for thought, introspection, and connection with the world around us. The act of waiting—whether for a bus, a festival, or a friend—is not something to eliminate. It’s a reminder that time is meant to pass, and sometimes, the most meaningful moments are those where nothing seems to be happening at all.

Maybe it’s time to reconsider our impatience, because sometimes, in our rush to make time count, we miss the beauty of time passing.