“We’re living in the worst of times,” my neighbor said gloomily.
I was having a casual chat with my next-door neighbor over a cup of tea when the comparison between the worst of times and the best of times surfaced.
The context?
A “powerful man” had killed a vegetable vendor over an argument about price, and my neighbor was worried about the direction society seemed to be heading in.
“It never used to happen in older times,” he repeated.
“The world has always been like this,” I protested. “The worst of times and the best of times have always existed together. They cannot be separated.”
“Well, if you don’t want to accept reality, that’s fine,” he replied. “But I believe times are getting worse, gloomier by the day.”
And that was the end of our conversation.
Are We Living in the Worst of Times?
So let me ask you:
Are we living in the worst of times, or are we living in the best of times?
If you ask me, I’d say we’re living in both.
Some people believe that older times were better than these so-called modern times. But my grandfather had a very different view. He often said that people who romanticize the past are either delusional or never truly lived through those “golden” years.
For context, I come from a middle-income farming family. My ancestors have farmed in the Meerut and Muzaffarnagar regions of Western Uttar Pradesh since pre-independence times.
My grandfather used to say, “In older days, when the country was under Christian imperialism, life was harsh. I faced humiliation many times. Common people had no money, no proper food, not even decent clothes. We walked miles to school. Things were bad—really bad.”
He once narrated an incident to make his point.
“I was barely ten or eleven,” he said. “One morning, your great-grandfather was cutting fodder for the cattle using a simple iron blade with a wooden handle. A man from the Raydasi community came, greeted him with Ram-Ram, and asked to cut the fodder. Your great-grandfather tried to refuse, but the man insisted.”
“After finishing the work, he said he would take his leave. At that point, your great-grandfather asked him to visit our home before going.”
“He nodded and left.”
“As a child, I was confused. I asked my father, ‘Pita ji, why did he cut the fodder without being asked? And why did you invite him home?’”
“My father replied, ‘I learned last evening that he hadn’t eaten for two days. He didn’t beg—he chose to work instead. He has self-respect. I asked him to come home so your mother could give him food.’”
After recounting this, my grandfather sighed and said, “Those were the worst of times. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
So now I wonder—were those the worst of times, or are these?
It seems to me that the worst of times and the best of times always coexist, like the two banks of a river—running parallel, never meeting.
They are subjective.
When life is going well, you feel you’re living in the best of times. When you’re struggling, it feels like the worst of times.
Times have always been this way.
What changes is where you place your attention.
If you focus on what brings you joy, on what’s working in your life, you experience the best of times.
But if you overconsume news, political drama, and chaos, you begin to live in the worst of times.
“You’re saying I shouldn’t worry about what’s wrong in society?” you might argue. “Should I ignore injustice, oppression, and hatred?”
No.
You should care—if you can do something about it.
What’s the use of losing sleep over things you have no control over?
If there’s one thing you can care about, it’s how you feel—right now, in this moment.
How you feel determines whether you’re attracting better times or worse ones.
The worst of times and the best of times are relative, not absolute. One cannot exist without the other. How can day exist without night? How can joy exist without sorrow?
It all depends on focus.
Which reminds me of a boy who chose to live in the best of times.
In the summer of 2008, I frequented a roadside eatery for several days. There, I noticed a teenage boy making rotis in a hot tandoor. Despite the scorching May heat, he worked with a smile on his face.
Standing next to a blazing tandoor is the last thing anyone would want to do. Yet this boy not only endured it—he seemed cheerful.
Curious, I asked him, “Brother, how are you always so happy? What’s your secret?”
He smiled, showed me his forearms—burnt in several places—and said, “Bhaiya, I accepted my life long ago. This is my work. I can do it resentfully or with a smile. I chose the smile.”
I had no words.
Happiness is a choice.
And so is whether you live in the worst of times—or the best of times.
You decide.