There is a haunting beauty in the line, “Maut ka jab ek din moyateen hai, fir mujhe neend kyon nahi aati?” If death is inevitable, then what keeps us awake all night?
It raises a profound question about the nature of human anxiety. If death is inevitable, and its moment already determined, then what keeps us awake all night? What is it that unsettles the mind when the body yearns for rest?
The answer lies not in death, but in life’s uncertainties—the what-ifs, regrets, unfinished conversations, and silent hopes. We lose sleep not because we doubt death’s certainty, but because we feel the weight of living.
Each night the world grows quieter. The bustle fades, lights dim, and our bodies whisper, “It’s time to rest.” Sleep is not just absence of wakefulness—it’s a gentle friend, wrapping us in comfort and carrying us elsewhere.
In youth, sleep arrived uninvited. As children, our heads touched the pillow and dreams claimed us. We woke fresh, refilled from head to toe. But as years pass, sleep grows shy—sometimes knocking softly, other times slipping away when we turn restlessly.
Once, sleep was salvation—a balm for tired limbs, an escape from troubled thoughts. If we couldn’t sleep, we knew something was wrong. We would listen to our bodies. We surrendered to sleep as naturally as breathing, as reliably as sunrise.
Now, sleep feels like a goal we chase, a luxury we schedule, a test we fail. We lie exhausted yet awake, bodies still but minds ablaze—scrolling, reminiscing, planning, regretting. Bedrooms, once sanctuaries, hum with smartphones and flickering screens. Nights, once for winding down, now burst with stimulation—one more show, one last message, another peek at someone else’s life.
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Today, sleep must be curated: herbal teas, melatonin, blackout curtains, custom pillows. We track REM cycles and wake to statistics on our rest. Sleep has shifted from surrender to strategy—an elaborate production replacing something once simple.
Why has something so primal turned elusive? Because our minds are overstimulated and under rested. We don’t wind down; we crash. Even then, we hover between wakefulness and true rest, waking tired, tense, foggy.
Rest is now tied to productivity: “Did I sleep enough to perform tomorrow?” We no longer sleep to restore—we sleep to compete. Sleep has become preparation for output, not a reward for survival.
Worse, the imbalance runs both ways—too little sleep for some, too much for others. In India, long work hours, traffic stress and digital overuse make oversleeping seem like well-being. But chronic oversleeping—more than nine or ten hours—links to heart disease, depression, obesity, diabetes, even memory issues. The over-snoozers aren’t spared either.
Oversleeping strains the heart—already vulnerable in a country where cardiovascular disease is a leading killer. Mental health suffers too: depression and fatigue feed each other. It can disrupt hunger and metabolism hormones, leading to weight gain. Combined with sedentary lifestyles and carb-heavy diets, it increases diabetes risk, especially for seniors.
Physically, long hours in bed—often on unsupportive mattresses—can cause back and neck pain. Doctors frequently trace chronic stiffness to poor sleep posture.
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Why this imbalance? For some, it’s a habit: irregular schedules, binge-watching and digital addiction. For others, it’s deeper—depression, side effects of medication, undiagnosed disorders like sleep apnoea. Modern life’s constant noise—notifications, deadlines, social media—pulls us from the quiet we crave.
Culturally, rest is undervalued, often equated with laziness. Students, workers, even retirees feel pressure to always “do.” We’ve forgotten that doing nothing—resting, napping—is not a weakness, but a necessity.
And yet, hope remains. Sometimes sleep returns unbidden—a rainy afternoon, a power outage, a holiday with no agenda. In these rare moments, we remember falling asleep without effort. No gadgets, trackers, or supplements—just body and mind yielding to stillness.
Sleep hasn’t forgotten us—we’ve forgotten how to welcome it. We ignore yawns, replace sunsets with screens, and trade slow evenings for fast content. We forget that rest is the soil from which life grows.
Where has sleep gone?
It hides behind noise, to-do lists, glowing screens, fear of missing out. We didn’t lose sleep in a night—we lost it bit by bit through anxious thoughts, restless minds, and stiff bodies.
We can find it again—not by forcing, but by allowing. Trusting our bodies. Respecting the night. Accepting that rest is the foundation of work.
Dim the lights. Silence the phone. Breathe deeply. Remember what our ancestors knew: sleep is sacred. It begins not with effort, but surrender. Encourage it with a soft lamp, calming music, warm milk, or a few pages of a beloved book. Let your mind slow, thoughts drifting like falling leaves.
Many seniors carry heavy memories into their nights. Welcome sleep helps set them gently aside until morning. It reminds us that no matter our age, the mind can still wander like a child in dreamlands.
Come, gentle friend, and take my hand,
Lead me to that quiet land,
Where worries fade, and hearts are light,
And morning waits beyond the night.
We’ve walked through decades, you and I,
Through youthful dawns and sunsets shy,
Stay near me now, for I have earned,
The peace for which my heart has yearned.
