Attention-verse
In the heart of Berlin, amidst the relentless hustle of city life, Arjun navigated his world in a perpetual state of distraction
A software engineer by profession, he was a man of his times — tethered to devices, constantly bombarded by notifications, and a slave to social media’s incessant demands. His days blurred into a digital haze, scrolling through controversial comments posted by faceless people, punctuated by fleeting moments of online interactions and superficial engagements.
At 32, Arjun’s life was a paradox. He held a well-paying job at a prestigious tech firm, yet he felt an undercurrent of inefficiency and ineffectiveness. His potential was vast, but his attention was fragmented, scattered across countless browsers, tabs, apps and feeds.
Mornings were spent in a caffeine-fueled rush to catch up with emails and messages; work hours dissolved into a cycle of productivity hampered by digital interruptions. Evenings brought no respite, as Arjun’s phone became an extension of his hand, mindlessly scrolling through reels that left him feeling more disconnected than ever.
A realization that life was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand hit him hard one evening. As he sat in his dimly lit apartment, the glow of the screen illuminating his face, Arjun sensed profound emptiness. He had been watching a documentary on YouTube about an athlete who had completed a triathlon in Antarctica. It was a gripping tale of human perseverance against nature. Yet, Arjun could not watch the piece in one sitting. It was damning. He had become so habituated to watching reels and shorts on his phone that a gripping ninety-minute documentary proved too daunting.
“Is my attention span less than a minute?” he lamented silently to himself.
Arjun yearned for a change, for a way to reclaim his mind from the clutches of the digital world.
He flirted briefly with the idea of going away to a digital detox retreat. It seemed like a good idea. Exactly the kind of “take charge” attitude that was required to dig himself out of this digital hole he had dug for himself.
Soon thereafter, his mind went on a tangent.
“Digital detox, hmmm. How about a Yoga retreat?” he thought.
“But which one? And where?”
“Europe would be easier,” the mind continued. “But, India may be more classic for this sort of thing”
“Perhaps a meditation retreat made more sense,” his mind was now racing.
Arjun had heard about Vipassana meditation from a friend. Suddenly that seemed appealing. Soon thereafter Arjun found himself back on YouTube scouting meditation centers in India.
Remote locations, exotic locations. Shortly thereafter, he found himself focusing on the location more than the retreat.
“What else could I do while I am on my retreat?” he wondered.
“Maybe go on a hike in the Himalayas”.
“But, the food looks more interesting in the South”.
“The Jungles in the South are so lush,” Arjun’s mind had gone totally haywire.
“Is there a wildlife sanctuary nearby I could squeeze into my trip?”
“Wait, is this a trip or a retreat?” he checked himself.
Briefly.
“Hmmm, too many thoughts,” Arjun was naturally overwhelmed.
In the end, Arjun dropped his pursuit entirely. What followed was more digital dope.
Detox will have to wait.
He spent the next two hours zooming in on the fertile plains of North India on Google Earth. The futility of that exercise spoke for itself. After all, Arjun was born and raised in that part of India. Eventually, he picked himself, shut the laptop lid and left his apartment for a walk. He needed some air.
Arjun’s thoughts buzzed like bees in a swarm. Although each bee may do its own thing, the swarm moves with purpose. Arjun’s mind lacked that linearity. Naturally, he found it extremely difficult to pursue any idea long enough to turn it into reality. He was beginning to understand what people refer to as the “monkey mind.” His mind, he reckoned, was not just any ordinary monkey — it was a monkey on psychedelics.
It was that bad. Really.
The crisp Berlin night air calmed the tsunami of thoughts in his head. But not for long. Soon enough he was back at it, up past midnight, his eyes glued to the dim glow of his phone, endlessly scrolling through reels featuring breathtaking sunrises. This digital imitation, though mesmerizing, was a poor substitute for the real, vibrant hues of dawn that he routinely missed each morning. Equally ironic was his habit of lounging on a worn-out couch, engrossed in old re-runs of MasterChef on YouTube while he mindlessly nibbled on calorie-laden takeaway meals.
Days, weeks and months passed.
Arjun’s digital addiction only deepened. The harder he tried, the more he failed, and depression began to take hold. Watching videos about depression on YouTube became his only form of solace. His life was marked by a stark asymmetry: it was all input and no output. Despite consuming content on a wide array of topics, there was no tangible output. The information swirled in his mind like a cyclone, creating chaos rather than clarity. This phenomenon, the endless intake without meaningful output, is a dilemma many of us face today, isn’t it?
