Are you time-poor?

June 1, 2026 Leave a comment

Somewhere between the invention of the pressure cooker and the arrival of 5G, we Indians collectively misplaced something really important: Time. Not lost in a dramatic, cinematic way, without violins or slow motion, but more like a wallet lifted from your back pocket in a crowded Metro. One moment it was there, lazy afternoons, unplanned conversations, the comforting stretch of doing nothing, and the next moment, gone. In its place, we now have Google Calendar reminders, WhatsApp notifications, and a persistent feeling that we are always slightly late for something, even when we are sitting still. Welcome to the era of time poverty, where your bank balance may look respectable, your Zomato order history may be thriving, and your LinkedIn profile may be aggressively inspirational, but your time account is permanently overdrawn.

Let’s rewind a bit, not to some sepia-toned village fantasy, but just a generation ago, in the same cities we inhabit today, where life had a different rhythm. Time was not abundant in a literal sense, as people still worked hard, commuted, raised families, but it felt less fractured. Evenings were events in themselves, when people sat outside their homes discussing politics and cricket over multiple cups of tea, and that one neighbour who always seemed to have too many visitors. Children played gully cricket until the ball inevitably landed in someone’s kitchen, leading to heated negotiations that doubled as character-building exercises. Mothers called out from balconies and verandahs with a mix of authority and affection, summoning children home before darkness turned into parental anxiety. There were fewer choices, yes, but also fewer decisions to make. Dinner was whatever was cooked, and nobody spent fifteen minutes comparing paneer butter masala across twelve delivery apps while reading 237 reviews written by people who clearly have too much time.

The great unifier, television, had one channel, Doordarshan, maybe two if you were fancy. If you missed your favourite show, you missed it, as there was no replay, no binge-watching, no existential spiral at 2 AM where you question your life choices while watching the fourth episode of something you don’t even like. And waiting, ah, waiting was a legitimate activity. We waited for letters, for phone calls on the clunky telephone sets, for exam results. Waiting was not seen as wasted time; it was just part of time itself, like monsoons or power cuts. Our minds wandered, conversations happened, and occasionally, we even ‘thought’ our own thoughts without an algorithm suggesting what to think next!

Now fast forward to urban India today, where time is not just scarce but seems to be actively hunted. A typical weekday begins with negotiation between you and your alarm clock, which has now evolved into a relentless life coach with a snooze button. Before your feet even touch the ground, your thumb has already scrolled through emails, news updates, Instagram reels, and three subtle reminders that everyone else seems to be doing better than you at 7:17 am in the morning. We often eat breakfast alongside a call that begins with ‘Can you hear me?’ and ends with ‘Let’s take this offline,’ a phrase that has single-handedly consumed more human hours than traffic jams.

If time poverty had a national symbol, it would undoubtedly be the urban traffic. Whether you are inching along the Delhi-Gurgaon expressway, contemplating your life choices at Bengaluru’s Central Silk Board junction, or performing advanced geometry in Mumbai’s local trains, your commute is not just a journey, but a full emotional experience. You begin with hope, perhaps even optimism, maybe today will be different, maybe traffic will be lighter, signals more cooperative, humanity kinder. Ten minutes later, you are recalibrating your expectations, bargaining with Google Maps, and listening to podcasts or FM radio not out of curiosity but as a coping mechanism. By the time you reach your destination, you have experienced a full spectrum of human emotion and possibly learned a new cuss word, none of which you will remember by lunchtime.

And then come the meetings, those sacred rituals of modern work culture where time doesn’t exactly die, it dissolves. Meetings to prepare for meetings, meetings to debrief previous meetings, and meetings that exist solely because someone somewhere feared the silence of not having a meeting. Entire hours are spent discussing action items that could have been bullet points in an email, that could have been a message, that could have been… nothing. Ironically, in our relentless pursuit of productivity, we have created systems so elaborate that they ensure we have no time left to actually produce anything. Efficiency has become a performance, and everyone is performing.

Of course, technology was supposed to save us, and in many ways, it has. Tasks that once took hours now take minutes, information is accessible instantly, and communication is effortless. But somewhere along the way, technology stopped being a tool and started behaving like a very needy companion. Your phone, that sleek little rectangle of promise, is now a workplace, an entertainment centre, a social hub, and an anxiety generator rolled into one. You pick it up to check the time and resurface twenty-seven minutes later, having watched three reels, replied to two messages, ignored five, read half an article, and completely forgotten why you picked it up in the first place. Time isn’t just being spent; it is being nibbled away in tiny, invisible bites.

Urban India today offers an abundance of choices in the form of food, experiences, careers, and content. But abundance comes with a hidden tax in the form of decision fatigue. Earlier, dinner was simple, and now it is an exercise in research, comparison, and occasional soul-searching. Even leisure has become labour, as watching a movie involves navigating multiple platforms, genres, languages, and algorithmic suggestions, each insisting it knows you better than you know yourself. By the time you decide what to watch, you are too tired to watch anything. The freedom to choose has quietly transformed into the burden of choosing.

