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The Hindu
30-05-2025
- Lifestyle
- The Hindu
What did you do this weekend?
Every Monday morning, in the liminal space between work and routine, a familiar question drifts through India's cities. It's heard in the offices of Bengaluru, on the terraces of Bandra, in the awkward silence before Zoom calls begin: 'So… what did you do this weekend?' It sounds innocent enough — small talk, a social placeholder. But like all good rituals, it's loaded. For many young urban Indians, it's less about plans than projection, and more about who you were while doing it. This is the hidden psychology of modern leisure. In the language of Erving Goffman, the 20th-century Canadian-American sociologist who likened life to a stage, we've moved our weekend from the backstage of anonymity to the frontstage of performance. The weekend used to be a breath. Now it's a brand. I first noticed it in Mumbai, walking past a sunlit studio in Bandra where a dozen 20- and 30-somethings were shaping clay into mugs. They worked in silence, brows furrowed in concentration. Later, I'd hear from a participant who said, 'It just feels good to use my hands for something.' She didn't say she liked pottery. She said she liked using her hands. That's the language of intentionality, of meaning-seeking — a telling linguistic tic of a generation that wants its free time to say something about its inner life. And this isn't unique. From sourdough starters to film cameras, salsa classes to stargazing meetups, young Indians are filling their weekends with activities that are, consciously or not, acts of self-curation. Psychologists might call this narrative identity: the stories we tell ourselves (and others) about who we are and why we matter. We measure rest. We track joy. We optimise the weekend. In resisting the 9-to-5, we've built a 5-to-9 that looks eerily similar. The harder we try to escape productivity's grip, the more we reinvent it. Access and instant gratification To understand how we got here, it helps to look at the numbers. India is now home to over 600 million people under the age of 35, according to an S&P Global Market Intelligence study. In cities such as Bengaluru, Delhi, Mumbai, Chennai, and Hyderabad, a new class of young professionals — many unmarried, many living away from their families — have both the income and the autonomy to shape their downtime. This demographic shift is seismic. A generation ago, weekends in India were not individual experiences; they were communal and obligation-heavy. Visiting relatives. Catching a movie with cousins. Running errands for the household. The idea that you would 'do something for yourself' on a weekend was, if not selfish, then certainly rare. But today's urban Indian is surrounded by different signals. Time has become a currency, and weekends are seen as investments: of energy, of identity, of social capital. The stakes are high because the time is short. And into this temporal vacuum has stepped an entire industry. To really understand the psychology of today's curated weekend, you have to travel back — not to the last decade, but to the 1950s and 60s, when India's middle-class was forged in the quiet discipline of scarcity. As Surinder S. Jodhka, a sociology professor at Jawaharlal Nehru University, points out, 'Consumer goods then weren't just hard to afford, they were often impossible to find.' Desire wasn't about acquisition. It was about patience. The good life was deferred, not displayed. Urban India, even then, set the tone — what was aspirational in Delhi eventually became meaningful everywhere else. But the post-liberalisation shift cracked that model open. The Nehruvian ethic of restraint gave way to a new moral order: one that celebrated access, aspiration, and immediate gratification. Today's weekend, in many ways, is a symptom of that transformation. The people shaping their Saturdays around calligraphy classes and handmade pasta aren't just spending — they're rewriting the script of middle-class aspiration. The good life is no longer about waiting. It's about choosing. The value of variety This growing demand for meaningful, shareable moments has sparked a surge in curated experiences. The idea once captured by the iconic Tata Safari ad — 'Reclaim your life' — no longer calls for a road trip or an SUV. It's happening in two-hour workshops and weekend retreats, micro-escapes designed to restore a sense of control, creativity, and self. According to Prof. Anirban Chakraborty of IIM Lucknow, 'This is part of a broader shift among young professionals: the urge to close the gap between the real self and the ideal self through curated, meaningful experiences.' He calls it an 'experience-seeking economy' — where value isn't just about relaxation, but variety, novelty, and narrative. The more diverse the activity, the richer the self-story. And in this context, even leisure becomes a kind of emotional labour. Borrowing from American sociologist Arlie Hochschild, we could say we're toggling between shallow acting (performing interest) and deep acting (genuinely feeling it). Pottery isn't just about clay — it's about who you are while shaping it. As Akash Biswas, a 29-year-old consultant in Gurugram, explains, there's a constant pressure to appear interesting — to have hobbies that spark conversation or shine on social media. 'Sometimes, in pretending to be curious, you actually become curious,' he says. He once tried a sushi-making class, signed up for improv comedy, and even joined a weekend hiking group. 