Born in the early nineties, Arjun had experienced a childhood and adolescence that, by today’s standards, seemed almost akin to that of a caveman. The first two decades of his life were untouched by the omnipresent glare of smartphones and the ceaseless chatter of the internet. Those were simpler times, where joy was found in direct, tangible experiences rather than through the vicarious pleasures of a digital screen.
The world then was more immediate, more real, and he was an active participant in it, not just a passive observer. This stark contrast only served to deepen his sense of loss, a yearning for a time when life felt more authentic and his connections more genuine.
Arjun stood at a crossroads. How could he reclaim the lost essence of his attentive self, when his mind, now habituated to constant distraction, seemed incapable of focusing on the very concept of attention? Was this a battle already lost, or could the scattered fragments of his focus be gathered and restored?”
Arjun had become a slave to the algorithms of social media. Being a software professional himself, he knew what ailed him far too well. But he was powerless. An yearning to reclaim his attention intensified with each passing day.
After work one evening, Arjun forcefully closed his laptop lid and, unusually, left his apartment before sunset — typically, the sun set before he did. Moreover, he chose to leave his phone behind.
He then strolled aimlessly, his mind bombarded with a ceaseless cascade of thoughts and his neurons firing chaotically. Arjun didn’t like this barrage of thoughts. It was overwhelming. Unfortunately, or fortunately, he had no choice. His hand would sink into his pockets intermittently, searching for his phone he had left behind. He was both sad and glad that he did.
Eventually, thoughts subsided. The tsunami had blown over, as tsunamis inevitably do. So long as you don’t get swept away, you will see they are ephemeral, much like everything else around us.
Arjun knew this. He had always known this. An Indian is always familiar with this one saying: sab moh maya hai.
What does that mean?
Everything is Maya, meaning it’s an illusion, including thoughts. Unlike consciousness, anything that comes and goes, like thoughts, is temporary and not real.
As Arjun felt lighter and his mind calmed, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the crisp Berlin sky in splatters of orange and yellow. It was a welcome change for Arjun to witness a real sunset as opposed to a reel sunset.
Arjun continued walking aimlessly, meandering through unknown streets. For once, he followed his heart instead of Google Maps, attuning his ears to birdsong rather than the pointless drivel of podcasters on YouTube or Spotify. A sense of calm began to emerge from the shadows of perpetual anxiety.
In a short while, Arjun came across a quaint little café named Atman Café. Naturally, the name Atman caught Arjun’s attention. In Indian traditions, Atman refers to our true nature beyond the illusion of materiality. He peeked in through one of the windows to find an old man dressed in a saffron robe, minding the counter.
“He must be Indian,” Arjun wondered. “Well, or Nepali”.
“Or Tibetan”.
“Oh, mind, pause. We can go in and just ask the man,” Arjun checked himself.
The Atman Café was run by an elderly Yogi from India. He welcomed Arjun with a gentle smile. The aroma of ginger and cardamom lingered in the air. It was probably from the tea that the Yogi was sipping.
Arjun instantly felt at home. He ordered a cup of tea for himself.
“Indian chai?” the Yogi asked.
“Same as what you are having, Swami ji.”
The café’s shelves were filled with an eclectic mix of books, ranging from ancient philosophy to modern self-help. While browsing, Arjun found himself repeatedly looking over at the Yogi, sensing an indescribable energy about him. Noticing Arjun’s curiosity, the Yogi, with a gentle smile, pointed him towards a small, unassuming book hidden in a corner.
“This might offer you what you seek,” the Yogi said.
The book, lacking a title and author’s name, featured only a plain leather cover, warm to the touch. Arjun, both intrigued and skeptical, discovered the pages were blank, deepening the mystery. The Yogi then suggested Arjun take the book home.
“But what am I looking at here?” Arjun enquired politely.
“An adventure, my boy!”, replied the Yogi.
Though confused, Arjun put the book in his bag, pondering the indescribable feeling once more.
Arjun’s tea arrived next. As he sipped, they engaged in light small talk — just cricket and politics, nothing profound. Arjun ended the visit with a customary “Namaste” and left the café.