Friendships, once spontaneous and effortless, are now managed with the precision of project timelines. ‘Let’s catch up’ translates into checking calendars, blocking slots, rescheduling due to unforeseen commitments, and finally meeting for exactly sixty minutes before someone inevitably says, ‘I have an early morning tomorrow.’ Even weddings, those grand celebrations of chaos and joy, have been optimised for efficiency. Destination weddings over long weekends, carefully curated guest lists, and itineraries that resemble conference agendas. Nothing says romance like a well-managed Google Sheet.

But perhaps the most insidious aspect of time poverty is lack of attention rather than the lack of hours. You may technically have free time, but your mind is rarely free. You are at dinner, but thinking about work. You are on vacation, but checking emails. You are resting but feeling guilty about it. The boundary between work and life hasn’t just blurred; it has politely excused itself and left the building. What remains is a constant hum of ‘I should be doing something,’ a background noise that turns even moments of rest into opportunities for anxiety.

In India, this phenomenon feels particularly intense because of the unique cocktail of factors at play. Rapid urbanisation has stretched infrastructure beyond its limits, turning simple commutes into endurance tests. Aspirational pressure ensures that everyone is constantly striving for better jobs, better salaries, better lifestyles. Digital adoption has been fast and enthusiastic, compressing decades of technological evolution into a few short years. And social expectations are layered on top of all this that rarely reduce, even as professional demands increase. The result is a society trying to operate at first-world speed with third-world infrastructure and fourth-world patience.

So are we truly poor in time? Or have we simply allowed time to be colonised and constantly interrupted? The uncomfortable truth is that it is a bit of both. We are busier, yes, but we are also more distracted. We have more tools, but less control. We are connected, but not always present. Time poverty, then, is not just about scarcity, but more about how we experience the time that we have. It is the difference between a long, uninterrupted conversation and a series of half-hearted replies. Between a meal savoured and a meal consumed while scrolling. Between living time and merely passing through it.

The solution, if there is one, is unlikely to be dramatic. Most of us are not about to quit our jobs and retreat to the Himalayas like some of our friends have, and even if we did, we would probably post about it online. But small shifts are possible, like protecting pockets of uninterrupted time, reducing unnecessary decisions, and occasionally allowing ourselves the radical act of doing nothing. These are not grand gestures, but they are meaningful ones. They remind us that time is not just something to be managed but something to be experienced.

We often say, ‘I don’t have time,’ when what we really mean is, ‘Something else has taken priority.’ Time poverty is not just a condition but a consequence of choices, both ours and the systems we inhabit. In a country that has mastered the art of jugaad, perhaps it is high time we apply that ingenuity to time itself. Because somewhere between the past we romanticise and the present we rush through lies a simple, almost rebellious idea that what if we stopped trying to save time and started trying to live it?

If this essay made you pause and think about how you spend your time, subscribe to my blog for one article every week in your mailbox.

(Cover image is generated using AI)

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Why can’t you have it all

April 20, 2026 2 Comments

We grew up on a promise that if we worked hard enough, planned carefully, and optimised intelligently, we could have it all. Modern culture reinforces this belief on a daily basis that we can have a successful career, a loving family, financial security, good health, lasting friendships, purpose, and inner peace. Social media displays curated snapshots of people who appear to be excelling simultaneously in every domain of life. We have been hearing since our childhoods that balance is achievable with the right morning routine of ‘early to bed, early to rise, makes a person healthy, wealthy and wise’. Yet beneath this narrative lies a simple truth that you can’t have it all, at least not all at once, not at full intensity, and certainly not without significant trade-offs. The reason is not a lack of ambition or discipline, but scarcity, which is the most fundamental principle governing both economics and human life.

Scarcity is often associated with money, but today, the scarcest resources are time, energy, and attention. Every human being, regardless of wealth or status, receives the same twenty-four hours each day, making time the most democratic of all constraints. No one can accumulate unused hours or borrow from the future without cost. We speak casually about ‘managing time,’ yet time itself cannot be managed as it flows at a constant pace. Every hour invested in one activity is an hour unavailable for another, managing only the choices between time availability. The professional who chooses to work late trades time that could have been spent with family. The parent who prioritises caring for children may delay career advancement. The entrepreneur who pours weekends into building a venture sacrifices leisure and rest. These trade-offs are often invisible in the moment, but they accumulate quietly over the years. Life does not unfold in parallel tracks where everything progresses simultaneously. It unfolds sequentially, through seasons that demand different commitments.

If time is the vehicle of life, energy is its fuel. Two individuals may possess identical schedules yet operate at dramatically different capacities. Energy fluctuates with sleep, nutrition, stress, age, emotional well-being, and sense of purpose. Modern ambition frequently assumes that energy can be summoned indefinitely through willpower, caffeine/nicotine, or motivation. But biology imposes limits, cognitive fatigue reduces clarity and creativity, and emotional exhaustion diminishes patience and empathy, while physical depletion erodes resilience. Burnout is not a failure of time management but is the inevitable consequence of sustained energy misallocation. Many high achievers discover that even when their calendars appear optimised, their internal reserves are depleted. They attempt to excel in multiple demanding roles of being a professional, parent, partner, and friend simultaneously without acknowledging that each role draws from the same finite energy pool. Over time, the system protests, sleep suffers, health declines, and relationships strain. The pursuit of ‘having it all’ quietly converts into chronic exhaustion.

