The State of Busyness

I began this essay on the assumption that 'business' was the noun form of busy.
It was triggered by a former classmate who alleged that I was accumulating”several new friends and not sparing time to maintain old friendships. To him, I almost said the dreaded words - “I'm busy” - before I remembered my promise never to say them. I have decided that those are the rudest words in the English language. They do not come second to the four-letter words that my nine-year-old has picked up and which I no longer forbid. They are, very simply, the rudest.
Claiming that I am busy implies that I am physically capable of using time, but that time is reserved for issues more important than the person I am speaking with. It is equivalent to saying that the other person is not my priority.
Now this works very well in a taut business relationship where I am itching to put the other person down, step on her and thus climb a few inches higher. That, of course, is the state of global business as we have shaped it. If she and I were humane persons, I would state specifics - whether I will look at her file now, later or never. Everyone is supposed to be busy. Must I state the obvious?
“The world is moving so fast these days that the one who says it can't be done is generally interrupted by someone doing it,” said Harry Emerson Fosdick, an American clergyman. Every professional, entrepreneur and labourer knows that too. Thus they hurtle from deadline to deadline, barely making it home in time for dinner if someone has cooked it. Two software engineers whom I know get home nine hours before I have breakfast. That leaves them enough time to bathe, cook, do laundry and sleep. They also eat, if they can squeeze it in somewhere there.
The cataclysm occurs when those words reach home. I found myself saying them to my older daughter one morning while I was preparing the family breakfast - not instant cereal: we are still simble unprocessed Malayalis - and packing everyone's lunch. She was trying to tell me how she and her friends had started laughing the previous day over something very trivial and they couldn't stop laughing all afternoon. She had not found time to talk to me the previous evening as I chased her through her bath, tea and homework...Then we had had guests and hurried through dinner. She was still laughing at it the next morning but not having prepared for the day as usual, I was frazzled and told her, “I'm busy. Can't you just eat your breakfast and get ready?”
The laughter died out and her lips tightened. That evening, I asked her how her day had been. She shrugged her shoulders and sighed, “It was okay.” That shrug said I had blown my chance. With a pre-teen, it spells conversational disaster.
Bertrand Russell observed that people were working such long hours that they were too tired to enjoy active and civilising leisure pursuits, so they fell into passive forms of recreation - going to the cinema, watching sport or listening to other people play music as opposed to playing it. He suggested more liberal arts education and more leisure for a more creative, fulfilling and contented life. He also suggested a four-hour week, but that was 1932. Saying it now is blasphemy.
Seventy six years later, people say they are concerned about the lack of balance in their lives, but seem powerless to do much about it. For instance, we are usually powerless about switching off the television when a guest has arrived. When we have told the guest on the telephone how busy we are, but he still arrives, we must continue with our busyness.
To those who protest that they are only busy doing useful stuff, I quote Tagore: He who is too busy doing good finds no time to be good.
That reminds me. I don't have time to write more as I'm busy. I apologise for my rudeness.