Why reading literature still matters in the age of reels

It was a Monday morning on the Pink Line of Delhi Metro. As usual, the coach was packed – college students in casuals giving you a glimpse of the latest fashion trends, office workers in their formals adjusting backpacks, a woman holding a baby in her lap, an elderly gentleman taking a nap.

There was one more commuter; standing, grabbing the hand strap with one hand and holding Beckett’s Waiting for Godot in another one. Something strike us — almost everyone in that coach was glued to his/her phone, thumbs moving upward in a hypnotic rhythm, eyes glancing at reels after reels. An engrossed, passive expression marked every face. Everyone seemed indifferent to the vibes and existence of the "other", but not in the way Jean-Paul Sartre famously summarised in No Exit as "Hell is other people," nor exactly as Simone de Beauvoir expanded in The Second Sex, where dominant groups define the marginalised as "the other" to maintain their power and subjectivity.

This scene, with a book amid reels, made us ponder over some existential and fundamental questions: Can literature survive in the age of reels? What do our young minds consume as they spend 7.5 to 9 hours daily on screens for entertainment and social media?

Neuroscientists and psychologists describe it as dopaminergic conditioning – a form of learning where the brain’s reward system becomes trained to associate specific cues with a "hit" of dopamine, the neurotransmitter linked to pleasure, motivation, and reinforcement.

Each new reel delivers a punchline, novelty, surprise triggering fresh dopamine releases which gradually leads to what Psychologist Gloria Mark calls "kinetic attention" – a restless, continual need to switch tasks every few moments. That’s why we can no longer tolerate ad breaks during songs on Spotify or serials, or bear standing in queues, or waiting at traffic signals. In a layman’s language, it breeds impatience, irritation, and frustration. The impact of fast-paced reels resembles that of substances. With time, the brain develops tolerance to digital stimulation.

Consequently, reading literature, engaging in deep conversation, or contemplating a complex idea can create boredom because these activities cannot deliver the same high-frequency dopamine spikes. This constant chase for micro-rewards is mentally draining. It results in stress, anxiety, decreased attention span, and impaired focus, especially on complex, eloquent, and mindful work. Mark’s empirical studies show that our average attention span on a single screen has dropped to below forty-seven seconds, down from around 2.5 minutes in 2004. Forty-seven seconds is not even enough to read a short paragraph.

Reading literature does the opposite. It cultivates inference, analogy, critical analysis, and empathic imagination. It works spiritually like meditation. It deepens empathy by allowing the reader to dwell within another’s consciousness and human dignity, to live the experiences of others, to feel their pain, and to undergo catharsis with a sense of sonder. In an age when alienation is spreading rapidly, this capacity to truly understand the unseen vast inner worlds carried within the “other” becomes invaluable.

The study of absurd drama explains our present moment with subtle precision. Nobel Laureate Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, a magnum opus, deals with the meaninglessness and absurdity of human existence. It’s a play in which nothing happens, twice. Two tramps, Didi and Gogo, wait for Godot, who never comes. The power of the play lies in its duration, in the act of waiting, in doing nothing, in killing time. Through its slow unfolding, it forces the audience to feel the pain of waiting, the weight of time and the disappointment at the end of both acts.

In sharp contrast, the Reel offers something new every few seconds – a cocoon where promises are always kept, where answers arrive instantly, where there is no pain of waiting and no disappointment. Literature, however, prepares us for the real world – where Godot never comes, where promises are broken, and where waiting and disappointment are inevitable.

Reading literature provides inner stillness, a vital condition for mental wellbeing. It holds the reader inside a moment longer than is comfortable. The Reel does not hold. It releases – instantly and reflexively — before any feeling can settle into something worth keeping.

Cognitive science research confirms that reading literary fiction, especially works that require inferring a character’s inner life, activates perspective-taking far more powerfully than passive visual media. When we watch grief on screen, we observe it. When we read grief from the inside – through the prose of Ismat Chughtai, Ambai, or Senapati – we simulate it.

We don’t make a case against reels. Some reels are as influential as the short couplets of Bihari, Tulsi and Kabeer – “filling an ocean in a pot” and so deserve reverence and admiration. The problem lies with reels becoming the only medium of engagement; reels completely replacing literature.

Students confess that reading literature for three years have made them more empathetic, more accommodating, more tolerant, and most importantly, they are now able to agree to disagree. That acceptance, empathy, and secular spirit is something the world needs badly and which can be fostered through reading literature. Therefore,

Put the phone down. Open something difficult. Stay.