Somewhere Between Then and Now

When I was a kid, I was in a relentless hurry to grow up. I would often bug my parents, and how can I forget my elder brother? Hahaha. He is eight years older than me, and I remember wishing I were older, just like him. I’m sure many of you felt the same way back then.

Baby Prachi says Hi!

To me, growing up was a glamorous heist. It meant the "Big Bag"...a leather vessel of secrets and power. It meant earning money so I could finally walk into a store and buy the largest chocolate bar without looking at my mom for a nod of approval. Adulthood was the promised land of "Yes."

But now, that now i am about to enter in my mid-twenties, the "Big Bag" is on my shoulder, and it’s heavier than I ever imagined. Not because of what’s inside it, but because of what I had to leave behind to carry it.

The "Grey" Reality

I often ask myself: “Is this the version of life I was sprinting toward?” The answer isn't a simple "no," but it’s a complicated, murky grey. Yes, I have the independence. Yes, I have the paycheck. But I’ve realized that while I was chasing the freedom to buy whatever I wanted, the world was quietly putting a price tag on things that used to be free. I’m talking about Empathy. I’m talking about Genuineness.

You might ask, "Prachi, what’s new in this?" Lately, the world has shown me its coldest face. It made me wonder: are we still human?

The Spectator Society

The other day, while I was walking, two cyclists almost collided with me, causing me to fall hard. My jeans tore, and my knee was a mess of blood and gravel. I sat there on the pavement, stunned and hurting. The cyclists? They looked back. They saw me on the ground. They saw the blood. And then, they just... kept pedaling. To them, I wasn't a person in pain; I was just a minor obstacle they had successfully cleared.

A few days later, I almost broke my ankle. I live alone, and tbh fear of being immobile even for a short while is terrifying as you have to do everything on your own. However, I gathered every ounce of courage I had to hobble out of my door to try and get to the hospital. My neighbor saw me struggling through the pain, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Her contribution? A casual, empty, "Oh, take care," as she walked away. 

I went to the hospital on my own, handled my business, and completed two weeks of bed rest solo. Honestly, I am proud of that strength...but at what cost? That "take care" felt like a door slamming in my face. It was the ultimate adult transaction: she acknowledged my existence just enough to be polite, but not enough to be human. At what point did ‘being polite’ replace ‘being kind’?

The Luxury of Being Seen (and the Facade)

The world feels so broken that if you actually look at someone and say, "Hey, are you okay? You seem a little sad," they are genuinely surprised that you even noticed. We live in a world of facades, where everyone is wearing a mask of "fine" or "busy."

It’s become incredibly difficult to find people who are genuinely happy for your wins or truly sad when you are down. People smile for the photo but turn away when the light fades. Finding someone who stays when the facade drops has become a luxury that even millionaires can’t afford. Things that were considered "normal" in the playground have become rare gems in adulthood.

Why has it become like this? Have we become a society of bookkeepers, calculating the ROI of every interaction? I’m grateful for the specific spaces and people in my life where this isn't the case, but in the broader world, it feels like we’ve optimized the humanity right out of our lives.

And the cycle is vicious. Even when you try to break it..when you choose to offer a hand or a listening ear without an invoice-you are met with a flicker of suspicion. We’ve been conditioned to believe that "free" is a trap. And the uncomfortable truth is—I’ve been on the other side too. 

The Trust Paradox

In this sea of indifference, I have met a few rare, beautiful souls who have restored my faith in humanity...people who give without an invoice. Though these people are few, I am deeply grateful for each one of them; they have shaped my experiences and kept me grounded when the world felt too transactional.

But the question remains: Why are there so few? Even when I receive these acts of goodness, I get suspicious. My mind starts looking for the catch, wondering, "What do they want from me? or Wow! Do people like this still exist? Is this even normal?" It’s a heartbreaking trade-off. In the process of protecting myself, I’ve built a wall so high that it sometimes keeps the genuine warmth out, too. I am sure that "kiddo Prachi" would have never thought twice if she received goodness; to her, kindness was simply the way the world worked.

Little Things (That Are Not So Little)

Maybe the fix isn't as grand as I think it is. Maybe it’s all about the little things...the things that seem small on the surface but are actually massive when the world feels cold.

A hand held out when someone stumbles. A genuine, "Are you okay?" that waits for a real answer. A friend who is actually, deeply happy for your success without a hint of comparison. These are the things that are little, but not so little. They are the tiny cracks where the light gets back into our lives.

Reclaiming the Magic

The most heartbreaking part of growing up isn't the bills. It’s the realization that I might have traded off the version of myself that didn't need a reason to care.

I have the chocolate now. I have the toy. I have the bag. But I’m standing in a crowd of people who are all doing the math- calculating value and guarding their hearts like bank vaults.

Maybe the "glamour" wasn't in the office bag or the money. Maybe the real glamour was in the seven-year-old me who loved things- and people...for no reason at all. I’m realizing that the only way to truly "grow up" now is to start unlearning the transaction. I want to be the person who stops for the fallen stranger, even if they wonder why I’m doing it. I want to be the one who drops the facade. And most importantly, I want to learn how to lower my guard when a genuine soul reaches out with those "not-so-little" things.

Because if this "grey" adulthood is all there is, then I’d rather be the kid who had nothing in her pockets, but everything in her heart.