The first time I witnessed ‘night life’ was in Bangalore. I was passing by late one evening when a group of young people walked past me; laughing loudly, a little unsteady, and clearly stepping out after a long night. What struck me was not the scene itself, but how normal it seemed. There was no sense of disruption or novelty; it felt almost routine, like this was how evenings were meant to end.
That moment stayed with me because it made me think less about nightlife and more about rest. About how young people are expected to unwind, and how certain forms of relaxation have become more visible, acceptable, and recognisable than others. Pub culture, especially in urban spaces, is one such form. For many, it offers relief, social connection, and a pause from demanding schedules. It creates a clear boundary between work and leisure, which can be comforting in lives that otherwise blur the two.
To understand why this culture feels so widespread, it helps to look at the broader structure we live within. Capitalism, by design, thrives on productivity, competition, and constant comparison. Work is rarely allowed to remain just work; it becomes identity, worth, and measure. This logic does not stop at offices. It enters classrooms, campuses, and even student lives. Grades compete with grades, résumés with résumés, achievements with achievements. Being busy becomes a virtue, and being exhausted becomes a badge of sincerity.
In such a system, stress is not an accident, it is expected. And when stress is normalised, recovery from it also becomes systematised. Rest is no longer something organic or personal; it is scheduled, packaged, and socially approved. Even unwinding begins to follow a script. There are acceptable ways to relax, acceptable spaces to do it, and acceptable timelines within which it should happen (preferably quickly) so one can return to being productive.
This does not mean that people who participate in these cultures are passive or unaware. Often, they are simply making the best choices available to them. Loud social spaces offer immediate relief. They demand little introspection and provide instant distraction, which can feel necessary after prolonged pressure. In that sense, such forms of unwinding are not shallow. Instead, they are practical responses to a system that leaves little room for slowness.
This logic quietly operates among students too. Competition is introduced early, normalised quickly, and rarely questioned. After intense academic periods, collective celebrations or social gatherings are often presented as the natural release. For many students, this works well. For others, rest may look quieter, slower, or more solitary. But these forms are less visible, less celebrated, and therefore easier to dismiss as insufficient.
What is worth reflecting on is not whether one way of resting is better than another, but how limited our imagination of rest has become. When a system dictates not only how we work and compete, but also how we are allowed to recover, something deeply personal is quietly standardised.
That night did not leave me with criticism so much as curiosity. It felt like a small window into a larger pattern in which young people navigate pressure using the tools made most accessible to them. Perhaps the gentlest thing we can do is to recognise this, and allow ourselves (and each other) the freedom to rest in ways that are not always loud, visible, or efficient.
— Edited by Lakshmi Yazhini | Design by Surabhi Chhikara
Article 19 