'Improv really stuck with me,' he admits. 'It felt freeing to just respond in the moment, without overthinking — kind of like a break from the polished version of myself I usually present [to everyone].' And he's still exploring. 'I want to be the guy who picks up odd, cool hobbies — and who knows, maybe I'll actually like one of them.' Economic impact of curated leisure You can trace much of how Indians spend their weekends today back to the pandemic — a moment that forced millions indoors, nudging them towards slower, more tactile experiences. Suddenly, the kitchen wasn't just where you ate; it was where you created. Across cities like Bengaluru, Mumbai, and Pune, boutique studios began to crop up, offering everything from ceramics classes in Koramangala to calligraphy workshops tucked into Mumbai's Kala Ghoda Festival. Last month saw a series of pop-ups inviting people to try their hand at cyanotype photography or even brew their own kombucha — a strange, artisanal rebellion against the instant and disposable. Meanwhile, micro-retreats promising 'peace in 48 hours', complete with sound baths and journaling, have taken hold in places like Goa and Auroville. Behind this burst of activity lies a bigger truth: where identity lives, economy follows. India's 'experience economy' in Tier 1 cities is growing 30% year-on-year, fuelled by millennials and Gen Z, according to a joint study by Boston Consulting Group and the Retailers Association of India. This isn't just consumption; it's participation in a narrative economy — where your weekend is a chapter in the story of who you want to be. But it's more than just business, it's psychology. The modern urban professional never truly clocks out. Work seeps into phones, chats, even dreams. So free time becomes sacred. And it can't just be empty — it must be meaningful. A hike is wellness. A photo walk isn't just about light; it's about taste and style. Even 'doing nothing' comes with hashtags such as #DigitalDetox or #SlowLiving. Leisure has become a soft performance review — not of skills, but of sensibility. It isn't all performance Still, for some, the appeal isn't performance at all. It's access. 'Growing up, most of these things were either unavailable or unaffordable,' says Priya Yadav, a 31-year-old graphic designer in Bengaluru. 'Now I can try a pottery class on a whim. It feels like having a cultural buffet right in my neighbourhood.' That sense of possibility is echoed by Arjun Mehra, a finance professional in Mumbai. 'Growing up, eating out was reserved for special occasions — a treat, not a routine. Now, with food clubs and casual meetups, it's become a part of everyday life. I get to explore new cuisines and spots every weekend.' And it's not just about eating out; it's about being experimental, about tasting the world — from Korean BBQ pop-ups to Ethiopian injera dinners — and reconnecting with regional traditions. There is something undeniably hopeful here. After years of screen saturation, the return to analogue — the handmade, the slow — is more than a trend. It's cultural therapy. The people shaping clay or writing poems aren't posing; they're recovering something lost. 'The return to analogue is an intentional choice for many. There is something quiet about it. You have to zone in; you cannot be lost in your devices,' shares Varun Gupta, co-founder of the Chennai Photo Biennale (CPB), whose workshops, from cyanotype photography, film development and printing to Van Dyke Brown printing, are always sold out. He doesn't feel that the people CPB attracts are there to merely check boxes or share posts on social media. 'It's about tactility. People want to work with their hands; they are tired of typing and scrolling. Just being able to paint chemicals on paper is such a unique feeling that it kicks off a separate set of endorphins in your brain. It helps you rescript your day to day, and heal your soul,' adds Gupta. Building a new yet similar 5-to-9 And yet the paradox remains. The harder we try to escape productivity's grip, the more we reinvent it. We measure rest. We track joy. We optimise the weekend. In resisting the 9-to-5, we've built a 5-to-9 that looks eerily similar. Sociologist Hartmut Rosa calls this search for 'resonance', our deep craving to feel connected and alive. When leisure hits the mark, it does just that. But when every moment must resonate, it stops feeling real. It becomes performance. So, where does it go from here? If curated leisure is a response to burnout and alienation, its next phase may not be about more options, but a quieter kind of honesty. In the West, signs of this shift are already visible. 'Nothing clubs' in London gather people simply to be, while movements such as 'bare minimum Mondays' in the U.S. push back against hyper-efficiency. India isn't far behind. The same generation that gamified rest is now bumping up against the fatigue of constant optimisation. The next iteration of leisure may hinge less on what we do and more on how we feel doing it. Less proof, more presence. Because maybe the ultimate luxury isn't a kombucha workshop or a calligraphy kit. It's being boring — and being okay with it. So the next time someone asks, 'What did you do this weekend?', perhaps the most honest — and subversive — answer is: 'Nothing much.' And let that be enough. The author works in consulting by day and writes about culture, business, and modern life.