Arjun got up before sunrise the following morning. His intention was noble. He glanced at the checklist he had prepared before going to sleep last night —
(i) meditate
(ii) run
(iii) breakfast
(iv) commute to work
Unfortunately, his intention was overpowered by addiction. Arjun opted to stay in bed, twisting and turning, scrolling through reels and shorts, nibbling on cookies, filling his mind and body with junk.
Nevertheless, Arjun managed to reach the office before his colleagues. As he waited for his laptop to boot up, he remembered the book from last evening. He plucked it out of his bag and flicked it open.
To his astonishment, the blank pages now swirled with words, forming sentences that, upon close examination, seemed to narrate a life strikingly similar to his.
It was his life, or rather, a version of it.
It was impossible for Arjun to put the book down. It was 9 o’clock. His colleagues started trickling into the office. They waved hello but Arjun remained engrossed in the book.
A feeling dawned upon him. It was the same feeling he had last evening in the café — indescribable and intense, yet something he could not let go. It was a rush. It was a chase.
The story in the book seemed palpably real. It was Arjun’s story with minor details altered. The more he read, more he went into a state that felt like trance. Eventually, lights faded, physicality disappeared and he was gone.
But, where did he go?
This was no ordinary book. Arjun was spellbound, unable to set it aside, and return to his daily routine. A dizzying sensation overwhelmed him, yet he yearned for more. Suddenly, everything faded to black, as if he were being drawn into a void.
Arjun had little clue of the world he had entered — a world that bore a striking resemblance to his own, with one significant exception. He would come to realize this distinction in due time.
Upon arriving in this new reality, Arjun’s earliest memory was of him coding on his laptop. The transition had been seamless, yet something felt unmistakably off. Initially, he couldn’t pinpoint the change. The book, now forgotten in his backpack, had momentarily slipped from the radar of his mind. The office appeared subtly different — less cluttered, more efficient. The environment seemed quieter. Even his laptop seemed as though it had been freshly rebooted.
“Did I reboot?” he pondered, his thoughts interrupted by a growing need for coffee. The small canteen his office which normally buzzed caffeine infused chit chat was eerily quiet.
Life in this alternate universe unfolded much as it always had for Arjun: work, home, attempts at productivity, inevitable surrender to social media, and sleep beside the glow of his laptop. Yet, an inexplicable sense of dissonance lingered. He felt as though he was overlooking something crucial, but time pressed on relentlessly.
A critical juncture arrived with the end of the month — the eagerly awaited payday. Arjun’s anticipation turned to shock when he discovered his paycheck was halved.
“Something’s not right,” he mused, suspecting an accounting mishap. Examining his payslip, one particular entry caught his eye:
Attention Tax.
A realization struck him like a wave of cold panic. He remembered the book from the office, the abrupt shift in reality. He scrambled to locate his backpack and the book from the Yogi at the café. To his dismay, the pages were once again blank.
Despite the initial panic, Arjun acknowledged the peculiarity of his situation without perceiving it as a direct threat. The only tangible change was his diminished paycheck, slashed by the so-called “Attention Tax.”
Curious, he turned to Google, which, unsurprisingly, dominated this universe’s search engines. Some things transcend dimensions. The search results defined the Attention Tax as a levy on income, deducted for lapses in attention, time spent on social media, and minor distractions.
“Is this some kind of practical joke?” Arjun felt a brief numbness, the reality of his situation slowly sinking in. It was difficult to accept the possibility of having transitioned to an alternate dimension, a parallel reality.
“Is this a dream?” he wondered.
But he could not wake up. No matter how hard he pinched himself.
The book became an object of fixation. Over the coming days, he opened it repeatedly, only to be met with blank pages each time.
“The book has to do something with all of this,” he ruminated, convinced of its connection to his circumstances. One thing was clear as day — he had been reading the book, totally immersed in it. It was pure flow. He recalled reading about a life in the book that resembled his own with minor alterations.
He could see the dots. Now, it was time to connect them.
