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The Greatest Exploitation — Part I

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“The greatest exploitation lies not in chains, but in making someone worship their own cage.” Evenings have a strange way of repeating themselves. Manav and Manvi returned home as they did every night — the same gate, the same elevator hum, the same silence that had started feeling heavier than any argument. The walls remembered their laughter better than they did. It had been two years since their wedding — a grand, glittering celebration that made everyone except the two of them happy. There had been blessings, rituals, promises, and pictures — thousands of them. Everyone said they looked perfect together. Perfection — the cruelest word in human vocabulary. It ends where life begins. The first few months were golden. Love was new, and everything that is new carries the illusion of eternity. They found reasons to hold hands, to cook together, to dream together. The honeymoon in Zurich was straight out of a postcard — snow-capped Alps, clean air that almost forced people to s...
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“Why Do We Do What We Do? The Battle Within Ourselves”

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Why Do We Do What We Do? Why do we repeat the things we know to be wrong? Why do we stand divided inside our own skin? Why do we do what we do? Is there any meaning in our actions, or are we simply prisoners of habits, illusions, and impulses we never chose? Have we ever stopped long enough to think it through? Every night, we set alarms with the resolve to rise early and conquer the morning. But when dawn comes, half-asleep, we fight against the very discipline we created. The night-self sets the alarm; the morning-self resents it. The same person, two opposing wills. We know sugar and fried food damage us, yet our hands still reach for them. We know scrolling endlessly on our phones robs us of focus and time, yet our fingers unlock the screen as if bewitched. We know the book on our desk will enrich our mind more than the Netflix show, yet we choose the show, and while watching, we carry the guilt of wasting life. And in a greater irony: we destroy our heal...
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“I Was One Year Old — and You Watched Me Cry Through Your Phones”

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Look Up: A Child’s Plea to Parents Lost in Screens "There is no such thing as a perfect parent. So just be a real one." — Sue Atkins I was not born asking for much. A year into this world, I only knew the warmth of your arms, the rhythm of your voices, the comfort of your heartbeat. Yet, one morning, everything changed. I hope you are doing well. I truly see your struggles — the long hours, the pressure of careers, the endless attempts to balance everything. I know you fight daily battles so that our bills are paid, so that life feels comfortable, so that I grow up with opportunities. For that, I thank you. But today, I ask you to see another truth: my battles. When I was barely one year old, you put me in a day-care. One year — let me repeat. One year. I had no words, but I had tears. I cried for hours, reaching for the two people who had brought me into this world. And while I cried, you sat outside, not holding me, not soothing me — but watching me throu...
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“Soon: A Child’s Lesson in the Complexity of Growing Up”

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Soon: A Child’s Lesson in the Complexity of Growing Up When we were children, ‘soon’ meant tomorrow. As adults, it means ‘someday’ — and that is how joy quietly slips away. We are born simple, and that is where happiness lies. I often see kids enjoying themselves more than adults and wonder why that is. Even when they fight, it’s at a surface level and quickly leads to forgiveness. The reset button seems nearer to kids than to adults. I still remember this difference in thought from my childhood. I was about five years old — old enough to visit the neighbour’s house, but young enough to still have a simple mind. My sister’s house was in the same town, not very far from mine. Whenever I went there, the atmosphere was warm and friendly. I always felt loved. Her husband treated me kindly and often played games with me, which made the stay even more joyful. Her garden was big and full of fruit trees and flowers — everything a child could wish fo...
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Why the Real Winner Refuses to Run the Race of Life

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The Winner Is the One Who Refuses to Run “Everything is emptiness. Everything else, accidental. Emptiness brings peace to your loving. Everything else, disease. … Emptiness is what your soul wants.” — Rumi What if the race is only won by those who see its emptiness — and walk away? Why rush toward a finish line whose meaning you never examined? Why pour your life into a contest whose rules you did not write? It’s not just foolish — it is tragic, because the race was never yours to begin with. Think about it: the first cry of a baby sounds like a starter’s whistle for a massive, invisible contest. From that moment, everyone seems to be running — full tilt, blindly, as if the starter had whispered the rules into our ears. It is funny and tragic at the same time. Yes, our very beginning was a race: sperm fighting to be first. That biological sprint shaped a story for us, but it was never our choice. Most races after that — careers, promotions, comparisons, status ga...
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“A Child is Father of the Man: The Forgotten Question of Who We Are”

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A Child is Father of a Man: The Forgotten Question of Who We Are “A child is father of a man.” When I was a child, I read such quotes without understanding the meaning behind them. I am almost certain that most of us do the same—we see, we repeat, we move on, without ever really pausing to understand. Life drifts on autopilot. And before we truly live it, death comes to claim its share. The Fear of Fatherhood Becoming a father was one of the scariest steps of my life. I never felt ready. I doubted my strength, my ability, even my worthiness. In fact, I once wrote on this very blog about reasons not to have a child ( https://www.rahulvut.com/2025/08/time-is-not-passing-we-are.html ). Yet life had other plans. And now, after 2.5 years with my son, I can say this: the experience is profound. His questions, his little observations, his sudden words of wonder—they break the monotony of otherwise ordinary days. One day, I asked him: “Who are you?” Without hesitat...
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A Letter to the Woman I Never Met

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Some stories never leave you. Some wounds belong not just to one person, but to an entire society that allowed them to form. This is not just about a woman I never met. It is about every woman who has been silenced, every family that has ignored the cries behind closed doors, and every man who has mistaken cruelty for strength. It is a letter — to her, to women, to men, and to myself. Dear Woman, I never knew your name. I never saw your face. I don’t even remember the year you were married into my distant family, nor did I ever meet your husband — my so-called relative. Yet even without knowing you personally, I knew of you. I knew enough to realize you were a rare soul — one of those quiet presences who make the unbearable slightly more bearable, the mundane slightly more hopeful. They told me you were kind. That you bore the heavy weight of motherhood with tenderness, raising two children with all the love a mother’s heart could contain. They said you helped the old women in t...
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