'It'll All Be Okay': On Loneliness, Modern Friendships, And Showing Up

More than 65 per cent of India’s population is under the age of 35 - nearly a billion young people navigating careers, identities, beliefs, relationships, and a sense of purpose, all while being constantly inundated with 20-second reels, promises of six-figure salaries, and neatly packaged “three-step formulas” for a perfect life.

As author Rishabh Shah observes in his book Young, Wired, and Not Woke, they are labelled a demographic dividend, yet little is said about the emotional EMIs they pay just to figure out who they are. 

They are a generation with ChatGPT in their hands and endless questions in their heads, often with no one to talk to.

I see this as a lonely generation. Friends who will happily meet for drinks but quietly disappear when hospital visits are needed. Friends with benefits. Friends of convenience.

In contrast, Gen X and millennials were fortunate in one specific way; we didn’t grow up in a smartphone-first world. Friendship wasn’t optional; it was necessary. We had no choice but to build and sustain real connections.

Showing up matters

Just a few days ago, in the middle of my own frenzy, words spilling out in a breathless rush, I unloaded everything onto my two closest friends. Every detail. Every knot of anxiety sitting heavy in my stomach.

They listened patiently, without interrupting, like seasoned therapists. Then one of them said softly, with monk-like calm, “Sab theek hoga.” (It will all be okay)

The other, clearly less spiritual and far more practical, reassured me by saying, “I’m going to give this to you in writing: nothing is coming out of those tests. Post-40, they make every woman go through all this nonsense.”

And just like that, my panic didn’t disappear, but it downgraded from full-blown catastrophe to mild overthinking. Which, frankly, is progress.

I’ve been in that raw, uncomfortable place before - the kind where positive thinking feels forced, and the world suddenly feels unbearably heavy.

Where what if loops endlessly in your head, and the future refuses to offer even a glimpse of what comes next. It’s not dramatic; it’s human.

And in moments like these, reassurance doesn’t need to be grand or profound. It just needs to be present.

As we grow older, our circles shrink - not out of failure, but out of clarity. The number of people who truly know us and whom we trust with our mess becomes smaller.

But those few aren’t luxuries. They are lifelines. People who listen without trying to fix, who say the right thing without trying too hard.

It’s impossible not to contrast this with what so many young people are experiencing today.

Despite living in an age of constant connection, loneliness has quietly become a defining emotion for the younger generation. Many young adults are surrounded by people—classmates, colleagues, followers—yet feel deeply unseen.

Studies consistently show that loneliness peaks between the ages of 18 and 29. In India, surveys suggest that a significant number of adolescents experience moderate to high levels of loneliness, shaped by academic pressure, excessive screen time, migration, bullying, and low self-esteem.

But beyond the numbers, it’s the stories that linger.

I once mentored a young professional - a bright, capable woman in her twenties who confessed that her social media feed was full of smiling faces and weekend plans, yet most evenings she sat alone, phone in hand, unsure of who she could truly call.

The fear of appearing needy or vulnerable kept her silent. Everyone looked connected. No one felt safe.

That contradiction: visibility without intimacy is one of the quiet tragedies of our time. We know what everyone is doing, but rarely how they are doing.

Conversations are replaced by reactions. Vulnerability feels risky in a culture that rewards performance. And loneliness, when left unspoken, seeps into both mind and body.

The World Health Organisation has linked chronic loneliness to serious health risks, including heart disease, depression, and premature death. It’s not just emotional; it’s physical.

When younger people speak about this isolation, their sadness is real and valid. It isn’t something to be dismissed or romanticised as a phase. It’s a call to action.

Perhaps the bridge begins with us by modelling honesty. By checking in, even when it feels awkward. By sharing our own stories instead of offering instant solutions. By reminding them, and ourselves, that it’s okay to need people.

Cherish the few who hold space for you, as I do. And when you can, extend that warmth outward. Life will exhaust us in a hundred different ways, but connection has a quiet way of restoring what the world drains.

Sometimes, all it takes is three words: Sab theek hoga.

As the year wanes, don’t forget to reach out to the people you call home - the ones with whom you feel safe enough to fall apart and be whole again.

Authored by Radhika Dhingra, freelance writer.
Views expressed by the author are their own.