Who really dropped the ball—our elders, or our children?
In a recent conversation, I found myself quietly observing the way people spoke about values—as if they were outdated currencies. Words like integrity, respect, and responsibility floated around the room, but rarely with conviction. It felt like everyone was tiptoeing around the subject, as if talking about values had become passé or even pretentious.
When did values become optional?
Who diluted them to convenience?
And whom are we to hold accountable for this drift?
It would be easy to point fingers—at the younger generation with their casual entitlement, or at the older one with their rigid posturing and unexamined hypocrisy. But the truth, as always, is more layered.
I’ve come to see that today’s value system is porous—not because people are inherently flawed, but because the custodianship of values has quietly eroded.
Let’s start with the elders. Many of them grew up in a world of strict codes and unquestioned hierarchies. They inherited values but didn’t always live them. What they modelled was often compliance, not congruence. The rules were known but not necessarily integrated. Children observed parents preaching one thing at the dinner table and practicing another behind closed doors. Respect was demanded, but often without emotional resonance.
And so, the young grew up—watching, remembering, doubting.
The next generation, understandably, responded with dismissal. If the rules were only skin-deep, why keep them? If elders themselves were incongruent, why obey?
So the pendulum swung. From excessive rigidity to exaggerated freedom.
From the obligation to behave, to the right to express.
From moral guardrails to ethical grey zones.
Values weren’t discarded maliciously. They were quietly shelved—because their messengers lacked credibility.
But here’s what I’ve come to realise: blaming either generation is futile.
Values cannot survive transmission without transformation.
They must be modelled, not just mentioned.
Lived, not just listed.
The older generation must own the contradictions they embodied. The younger must find the courage to look beyond convenience and rediscover depth.
Both must stop blaming and start building.
In my own journey, I’ve come to believe that spirituality is the only sustainable container for values. It’s not about religion or rules. It’s about deep alignment. When I sit in silence, when I observe my intentions, when I listen to the whisper of inner truth—values don’t feel imposed. They feel natural. Organic. Alive.
And in that space, I no longer ask: “What did they fail to teach me?” or “Why don’t they listen to us?”
Instead, I ask:
“What values do I embody when no one is watching?”
“What can others trust in me, without needing me to explain?”
Perhaps this is what the world needs now: not louder sermons or stricter rules, but quieter beacons. Not perfect generations, but present ones.
Let the wall of values remain porous—but let it also breathe honesty, coherence, and heart.
You may not be able to fix the whole wall, but you can be the brick that holds.
Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar
Whisper back, if the letter spoke to you.