It is reported that by the year 2022 — just eight years from now — each home will have 500 gadgets. What could these be — once the kitchen, the laundry, work, health and entertainment are taken care of?

We can understand, maybe even welcome, an ECG that is attached to a mobile phone or a laptop camera; we can accept automatic and constant monitoring of blood pressure, blood sugar and other vital readings; we can learn to tolerate reminders of body mass index, basal metabolic rate, fat-to-muscle ratio and a couple of other fitness parameters that we have failed to realise were askew when we looked into our not-so-smart mirrors.

We could get accustomed to weather updates, the condition of the roads, the stock markets and even the topics of the latest debates in parliament before we set out to work; we might revel in the luxury of muted lights and music of our choice played from the headboards of our beds to accompany us into gentle slumber, and we wouldn’t mind some of that as we relax in our bath tubs at the end of a stressful day. We may — in time — be able to acknowledge the value of an app that tells us what our mood is — and take it in our stride. Are we down in the dumps for some reason, too subdued and slow to react when we are required to be alert and sharp for the challenges of the day? Or are we over-buoyant, trying too hard to compensate for our inability to get the job done and motivate others to do the same?

But could the constant monitoring of our vital signs and statistics, that musical support, the constant data feeds and the other things the remaining 491 gadgets in our homes are doing become just too much? Too intrusive: Leaving us susceptible to invasion of our privacy with all that data available somewhere to be flipped through at the flick of a touch screen ...

Our parents’ generation had very little time for all this self-evaluation and ironing out of the creases of life. Their homes were devoid of all but the most basic of gadgets. They did not have this huge mass of information on every possible topic and problem at their fingertips — literally — and they didn’t need it. But somehow, with very little backing in terms of resources and equipment, they managed to achieve a lot.

A close look at our faces — a little thought about our last conversation or something they had overheard in passing — and they knew what we were feeling. A look at the sky and they would thrust that umbrella into our hands.

Undivided attention

A wave and a quick word with the neighbour or someone who was passing down the street and they got wind of the stuff that would make a difference in their lives that day: Perhaps the procession that was going by on the main road and the detour we should take or the repairs that were being done on a pipeline in a side street that would affect the supply of water.

Our parents regaled us with tales from their work places so that we got to know the quirks of their colleagues and their bosses, but they left their work at work. Once they were home, they were not preoccupied with e-mails and did not keep a constant watch over their messages. They gave us their undivided attention and affection. They were there with us, body and soul. They did not reserve half a mind or keep one ear open at all times for disembodied voices or sounds from their machines.

Is that why we constantly go back to the idyll of our childhood, trying to find something in the present to rival it?

Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.