Battery 0% - By Divya Iyer

Written By: Divya Iyer

Category: Essay

Competition: Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the engaging essay titled "Battery 0%" by Divya Iyer, readers are invited to explore the intricate theme of decision fatigue. Part of the Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, this essay captures the exhaustion that stems from the mundane decisions of everyday life. With a unique perspective and a humorous undertone, Divya Iyer brings to light the struggle of balancing family dynamics and personal weariness.

About the Work

"Battery 0%" delves into the relentless cycle of decision-making in a typical day, using vivid imagery and humor to portray the protagonist's diminishing mental resources. The piece resonates with anyone who has felt overwhelmed by choices, capturing the essence of modern life's mental exhaustion. Through its relatable narrative and witty tone, the essay highlights the subtle yet profound impact of routine decisions on our well-being.

Battery 0%

Original Submission by Divya Iyer

Battery: 0%

Decision fatigue does not knock. It seeps in. One tiny choice at a time, until you are a shell who cannot pick between the pillow and the cushion. Here is how it actually happens.

7:15 AM, Battery: 100%

You wake up fresh. Optimistic. Foolish enough to believe today will be different. The house help wants to know what to cook. You suggest dal. She reminds you that yesterday was dal. You suggest rajma. The rajma needed soaking that did not happen. You suggest paneer. The paneer has been in the fridge long enough to file its own taxes. You finally land on a vegetable you are not sure you have ever voluntarily eaten. You commit to it. You have just built an entire culinary identity around a vegetable you barely recognize. The day has barely started and you are already performing identity theft on yourself.

8:30 AM, Battery: 85%

The child emerges with two shirts. One has a stain that could be ketchup or could be a crime scene. One is the wrong shade of blue, which is apparently a constitutional crisis. You pick one. The child asks why. You do not know why. You picked it because the universe is chaos and someone had to end the standoff. The child then wants help choosing between two water bottles. One has a superior straw. One matches the bag. One leaks but looks better. You are now a product review website for an eleven-year-old, except product review websites get to sleep.

Then the husband calls out from the other room. Black shoes or brown? You say black. He explains that brown is more comfortable. You say brown. He explains that black looks better for the client meeting. You say black. He says, "Actually, I think I will wear sneakers." You realize he never wanted a decision. He wanted a witness to his independence. Your brain was the whiteboard. He was always going to wear the sneakers.

9:45 AM, Battery: 60%

You sit in the cab. The driver wants to know which route. You hired him precisely so you would not have to know the route. That was the entire transaction, the founding principle of the arrangement. But now you are a human GPS with a dying battery. You suggest left. He takes right. You do not correct him because correcting him would require a whole new decision tree about politeness versus firmness, and you are already running a deficit. Then he takes a U-turn where no U-turn exists. A traffic cop materializes. Now you are also deciding whether to cry or to flee, and whether crying counts as a valid legal defence.

11:00 AM, Battery: 45%

The boss wants to know whether the numbers should be conservative or aggressive. You say conservative. He says aggressive shows confidence. You say aggressive. He says conservative is safer. He says, "Can you draft both and I will decide?" You have just doubled your workload to avoid one decision. You draft both. He picks the third option nobody proposed, which you will now also have to draft.

1:30 PM, Battery: 30%

Lunch break. You open the food app. It asks whether you want healthy, comfort, quick, or indulgent. You do not know who you are anymore. Are you a salad person? Are you a person who needs chole bhature to survive? Are you being virtuous or are you giving up? A simple lunch has become an existential question. You scroll for twenty minutes. The app sends a notification: "Still deciding?" You feel personally mocked by artificial intelligence. You close the app and eat a biscuit from your bag. It has been there since the last financial year. You do not even check the expiry date. You have chosen chaos, and honestly, it tastes fine.

Then your mother calls. She wants to know whether to buy a maroon saree or a magenta one. You say maroon. She says, "But in 2007, you told me I look fat in maroon." You freeze. You were 16 years old in 2007. You had just discovered that opinions were free and you were using them like a toddler uses a marker: everywhere, without supervision. But that one careless sentence has been filed away for two decades. It is now Article 47 of the family constitution. You want to argue that you were basically a child whose only worry in life was passing the Board exams. But you are too tired. You pick magenta. Apparently, magenta makes her look like a wedding decoration. You pick maroon. She brings up 2007 again. You consider changing your name and moving to a different continent.

3:00 PM, Battery: 18%

Then the mother-in-law calls. She wants help fixing an alliance for a cousin's son. Bangalore girl or Chennai girl? You have not met either. You have no context. You are a Chartered Accountant, which apparently makes you a part-time matchmaker. You pick Bangalore. The Chennai girl is fairer. You pick Chennai. The Bangalore girl earns more. You suggest he stay single. She says, "Don't say that, God is listening." Now God is also on the decision-making committee, and you are pretty sure He is not taking your side.

5:30 PM, Battery: 9%

The school WhatsApp group erupts over a teacher's gift. You suggest a mug. Three mothers reply with crying emojis. You suggest a photo frame. Someone declares frames cliché. You suggest cash. The admin says cash is tacky. You suggest a vote. Now you are running a democratic process for a three-hundred-rupee gift. You mute the group. Muting is the only decision you have made all day that does not immediately spawn a sequel.

7:00 PM, Battery: 4%

You reach home. The child asks, "Maggi or pasta?" You say pasta. The child explains that Maggi is faster. You say Maggi. The child explains that pasta is healthier. You open the refrigerator and stare into the light. The refrigerator stares back. It is empty. It is the most decisive thing in the room. You close it, and in that small darkness, you envy an appliance.

9:30 PM, Battery: 1%

Then the husband asks what to watch. You say anything. He says anything is not a genre. He suggests a thriller. Too much noise. He suggests a comedy. Too much learning. You say, "No, you pick." You both sit in silence for twelve minutes while the streaming logo pulses on the screen like a heartbeat monitor for your mutual failure.

10:30 PM, Battery: 0%

You lie in bed. The lights are on. Your husband asks, "Should I switch them off?" You do not answer. You cannot. You are not being difficult. You are not being dramatic. Decision fatigue has emptied you out completely. You are a human body with no operating system, a phone on one percent that has stopped showing the percentage. What would be the point.

But here is the part the battery indicator never shows: at 10:47 PM, someone climbs into the bed beside you. The eleven-year-old, who has conducted his own daily audit of two thousand decisions, wordlessly folds himself into the curve of your side, the way he has since he was small, as if your body were a country whose visa he never needs. No decision required. No options presented. He simply arrives, and you simply receive, and for once the entire transaction runs without you choosing anything at all.

And somewhere in the dark, a hand finds your hand, his father's, across the bed, the same man who keynote-addressed you about footwear that morning, and there it is, the day's one act of wireless charging, conducted in total silence, at zero bars.

Tomorrow, the house help will ask what to cook. The child will hold up two shirts. The husband will deliver another keynote on footwear. The mother will find a new colour to prosecute you with, and your battery will start draining the moment your eyes open.

But that is tomorrow's problem. Tonight, you are closed. Shut down. Out of service. The decision centre of your brain has gone on strike!

Sleep is the only executive decision left. You take it. Unanimously.

About the Competition

The Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar celebrates diverse voices and creative expressions. It offers a platform for writers to showcase their unique perspectives through poetry, essays, and creative writing. The competition is a testament to the richness of contemporary literature and the power of storytelling.

We extend heartfelt thanks to Divya Iyer for sharing "Battery 0%" with us as part of the Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her insightful portrayal of everyday decision fatigue offers readers both comfort and reflection. We look forward to seeing more of her thought-provoking work in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.