Amid the relentless push for what’s next, I personally find myself pausing at times to admire the craftsmanship of the past—the intricate details of Roman Catholic cathedrals, the story-rich temples of ancient Cambodia, the majestic Brihadeeswarar Temple in Thanjavur, and so many others. There is also an equally strong admiration for gadgets from the ’80s, with their bold designs and enduring build quality, posing for durability and uniqueness. These practices remind us of a time when things were built to last and designed with character; Reminders of an era when specialisation and mastery were prioritised.
With nearly everything within reach now, some of that instinct to preserve and cherish is fading. Today, there’s a desire for more, for convenience and speed, which is not inherently bad as such. In a way, this shift indeed has transformed the paradigm, sometimes even erasing the specialised roles and crafts that once defined communities and livelihoods across caste or colour lines.
However, this constant drive can make us overlook the beauty of carefully honed craftsmanship.
Recently, in conversations with friends, we reflected on the surge of delivery services in urban cities of developing nations. Unfortunately, these regions often have migrated workforce willing to work long hours for lower wages, saving up little by little(which although profounds to a deep socio-economic imbalance problem). Keeping aside the right or wrong debate, personally there is also an additional unsettling realisation in recognising the systems we’re creating. Apps like Amazon, BlinkIt, Zomato, Swiggy, and Myntra offer undeniable convenience, and I, too, rely on them but lately has been disturbing. Almost a regret each time I order something, especially when I see the person delivering to me at doorstep for trivial items. Just yesterday, exhausted after a day of moving at my cousin’s, we placed a few orders that arrived almost instantly within minutes. It was a relief in that moment but came at the cost of someone’s rushed effort to satisfy my immediate need. Eventually, bots may take over some of these roles, but the cycle of creating, replacing, and discarding will continue—leaving a trail of wasted resources, forgotten skills and further deepening economic divides.
While composing this post, I am also coming to realise how, in the name of preservation, we often fought and resist welcoming others, allowing them to access, sometimes pushing immigrants into exploitative conditions—as seen in conflicts like Israel and Palestine and even in our own country before the invasion.
There’s a silver line between protecting what we hold dear and welcoming others the opportunity to share in its benefits.
As I grow older, the notion of a one-stop solution also feels less appealing. When everything is bundled into a single, convenient option, my choices can start to feel automated, dictated by someone else’s priorities. Its helpful at times but I am beginning to consciously avoid it. I like to prefer products and services that excel in one thing and improve on that singular purpose. Whether it’s speakers I can disassemble and repair myself or software designed for a specific task, I am starting to value products built to last and serve well. This doesn’t apply in all fields and indeed comes at the cost of time, but I think there is some form of integrity in specialised products that an all-encompassing solution often lacks.
I keep returning to these ideas because they remind me of the value in slowing down—of savouring what we have rather than rushing toward the next upgrade. While fast-paced convenience has its place, there’s a quiet strength in preserving what’s essential, and in crafting a life. Slowing down brings a sense of clarity, offering a feeling of control, even if true free will is elusive.
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