As Arjun grappled with the revelation of the “Attention Tax,” his quest for certainty led him to delve deeper into the fabric of this parallel universe. This exploration triggered a sequence of transformative events. The casual mentions of paying attention as a societal duty by colleagues and strangers alike only served to deepen his intrigue and confusion. When one colleague bemoaned a “low attention balance” jeopardizing his vacation plans, it highlighted the profound differences between Arjun’s original world and his current reality. Extensive online research unearthed forums and support groups dedicated to mastering attention management. Articles chronicled the Attention Economy’s evolution, depicting a society where mental focus underpinned productivity and financial success. Governments, it appeared, had enacted the Attention Tax as a measure against the rampant distractions, placing a premium on sustained concentration for the nation’s economic health and wellbeing.
Intrigued by these discoveries, Arjun stumbled upon a groundbreaking aspect of this world’s societal structure: the Attention Worthiness Score (AWS). This metric, analogous to credit scores in his home universe, was pivotal in shaping an individual’s life. The AWS was a comprehensive measure of a person’s ability to maintain focus and utilize their attention efficiently. It influenced a wide array of opportunities, from employment prospects to educational access, and even social standings. Employers sought candidates with high AWS for roles demanding intense concentration and creativity, viewing it as a predictor of performance and innovation. Educational institutions offered scholarships to students demonstrating exceptional attention management, fostering a generation adept at navigating the challenges of the Attention Economy. Socially, a high AWS became a badge of honor, opening doors to exclusive events and circles where deep, meaningful interactions were the norm. This revelation about the AWS added another layer to Arjun’s understanding of this world, underscoring the value of attention not just as a personal resource but as a societal currency that determined one’s path in life.
Although Arjun found himself dismayed by these discoveries, he wasn’t immediately threatened. The fundamental aspects of life remained unchanged; it was the valuation of attention that had shifted dramatically. However, as days passed, the gravity of his predicament became apparent. His digital addiction, a mere hindrance in his original world, now threatened his very survival. Without the currency of attention, Arjun struggled to meet his basic needs and faced mounting social and professional challenges.
Determined to find a way back to his version of reality, Arjun sought out the mysterious bookstore in Berlin where his journey began. In this alternate reality, Berlin was still Berlin with its wall, TV tower, quaint streets and nightclubs.
“The bookstore run by the Yogi must exist in this world too,” Arjun pondered.
“Maybe I could get some answers there.”
Indeed, the cozy bookstore existed in this universe as well, and within it, Arjun found the Yogi who had unknowingly initiated his transformative journey.
The Yogi greeted Arjun with a warm smile. It was as though he was waiting for Arjun.
“Took you longer I thought,” he said to Arjun gently.
“I have so many questions,” Arjun blurted impatiently. “I am losing my mind Swami ji”.
“Patience, my boy,” replied the Yogi. “Why don’t we start with some tea?”
Over tea, their conversation unfolded over hours, touching on the nature of attention and the mind. The Yogi confirmed that Arjun had indeed transcended into another dimension. He reassured Arjun that there was indeed a way back. But, first you must reclaim your mind from the clutches of addictions that plague you.
The Yogi spoke of attention as not just a currency but a pathway to enlightenment and inner peace. He explained how the mind, when disciplined, could unlock levels of consciousness far beyond the distractions of the digital age.
Inspired, Arjun embarked on a personal quest to reclaim his attention. He practiced mindfulness, gradually reducing his reliance on digital devices. He learned to meditate, finding solace in the stillness that had once eluded him. This was not an easy journey; it demanded patience, discipline, and a willingness to confront the discomfort of withdrawal.
As Arjun’s mastery over his attention grew, so too did his sense of harmony with the world around him. Then, one day, as he achieved a state of deep meditation, he found himself enveloped by the same dizzying sensation that had marked his arrival in the alternate universe.
He awoke in his own bed, the familiar hum of the city greeting his ears. The book lay beside him, its pages filled with the wisdom of the Yogi and the lessons of the alternate universe. Arjun realized that his journey had been a gift, a chance to confront and overcome the chains of digital addiction.
He was back in the world where we belonged.
In the days that followed, Arjun applied the principles he had learned about attention and mindfulness to his life. His relationships deepened, his work flourished, and the digital devices that had once dominated his existence now served as tools rather than masters.
Arjun’s journey through the alternate universe of the Attention-Verse served as a profound wake-up call. It illustrated not only the dangers of unchecked digital consumption but also the transformative power of mindfulness and disciplined attention. Through his struggles and eventual triumph, Arjun’s story offers a hopeful message about the potential for personal growth and the reclaiming of our most precious resource: our attention.
