There are few lives that catch our attention, and then there are lives like his—utterly dry, routine-bound, and devoid of the spark that animates most. His name was Ajay, though in all honesty, he might as well have been anonymous. At 35, he was single, and his life ran on a schedule tighter than any Swiss watch.
Ajay’s mornings were a testament to discipline, but to anyone observing, they were predictably dull. At exactly 5 AM, his alarm would buzz. Without hesitation, he’d rise from bed and slip into his walking shoes for a 30-minute walk. His route never changed. The same trees, the same turn at the park, the same solitary footsteps on the pavement. When he returned home, he would immediately follow up with 20 minutes of yoga and some basic physical exercises. By the time his neighbors were just waking up, Ajay had already bathed, prayed, and was seated with his meticulously prepared cup of tea and toast.
By 8 AM, he was dressed in his crisp, yet unremarkable office attire, ready to leave for work. Ajay was always punctual—arriving precisely at 5 to 9, without fail. He didn’t engage in office banter, had no interest in small talk, and rarely ventured beyond the comfort of his desk. His colleagues had long given up trying to draw him into conversations. At 5 PM sharp, Ajay would pack his things and leave, the exactness of his departure a regularity that could be set by a clock.
He reached home by 6:30 PM, following the same rigid evening routine. A second bath, a simple dinner he cooked himself, and by 8 PM, he would sit in front of the TV, not watching anything in particular, but letting the hours of meaningless shows tick by until 9 PM, when he would shut it off, climb into bed, and drift into sleep. Day after day, week after week—there was no change. It was as if life itself had left him behind, stuck in an unending loop of monotonous existence.
No girlfriends, no romances, no spontaneous adventures. Ajay lived like a machine, programmed to perfection. He rarely spoke to anyone, not even his neighbors. If he ever had friends, they were ghosts of the past. Twice a year, he would visit his parents in his village. He would stay for a weekend, and then return to the city, resuming the routine that had consumed him.
But what was it about Ajay? Why this utter devotion to dullness? Some said it was simply his nature—meticulous, punctual, efficient, and boring to a fault. Yet there was more to his story, a hidden layer that most didn’t know. A quiet rumor circulated among those who had known him in college. Back then, Ajay had been a different person—jovial, spirited, even in love. The kind of love that makes you believe life is bigger and brighter than you ever imagined.
He had loved a girl, and by all accounts, the feeling had been mutual. But love, as it sometimes does, had taken a cruel turn. One day, she left. She didn’t give a reason, just vanished into another man’s arms, and Ajay had been left with the pieces of his broken heart. No more laughter, no more joy. He buried himself in his studies, graduated with honors, and threw himself into his work. His heart, once full of life, had withered, replaced by a mechanical adherence to routine.
Ajay never allowed himself to feel again. His life became about discipline, duty, and the avoidance of anything that might disrupt his perfectly crafted schedule. He was the dutiful son, the diligent employee, but beyond that—nothing. No one knew if he still thought about her, or if the memories had dulled like the rest of his life. Maybe deep down, there was a part of him that still hoped for change, for something—or someone—to break the monotony. But no one dared to ask, and Ajay never offered any answers.
Some whispered that all it would take was the right woman, someone to come into his life and ignite the spark that had long been extinguished. But as things stood, Ajay remained as he was—utterly dry, meticulously predictable, and hopelessly boring. His life moved forward like clockwork, each day indistinguishable from the last, as the world around him kept spinning, waiting for something, anything, to shake him from the routine that had become his entire existence.
For now, though, Ajay remained a prisoner of his own making, lost in a sea of repetition, where the only certainty was that tomorrow would be exactly like today. And perhaps, deep down, that was what he wanted most of all—to avoid the chaos of emotion and the unpredictability of life. In his boring, unremarkable world, at least nothing could ever hurt him again.
May be he would meet someone who will make him an interesting person again.
Guchi.
Improve Your Life 