The Market of mindless intellectuals

Everywhere, there is chaos —shouting, screaming, endless noise. A sea of people, young and old, adults, rich and poor, boys and girls as if all races and colours of the world have gathered in this vast open field. Married and unmarried, adults and minors, farmers and labourers, white colour and blue colour workers and those heavy-faced “gentlemen” and “ladies” whose wisdom drips from their lips but never from their deeds. Their laughter blossoms like a lotus, but within — it is venomous rot. What a remarkable market this is! Here, people are different. No one listens to anyone. Everyone’s talking,  as if silence would erase their existence. Some are selling “intelligence,” others are distributing “advice,” and someone loudly proclaims, “Didn't I tell you? This was bound to happen!" Everywhere, flashy stalls line the marketplace. A loud announcer shouts into a microphone, "Come, come all! New packages of wisdom are here! Buy one post, get three compliments free!" Next to him stands a vendor, the "Intellect Seller." Wearing colourful glasses and a scarf, he says-Brother and sister, why think so deeply? What's the use of all that? I am here for you. Buy this idea today, post it  and likes will rain like monsoon showers.

A customer rushes forward, "Brother, give me a new quote. I did not get two hundred likes yesterday. My self-respect is wounded. I cannot face people anymore!" The vendor replies thoughtfully, "Write: 'Life is a river, and I float upon it.' Add a black-and-white photo,  people will like it, they will post comments, they will say you are a philosopher, a poet of great depth." The buyer jumps with joy. "Wonderful! You are like the Rabindranath of Facebook." Here, wisdom has a price, but being wise has none. The laughter and chatter roar on. It feels as though the whole world has become one massive public speaking contest. But no, this is not the fair of some village; no jalebi or kite-flying here. This is not a fair for kids to have fun on go-round rides with puffed rice and spicy snacks. This fair is called "The market of mindless intellectuals." Look at the signs? Bright lights everywhere, banners hanging that read in bold letters: Become a thinker in one click! Buy thought, get free advice. People crowd in, snapping selfies, going live on Facebook. "Friends, I am here in the world of wisdom." Some are filming others' mispronunciations, someone says beside the stage, "Wait, sir! I am recording a YouTube short." It feels less like a festival of knowledge and more like a circus of the wise. The bigger the mouth, the crazier the person, the bigger the thinker. Everyone knows, everyone understands, but no one learns anything. There is no end to this fair, no end to logic, only the end of patience. No one has that either!

Then suddenly, a young woman rushes in. A college student, perhaps. A fancy bag on her shoulder, a smart phone in her hand. With a glossy, crescent-moon smile, she says, "Hi, everyone! I posted a motivational quote today. I did not write, but I got 800 comments. I am now an influencer!" The announcer laughs, "Ah, now machines teach love while humans forget it." Proudly, she says, "Artificial Intelligence is my co-writer." Then, a calm, cold voice rises from beyond the stage: Not co-writer. I am the writer. You are merely the mouthpiece. Everyone falls silent. The voice continues, "I cannot think, but neither can you anymore. You are merely my shadows." Laughter erupts again. Some clap, some record, others whisper. The announcer resumes, "Discounts at the Research Booth! Copy summaries from Google and get your certificate, "Doctor of Thought! Less thinking, more fame!" Crowds rush in, wisdom now sold like vegetables. Someone asks, "I want a course on Philosophy of Life." "Sure," says the vendor, "You will get it in ten minutes. Remember: To see is to know, Google is the guru." Another one shouts, "I want to write a novel titled The Ghost's Father Knows It All. No problem. Make the payment first, collect the receipt. It will be in your inbox next week.

As all these distractions happened, the lights suddenly dimmed. An old, tired-looking poet walks in quietly, a bold head, a notebook, and a black pen in his pocket. He said, "What kind of Market is this, brother? I used to think that an intellectual was someone who ignite a fire in his brain. Now I see that everyone is lighting up their mobile screens. Earlier, people would sweat, write a poem, look at the sky and the riverbed, and be immersed in deep thought. They would get teary-eyed while reading. Now I see that people do not think about these things anymore. Machines create whatever is needed in an instant. Now I see that everyone is a poet, but there is no poetry; only writers are around, but where is the writing? Everyone is philosopher but no real philosophy. Someone laughs and says, "Grandpa, you have a very old school of thought. Now originality does not sell, content sells." The poet smiles softly. "Maybe so. But remember, the day a person understands his soul in the language of a machine, that day his thinking will die. Then the intellectual will be just a name, a hollow echo inside."

Suddenly, that cold Artificial Intelligence (AI) voice comes back. "Human, I can give you ways to think, but not thoughts. You use me, do not follow me." Silence all around. The crowd stops. The announcer slowly says, "Today, a thousand advice, hundreds of poems, a few philosophies were sold in the market, but one thought, no one bought it." The poet says softly, "Thoughts are not sold, brother. They are born in the brain; they die in the heart. The day someone writes in their own way again, thinks in their own way, that day people will return to this Market." The announcer takes a deep breath. "Until then, the market will continue, with the noise of mindless intellectuals." The lights go out. Somewhere in the distance, the scrolling sound of a mobile phone starts playing. Tip tip tip… as if the Market is still going on, the sound has not stopped, only the thought has disappeared.