Asia Times
26-04-2025
- Politics
- Asia Times
Before the missiles: How disinformation could spark Asia's next war
'The problem with fake news is not that people believe it. The problem is that they don't believe anything anymore.' — Yuval Noah Harari, 21 Lessons for the 21st Century In February 2022, Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine triggered the largest European conflict since World War II. But this war isn't just being fought with tanks and missiles — it's also a relentless battle over truth and perception. From Kyiv to Moscow, and from Washington to Beijing, propaganda, disinformation and media manipulation have become critical tools of modern warfare. While most of the spotlight remains on physical battlegrounds, the struggle for narrative dominance is strongly shaping the war's trajectory. The information war is being waged globally — and Asia is watching closely. As geopolitical tensions rise across the Indo-Pacific, particularly in Taiwan, the South China Sea and as ever the Korean Peninsula, the Russia-Ukraine conflict offers sobering lessons in how disinformation can be used to destabilize, divide and dominate. Propaganda has long been used to manufacture consent, justify aggression and suppress dissent. In the 21st century, however, its scope and scale have grown exponentially thanks to digital platforms, algorithmic amplification and a fragmented media landscape. Russian state media outlets such as RT and Sputnik have become central to the Kremlin's narrative strategy. These platforms don't simply broadcast news — they shape realities. By framing Russia's actions as 'defensive' and painting Ukraine as a Western puppet state, Moscow has rallied domestic support and muddied international waters. But the West has its own narratives. US and European media frame the conflict as an unprovoked invasion of a sovereign nation — a framing reinforced by NATO, EU institutions and global human rights organizations. The result? Competing realities where audiences consume drastically different versions of the same event. The World Economic Forum's Global Risks Report 2024 lists 'misinformation and disinformation' among the top threats to global stability. In conflict zones, this threat is magnified. False narratives, deepfakes and coordinated campaigns blur the line between fact and fiction, weakening public trust in journalism, governance and even democracy itself. This erosion of trust extends far beyond Ukraine. In Asia, governments from India to the Philippines have faced and used disinformation campaigns—both foreign and domestic—that polarize societies and distort elections. In Taiwan, digital propaganda from China aims to discredit the democratic process and sow division. These aren't isolated incidents — they're previews of a future shaped by invisible warfare. Media framing plays a decisive role in how populations understand conflict. According to Erving Goffman's Framing Theory, how information is presented influences how people perceive reality. Consider the 2022 missile strike on a shopping mall in Kremenchuk, a city in Ukraine. Western media labeled it a deliberate Russian attack on civilians, citing satellite imagery and Ukrainian sources. Russian outlets claimed the target was a military facility and accused Western media of exaggeration. The incident exemplifies how the same event can generate two divergent truths — one for the West, another for Russia's domestic audience. Propaganda doesn't just manipulate facts — it manufactures consensus. During Russia's annexation of Crimea in 2014, state media claimed 95% of residents supported the move, despite reports of coercion and a lack of international observers. The goal wasn't just to legitimize the annexation — it was to silence dissent by presenting unity as fact. In Asia, similar tactics have been used to frame controversial actions. China's handling of Hong Kong protests, India's narrative around Kashmir or Myanmar's coverage of the Rohingya crisis all show how governments use media control to build the illusion of national consensus while marginalizing opposition voices. One of the most troubling consequences of information warfare is the creation of parallel realities. In Russia, the invasion of Ukraine is widely seen as a 'special military operation' to protect ethnic Russians and counter NATO aggression. In the West, it is viewed as a blatant breach of international law. This polarization makes diplomatic dialogue nearly impossible. When populations are fed mutually exclusive worldviews, compromise becomes a sign of weakness, not progress. This pattern is visible in Asia as well — from cross-Strait relations between China and Taiwanto domestic divides over foreign policy in Japan and South Korea. Despite intense propaganda from Russian media and its allies, Ukrainian public opinion has remained largely pro-Western. A 2023 poll by the Kyiv International Institute of Sociology found that 89% of Ukrainians support NATO membership. Even in historically pro-Russian areas, support for Ukrainian sovereignty is rising. However, war fatigue is setting in. Gallup reported that support for fighting until total victory dropped from 73% in 2022 to 38% in 2023. These shifting sentiments highlight the psychological toll of prolonged conflict — a reality that authoritarian regimes often exploit through information manipulation. The Russia-Ukraine war offers a grim forecast of what unchecked disinformation can do — not just to nations at war, but to the international system at large. For Asia, the implications are clear: if disinformation remains unchallenged, it will continue to erode public trust, undermine democratic institutions and inflame regional tensions. The Indo-Pacific is already a hotspot for narrative battles. China's media expansion, North Korea's cyber propaganda, and growing domestic disinformation in Southeast Asia all point to a future where digital influence operations become the norm. Asia must invest in media literacy, cybersecurity and cross-border collaboration to defend against this invisible warfare. Otherwise, the next major battle may be fought not with weapons, but with words — and Asia could be the next front line. The Russia-Ukraine conflict isn't just reshaping Eastern Europe — it's redefining how wars are fought and understood. As Harari suggests, the greatest threat may not be that people believe lies, but that they cease to believe anything at all. For Asia, the stakes couldn't be higher. As information becomes weaponized, the region must act decisively to protect truth, transparency, and trust — before reality itself becomes just another battleground. Zaheer Ahmed Baloch is an international relations scholar focused on security & media dynamics in global affairs
