The Last Generation Who Remembered Silence - By Saishriya Satapathy

Written By: Saishriya Satapathy

Category: Essay

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In her poignant essay titled "The Last Generation Who Remembered Silence," Saishriya Satapathy reflects on the serene and often overlooked moments of quietude from childhood, drawing a stark contrast to today's constantly connected world. Featured in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, this essay explores how technology influences our perception of silence and presence. Through vivid recollections and introspective musings, Saishriya invites readers to ponder the essence of genuine connection and the value of being truly present.

About the Work

Saishriya Satapathy's essay beautifully captures the essence of silence, not just as the absence of sound, but as a profound state of being. Her narrative is rich with imagery of childhood evenings filled with the natural symphony of crickets and the simplicity of family gatherings. The essay reflects on the modern tendency to fill every quiet moment with digital noise, prompting a thoughtful examination of how we engage with technology and the world around us.

The Last Generation Who Remembered Silence

Original Submission by Saishriya Satapathy

The Last Generation Who Remembered Silence

The loudest sound I remember from my childhood was the chirping of crickets outside my window at night. When the sun slowly disappeared behind the buildings, a cool breeze would carry the smell of wet soil after my grandmother watered the plants. My friends and I played outside until we could barely see the ball anymore. After dinner, my family would sit together on the balcony. Sometimes we laughed and shared stories, braided each other’s hair and sometimes we simply watched the sky turn darker. No one felt the need to fill every moment with words. We never called it silence. It was simply part of everyday life.

I remember one evening when my grandmother was watering the plants and my friends were calling me from downstairs to come and play. The television was off, nobody was checking a phone, and the only sounds were the water falling onto the soil and the crickets beginning their evening chorus. At the time, I never thought there was anything special about that moment.

When I think about those evenings now, I realise they were full of small sounds that often go unnoticed. The ticking of the wall clock, birds returning to their nests, leaves moving gently in the wind, and neighbours chatting from their balconies. We were not constantly thinking about what came next. If someone was telling a story, we listened until it ended. If there was nothing to say, nobody felt uncomfortable. Looking back, I think that was one of the first things silence taught me. Not every moment needs to be filled.

Now, when I wake up, the first light I see is often the light from my phone. Before I have even stepped out of bed, I already know who has messaged me, what someone posted overnight, and what I am expected to respond to. The day begins before I have had a moment to myself.

Most mornings begin with a phone alarm instead of birds singing outside the window. Before we even get out of bed, we check messages, social media, and notifications. Every app wants our attention. Sometimes I open my phone just to reply to one message. Then I notice another notification, open another app, watch one video, and suddenly twenty or thirty minutes have disappeared. Nothing important happened during that time, yet I still find myself reaching for the phone again. Somewhere between all those notifications, we forgot what real quiet felt like.

I am not saying technology is bad. In fact, it has made life much easier. I use it every day for studying, talking to my friends, and learning new things. But sometimes I wonder if we are using technology wisely or simply letting it use us. The strange thing is that nobody is forcing us to keep looking. We do it ourselves. We reach for our phones when we are waiting, when we are bored, when a conversation becomes quiet, and sometimes even when nothing is wrong. We have become so used to constant stimulation that a quiet moment can feel strangely uncomfortable.

I noticed this recently when I was sitting in a café. At the table next to mine, a family of four had just received their food. The parents were looking at their phones while the children watched something on a screen. For several minutes, nobody spoke. The food was getting cold, but everyone seemed more interested in what was happening on a different screen. What stayed with me was not the silence itself, but the fact that they were sitting together without actually being together.

Perhaps that is the kind of silence we are creating today. Not peaceful silence, but the silence that appears when everyone is physically present and mentally somewhere else.

Friends meet after weeks, take a few pictures together, upload them, and then quietly return to scrolling. We are so busy showing people that we are happy that we forget to actually enjoy the moment. Silence is often mistaken for boredom, but I do not think it is boring at all.

There are days when I leave my phone in another room while I study, and at first I keep thinking about checking it. After a while, however, my mind becomes quieter. I notice the sounds outside my window, I concentrate better, and sometimes an idea comes to me that I would probably have missed if I had been constantly checking a screen. Quiet moments give our minds a chance to rest. They help us think clearly and notice things that are easy to miss when life is always noisy.

I sometimes wonder whether children in the future will know the kind of boredom that once sent us running outside. I remember lying on the grass and finding shapes in the clouds simply because there was nothing else demanding my attention. That kind of boredom was not empty. It gave us room to imagine.

To me, silence is not just about sound. It is about a way of living. It means giving someone your full attention instead of thinking about the next notification. It means being able to sit alone without immediately reaching for a screen. It means allowing a thought to finish before replacing it with another piece of information. In a world that constantly asks for our attention, silence may simply be the choice to give our attention to one thing at a time.

I do not believe we should give up technology or go back to the past. The world has changed, and many of those changes have made our lives better. I have started to realise that protecting silence does not require giving up technology. Sometimes it means leaving my phone outside the room while I eat. Sometimes it means walking without listening to anything. Sometimes it means sitting near the window for a few minutes without feeling the need to photograph the view or share it with someone.

These moments may seem insignificant, but perhaps that is exactly why they matter. They remind us that not everything valuable has to be recorded, shared, liked, or turned into something for other people to see.

We often think that protecting the future means creating something new. Better technology, faster systems, smarter machines. Perhaps it also means protecting the things that technology cannot replace. Attention, imagination, conversation, patience, and the ability to sit quietly with our own thoughts. Before we change the world around us, perhaps we should make sure we do not lose the parts of ourselves that make the world worth living in.

Sometimes, when I put my phone away at night, I can still remember those evenings from my childhood. The balcony would grow darker, the smell of wet soil would linger in the air, and somewhere outside, the crickets would begin to sing. Nobody was trying to capture the moment. Nobody was waiting for a notification. We were simply there.

Perhaps that is what I am afraid of losing. Not silence itself, but the ability to be completely present inside it.

The world will continue to get louder. Our screens will continue to demand our attention. But somewhere between the notifications, the conversations and the constant noise, I hope we remember to pause.

Because sometimes the moments that matter most are the ones we never thought to record.

By: Saishriya Satapathy

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious event celebrating the art of written expression. This competition brings together diverse voices from around the world, offering a platform for writers to share their unique perspectives and stories. Through categories such as poetry, short stories, essays, and creative writing, participants explore a wide array of themes, contributing to the rich tapestry of global literature.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Saishriya Satapathy for sharing her insightful essay, "The Last Generation Who Remembered Silence," with us. Her reflections on silence and presence in a digital age resonate deeply with the themes of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. We appreciate her thoughtful contributions and look forward to seeing more of her 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.