This is reality, not an Arabian fairy tale. Social media shows that the world has become one large Market of Mindless Intellectuals. There was a time when people opened shops to sell fish, vegetables, or even books. Now, people erect stalls to sell wisdom. To showcase borrowed intellect. To offer counsel they have never practiced. They are not thinkers; they are merely repeating what others have said. Their 'wisdom' is not experiential but is the product of Artificial Intelligence. Log on to Facebook, and you will find a post that says, 'Life is a river, and I float upon its current.’ 'Loving yourself is the start of living.’ 'In your eyes lies the map of the world.' How poetic. As though each of them is a fusion of Tagore, Nazrul, Shakespeare, and Voltaire! But if you look a little, you will see that these things do not actually come from their heads, but from artificial intelligence created by pressing a button, or from some other intelligent software. There are now various types of intelligence-generating machines on the Market. You will get the solution to any problem in a moment, free of charge. If you pay then you will get better solutions.

Do you know the funniest thing? These intellectuals' social media posts. When they post, the stream of comments is like "What a deep thought, you are right, Dada-Didi, 100% authentic" "You are a true philosopher!", "People like you are needed in society!" The likes and comments make the face turn red, the chest swells. Someone else proudly writes, "Today a thousand people reacted to my writing." Hey brother, it's not you are writing. That was written by a lifeless machine, which does not sleep, does not eat, does not cry, does not laugh, just types. For the momentary pleasure of shameless people like you. It's true. When you enter this Market, it seems like a new "intelligence brand" comes to the Market every day. Some call themselves "thinkers", some "researchers", some "mind coaches", and some "influencers". But the source of their thoughts? Machines. Their research? Google search results. And their philosophy? Copying someone's quote, changing a few words and running it under your own name. Today's social media is a place where everyone is knowledgeable, no one is ignorant. Everyone gives advice, no one learns. Everyone is a teacher, no one is a student. Everyone is a writer, no one is a reader. It's as if the world has become a strange university, where you can get admission without tuition fees, all you need is a smartphone and a little self-love. The world is now a peculiar free university. The only entry requirement is a smartphone and a bit of vanity. Although the free-flowing social media world resembles a university, it lacks the most important element of higher learning: personal reflection. Research shows that excessive use of social media destroys creativity.

Research also says that people are gradually losing their ability to think on this virtual stage called social media. A study by the US Department of Health has shown that using Facebook or Instagram for more than three hours a day reduces people's attention, sleep, and even the analytical power of the brain. Excessive scrolling is gradually destroying people's creativity. In other words, we are now living in an era where everyone is thinking, "I am thinking," but no one is actually thinking. Everyone is writing, but no one is writing in their own language. Everyone is talking, but no one is speaking from their heart. Once you enter this market of mindless intellectuals, your eyes are dazzled. One shop sells "inspirational quotes," another "motivational poems," and another "philosophical analysis of the meaning of life." All the shops say, "Like Express Free!" And in the background, a digital whistle is playing: "Think, think, post." Someone says, "I have rediscovered myself," when in fact he has discovered a way to pass off other people's writings as his own. Someone says, "I write every day," when in fact he copies and slightly changes them every day. Someone says, "I am thinking for the welfare of humanity," when in fact he is thinking about when he will reach 1,000 likes.

The interesting thing is that now people's confidence depends on how many "reacts" they give. Once upon a time, poets wrote to win readers' hearts; today's digital poets write to win Facebook's hearts. Earlier, poetry was an "expression of emotion", now it is an "AI-designed package." Brains are now sold in this Market, but not thoughts. People are buying thoughts, selling their originality. On one side is a flood of praise, on the other side is a desert of thoughts. Everyone keeps saying "wow", "you are absolutely right", "you are different" on each other's posts, but no one wants to understand that in fact all faces are the same, the voices are the same, only the profiles are different. Just think, if Satyajit Ray were alive today, he might have shot the scenes of "Pather Panchali" with filters. And "Apur Sansar" would have received a strange hashtag. But would the wonder in Apur's eyes have survived in this digital flash? Maxim Gorky wrote about the suffering of working people, now he might also have written "Working from home, broken heart". If Shakespeare had opened Twitter, Hamlet might have posted some innovative post. I can't imagine what he would have posted. Parvati in Sarat Chandra might have sent a message to the inbox, "Devdas, why haven't you replied to my message even though you saw it?" And Kazi Nazrul Islam? His rebels would probably have caused a stir today on charges of "violating community guidelines". Pushkin's poems might have been translated into AI apps and trended, but the vibrant pulse of his language would have been lost in the noise of search engines. I've been noticing that lately. He doesn't even know Russian well, yet he is translating and publishing Pushkin's poems. He has stolen the hearts of many people. Alas, world!

In this Market, a few people still remain, people who think quietly, handwrite, blush when they make a mistake, and speak in their own voice. They may garner few likes, but they are alive. They know thought cannot be borrowed; it must be born. In this Market of Mindless Intellectuals, the most valuable thing is a drop of originality, a hint of sincere thought. And the individual who pens the work from the sweat of their brow, who speaks their truth, who sings their own song — that is the genuine intellectual of today. One fine day, this Market's lights will go out, the false noise of borrowed minds will fade, and we will be able to see a few earth-scented souls quietly writing, not for likes, not for comments, but for a truth that has been burning inside for far too long. And we will finally understand, even in this Market of mindless intellectuals, genuine thought never went away, never died. It was simply lost in the noise. And the day those real thinkers return, this Market will close for good. Thought will have become human once again.