Perhaps more than time or energy, attention defines scarcity. In the digital age, attention has become a commodity aggressively competed for by corporations and platforms. Notifications, news feeds, emails, and endless streams of content fragment focus into micro-intervals, with us being connected to everything and fully present in almost nothing. Attention determines lived experience; whatever captures our focus becomes our reality. When attention is scattered across dozens of stimuli each hour, depth disappears, and conversations become half-engaged exchanges. Work becomes interrupted bursts of activity, and leisure becomes simultaneous scrolling. Creativity, which requires uninterrupted thought, struggles to emerge in fragmented environments. Intimacy, which depends on sustained presence, weakens under constant distraction. The desire to ‘have it all’ often leads to diluted attention spread thinly across many domains, leaving none fully nourished.

Technology reinforces the thinking that multitasking is efficient, but cognitive science consistently demonstrates the cost of task switching. Each shift of focus consumes mental energy and reduces performance quality. We may believe we are building a career, nurturing relationships, maintaining fitness, staying informed, and cultivating a side project all at once. We may be engaging partially in each, achieving adequacy but rarely excellence. To choose one path intensely is to decline others, at least temporarily, as excellence is exclusive by nature and rewards those willing to concentrate rather than diversify endlessly.

The pressure to ‘have it all’ is further amplified by comparison, especially as digital platforms present curated narratives where achievements are showcased without context. We compare our daily struggles to others’ peak moments and conclude that we are falling behind. Yet every visible success rests upon invisible trade-offs. The CxO with rapid career progression may have sacrificed personal time. The entrepreneur enjoying autonomy may endure financial uncertainty. The individual projecting calm online may be filled with anxiety privately. Role overload has become a defining feature of modern adulthood. We inflate our identities, attempting to be accomplished professionals, devoted family members, socially conscious citizens, physically fit individuals, and culturally relevant participants all at once. Without conscious prioritisation, this multiplicity breeds internal conflict.

Trade-offs are not signs of failure but are expressions of values. Every yes carries an implicit no. When we resist acknowledging trade-offs, we drift into reactive living, responding to emails, obligations, and external demands rather than intentional priorities. Economics teaches that scarce resources must be allocated toward what yields the highest perceived value. The same principle applies to life, and time, energy, and attention must be directed consciously. Without deliberate allocation, they will be consumed by urgency rather than importance. The question shifts from ‘Can I have it all?’ to ‘What is worth the cost?’ Clarity transforms scarcity from limitation into guidance.

Fragmentation carries hidden consequences as shallow engagement reduces satisfaction. When attention is dispersed continuously, creativity declines and emotional presence weakens. We may touch many aspects of life but rarely hold any deeply. The paradox of modern abundance is experiential thinness. Surrounded by options, we struggle to experience fullness. Having everything available does not equate to inhabiting it meaningfully.

Perhaps the problem lies in our definition of ‘having it all.’ If it means maximising every measurable domain simultaneously, which is unattainable. But if it means living in alignment with consciously chosen priorities, it becomes possible. Fulfilment may not require expansion in all directions, but it does require coherence. When time, energy, and attention align with core values, life feels integrated even if certain ambitions are deferred. We may not achieve extreme wealth, recognition, and perfect physical condition simultaneously, yet we may experience deep contentment through purposeful work, loving relationships, and sustainable health practices.

Designing a life within scarcity requires discipline and ruthless prioritisation to clarify which domains deserve peak focus. Protecting energy through sleep, movement, and boundaries preserves capacity. Practising attention hygiene, limiting digital intrusion and creating focused blocks enhances depth. Strategic neglect acknowledges that some areas will temporarily receive minimal investment without inducing guilt. Redefining success as alignment rather than accumulation reduces external pressure. These practices do not eliminate scarcity, but teaches us to navigate it wisely.

There is liberation in accepting limits, where comparison loses some of its sting when we acknowledge that no human can optimise every dimension simultaneously. Even the most accomplished individuals operate within constraints. Everyone trades something. The artist may trade financial stability for creative freedom. The corporate leader may trade time for influence. The activist may trade comfort for impact. The parent may trade professional acceleration for presence. No path is without a cost, and recognising this universal truth fosters humility and self-compassion.

Ultimately, the longing to ‘have it all’ often masks deeper desires for security, significance, love, belonging, or meaning. When these needs are identified clearly, excess pursuits lose their urgency. One may discover that respect matters more than status, intimacy more than visibility, and contribution more than accumulation. You cannot maximise career, family, health, wealth, friendships, and personal growth simultaneously at peak intensity. Human existence is bounded by time, powered by finite energy, and shaped by limited attention. Yet within those boundaries lies possibility. You may not have everything, but you can choose what receives your best. In a culture obsessed with expansion, the rare act is deliberately selecting what truly matters and committing to it fully. You cannot have it all, but you can have enough, deeply experienced and consciously chosen. And in the arithmetic of a scarce world, that may be the closest approximation of abundance available to us.

(Cover image is generate using AI)

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