The URGENT need to form routine in the era of Brainrot

and the REAL meaning of discipline

I always dreaded the word routine and yes, discipline, both of which had an air of expired yogurt because I saw the saddest people around me clinging to discipline (including my school warden).

But then, life moved. Seasons changed. Birthday candles blew out with reliable monotony. The dizziness of youth faded. Teenage hormones settled. And I realized, with firm conviction, that sadness is inevitable and discipline (and routine) infact makes life bearable.

And so, I revisited the faces of those sad people. And I thought—what if they hadn’t been disciplined? How much sadder could they have been?

But then, doesn’t early to bed and early to rise make a man healthy, wealthy, wise, and existentially bored?

Discipline, as an idea, is one thing. Discipline, as a cultural performance, is quite another. And in India, act of discipline is a performance of the most boring kind that has as much depth as any Indian podcast with a geopolitical expert.

For instance, waking up early is considered a flex, but is it? What are you going to do once you wake up? How are you going to deal with the endless stream of time and a long day staring at you like a laughing Buddha placed in your bedroom?

Some people wake up early because they like to. Others wake up early because of family hierarchy. If you are a wife in a certain kind of household, waking up early simply means your unpaid, full-time job starts sooner. If you are a husband, however, you might walk to a park. Some men do this with religious consistency. On their way, they clap—loudly, violently, as if they are applauding a play at Prithvi Theatre. But this is not applause. It is exercise. Someone, somewhere, once told them that clapping while walking is good for health, and they accepted this with unquestioning faith. This is the same category of people who believe dal is a rich source of protein and that rubbing fingernails together will miraculously grow hair.

In the morning, many would go to a stall that only mysteriously appears early in the morning, designed exclusively for the people who want to delay death. A herbal juice cart that sells all kinds of the saddest juice as long as the item is green. I too drink wheatgrass from there, sometimes.

Some people I have seen in the park break aloe vera in two parts as if they are our leaders in the pre-partition era. They then apply it on their face. Some would do random asanas which are told by their local yoga teacher, whom they thought is right because he is malnourished by a lack of protein diet.

Anyway, what was I saying? Yes, the importance of routine.

Routine, in India, is a performance. We are Manikchand Gutka Filmfare Award-nominated actors in the art of discipline. For us, the act of appearing disciplined is often more important than the actual work. It provides a moral high in a hierarchy-obsessed country where everything is structured around gaining a moral high over someone else.

But real discipline—meaningful, private, and effective—is a different beast. I know artists who are alcoholics, artists who partake in ‘substances’ that are illegal. And yet, even they follow a strange kind of discipline. They read every day. They watch films every day. They create something every day. There is an unshakable consistency in their seemingly chaotic lives.

That said, not everyone can live a messy life and thrive. Getting close to one’s own nature and needs is the key.

Many years ago, I visited filmmaker Amit Dutta at his home. He doesn’t drink, doesn’t partake in anything that alters the mind (except chamomile tea). His days are like video loops. He watches films, reads books, writes, plays chess, edits, shoots. Sometimes plays electric guitar. Every day is the same. When I met him, I was young and, yes, restless, and I told him—"You are a prisoner of routine."

But then, years later, I realized the power of having a routine. On the cyclic nature of things. And how mundane activities repeated every day take on a magic sense of rhythm after a point. These activities then become part of you. Of who you are as a person. I learned it during the meditation course—the cyclic nature of things and repetition.

I am, by nature, a messy person. My thoughts are scattered. I have struggled to sustain interest in one thing for too long. This is why I work across different mediums—writing, video diaries, films, podcasts. If I don’t jump from one thing to another, I get bored. This is how I keep 30-40 tabs open so that I can jump from one stream of stimulation to another.

I’ll write about my schedule another time, but here’s one thing I do follow: to take a few hours of the day very seriously, which are called literary deep hours. Every morning, I wake up, sit with black coffee, block all apps, and work without distraction for three hours. This is when all my creative work happens. I don’t eat anything until much later—I have been on intermittent fasting for ten years now. (Let’s not discuss the importance of breakfast. It’s a settled matter. Please.)

Afternoons are for boring work because my energy dips. This is the time for relentless reel consumption and letting the internet toxins enter my system so they fight the overpopulation of good bacteria. Life needs both good and bad bacteria.

Evenings require another coffee-induced high, and that’s when I get my second wave of work done.

Right now, I am writing a book on internet culture. It is tougher than I thought it would be. To write a book is tough. To convince one's mind every day to write something is itself a different kind of melancholy.

I tried to understand how other writers did it.

I looked up Stephen King’s writing routine, and his approach made sense. Write 2000 words every morning, no matter what. Once that’s done, the rest of the day is yours. Do whatever you want to do. In two months, the book is finished. (tougher than how it sounds but goal makes sense)

There is something profound in this habbit. Your daily passport to existence.

The best one I found is by the late David Lynch, who once said in an interview:

"I am eating the same thing. For lunch—tomato, feta cheese, and olive oil."

Interviewer: "Here’s an interesting thing about you. You eat that every day. Same thing."

Lynch: "It’s very good."

Interviewer (laughs): "I am sure it is, otherwise why would you?"

Lynch: "Chicken, little pieces of chicken, and broccoli. And a little soy sauce."

Interviewer: "Can we say you are a creature of habit?"

Lynch: "Habit in a daily routine. And when there is some sort of order there, then you are free to mentally go off any place. You’ve got a safe sort of foundation and a place to spring off from."

Interviewer: "And you view that in terms of the creative process—very important?"

Lynch: "It’s very important for me."

I am never going to eat that boring diet routine ever. I love food and have tried many kinds of diets in the past, which brought nothing but sorrow. But I love how he explained how the creative force is linked to daily habits, which one has to form as per their personality. Especially in these times dangerous times mind can wader anywhere hence it becomes very urgent to form regular habits which can be a run way for your safe landing.

So I think, yes, the simplest definition of routine is that it’s that toothpick in a paan (Beatle nut) that keeps all the contrasting elements together.

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