The Screen Time Club

Where yesterday’s warnings become daily habits

I have begun to suspect that my morning walk is less about fitness and more about field research.

There was a time I thought these walks were repetitive. Same road. Same turns. Same faces. The milkman with his heroic balancing act of plastic packets. The old tea shop that smells like yesterday’s conversations reheated with today’s headlines. The gentleman with the beard who says “Good Morning” with conviction and follows it up with a sentence that dissolves into mystery before reaching my ears.

And then there is him.

The dignified senior gentleman.

Late seventies, I would say. Walks like time is no longer something to chase, but something to stroll beside. Hands clasped behind his back as though he is holding on to a lifetime of experience that might spill if let loose. There is a slight tilt in his gait, a gentle rebellion of age perhaps, but his face… always carrying that polite, almost apologetic smile.

At first, I avoided eye contact. You know how it is. That hesitation. Do I know him? Should I nod? Will this become a daily commitment?

But he settled it for me.

A small nod. A smile. Not intrusive. Not demanding. Just a quiet acknowledgement that says, We are both here. That is enough.

Now I look forward to that moment.

It feels… human.

But lately, my research has taken a fascinating turn.

Enter: The Black Cap Man.

He wears a black golf cap with a Nike logo, a black sleeveless vest, and black cotton trousers. Every single day. Either he owns multiple identical sets, or he has unlocked a level of decisiveness the rest of us are still negotiating with our wardrobes.

But what truly defines him is not his consistency.

It is his commitment.

To his phone.

He walks… but only as a side activity.

A few slow steps. Pause. Stare into screen. Tap. Swipe. Smile. Pause again. Occasionally, a look of intense concentration. As if global outcomes depend on his next move.

The first few times, I assumed he was reading something important.

Then maybe replying to messages.

Then perhaps watching something engaging.

Today, as I walked past him, I heard it.

That unmistakable sound.

Ping. Ping. Level up.

A game.

At 6:45 in the morning.

In the middle of a walk.

And that is when it struck me.

The same generation that once held emergency meetings about “kids these days and their phones” is now conducting advanced practical sessions in digital addiction.

Not all, of course.

The tea shop philosophers remain gloriously untouched.

Still gathered around their newspapers. Still debating headlines as if the country is waiting for their final word. Pages turn. Opinions rise. No one is forwarding anything. Everything is delivered live, with full commentary and no buffering.

If they own phones at all, I suspect they are the sturdy kind… meant for calls, not curiosity.

The bearded Good Morning man?

Unchanged.

A firm greeting. A fading sentence. A daily mystery. No screen. No scrolling. Just presence.

And that, I realise, makes the others stand out even more.

Because everywhere else, the shift is… undeniable.

I have seen men who once preached about “wasting time” now forwarding messages with the urgency of breaking news anchors. I have watched morning walkers pause mid-step. Not to admire the sunrise… but to check if someone has responded to a forwarded Good Morning message with flowers, birds, and a motivational quote written in Comic Sans.

The young, with their speed and impatience, consume content like a passing shower. Intense, brief, and quickly forgotten. They scroll, they laugh, they move on.

But this…

This is dedication.

No rushing. No boredom. No abandoning mid-scroll.

A level of focus that, frankly, could have built empires.

As I walked back today, I passed the dignified gentleman again.

Same slow walk. Same hands behind his back. Same gentle smile.

No phone.

Just presence.

For a brief moment, the entire street felt… uninterrupted.

A few steps ahead, the Black Cap Man stood still.

Eyes locked on his screen.

Finger suspended mid-air.

A man deeply engaged in something very important.

He didn’t notice the sunrise.

But I suspect he completed the level.

And I realised something.

Perhaps every generation doesn’t reject habits.

It simply waits its turn.

Tomorrow morning, I will walk the same route.

I will meet the same people.

But I know now. They are never the same.

Because the stories keep changing.

Some unfold around us.

And some…

fit perfectly in the palm of our hand.