The so-called “progress” or “modernity” has swallowed you and your way of thinking. There was a time when all of you sat together, mornings fresh as a newly bloomed rose, full of energy and joy. And where did this happen? In my room, of course—the heart of the home. It wasn’t just mornings. Evenings and nights were spent the same way—laughing, eating, and planning the day. Conversations were free and honest, filled with discussions about triumphs, failures, and everything in between. The family would unwind, find solutions, and share joy and peace. 

Back then, no one was distracted by phones or tablets. No books pulled attention away from the meal. It was a sacred time focused on food and each other—fears and dreams laid bare, guidance given, and achievements celebrated. 

But look at things now. One sibling grabs food and eats alone, thumbing through a phone, eating mechanically without paying attention to what’s on the plate. Whether it’s overeating or under-eating, who cares? The other sibling follows the same pattern—this one with a book in hand. 

Dad is lost in his endless cycle of work-from-home tasks, with no clear start or end. Mom rushes through serving food, grabbing bites here and there, and there standing, watching TV, or chatting on the phone. 

It feels like individual people living under the same roof, each consumed by their world. When will the kids share their worries? When will the parents unburden their thoughts? 

The dining table used to be a place where the family came together—where honest discussions happened, and problems found solutions. We paid attention to what we ate and how we ate. Love and warmth filled the air. 

But all that is gone now. I can’t speak, only endure in silence. After all, I am just a dining table. 

Contd. 338. Strange Gods and Stray Dogs - Part 1