Technoli

Year 2052:

“Mumma, I’m hungry!”  Technoli calls out, as she makes a swoosh sign with her finger and her wall sized computer shuts close. She’s been virtual trekking all round the Himalayan ranges all morning, and now she’s cold and tired yet exhilarated by the whole experience.

Mumma rushes in a nano second, as if she was always there besides Technoli and not in the attic, dusting and cleaning vintage things like laptops and iPads, once owned by the family ancestors. She produces a mini tab, as small as a cell phone (A cell phone was a device used to connect with people some fifty odd years ago) and hands it over to Technoli. Technoli snatches it and presses a few buttons. A warm, tasty sandwich manifests itself on the tab. She grabs it and hands the tab back to Mumma and starts eating ignorantly.

“Your biological mother just ‘telepathy messaged’ me saying you also need to drink juice along with that sandwich,” mutters Mumma in her robotic accent and hands back the tab to Technoli.

‘I made humans and they seem to have taken over me. Humans made robots and robots will soon take over these humans. What goes around, comes around,’ guffaws God, who’s watching from above.

All Things Old and Pretty

Peek-a-boo in a world infested with antiquity.

Vintage things are fascinating! Be it a tattered old book with its yellowed pages and doggy eared cover or an old Bajaj scooter the Uncle next door owns, each has a story of its own; a history; an owner. Once upon a time these things used to be revered. They used to be considered the ultimate manifestation of technology and human capability but in the present they stand at an even exalted position, for it is a matter of great status and prestige to own an antique!

Personally, for me it doesn't really end there- at pride. I love digging deeper and finding out the underlying history and stories of that object and the owner. Some of the stories are really amusing; the quilt of emotions and memories attached to the objects make you travel time. It gives you a peek in to the world when everything seemed very simple but was not quite so.

I love collecting old things; especially the one's that have been in my family are of utmost importance to me. They help me know my grandparents, my ancestors better. Family history kind of spreads itself in front of me like a map, and these small details and memoirs evoked by the antiques, mark it.

I hate it when something old, memorable and valuable is given away. My Grandpa owned this car, a Fiat! MVL512. It was later inherited by my dad, and I remember going on drives in it as a kid. When everyone showed off their Maruti 800s, I drove in a glorifying white Fiat! Then we bought a new car and they sent the old one to our farm for rough terrain use; and later sold it. It made me gloomy. My grandmother later told me that she and Granddad and her children went on many road trips across the country in it. Old Gold got Sold. *pursed lips*

***

I  have posted below some pictures of vintage objects I possess/came across.

When Bajaj and Yellow become the new 'Cool'. Since the past four years, I see this scooter everyday in college. A guy rides it all around the place and girls gather around him, requesting him to lend them this old geezer once, just for a cool ride.

 

Leafless Not Lifeless

I took this photo yesterday just after the rains. This beautiful tree stands in front of my house and I see it daily in different incarnations, as per the weather and ever changing sky colours. I've even spotted a few beautiful birds on this very tree.

I recently had this epiphany moment. I love leafless trees I realized. Every time I pass by them, I look at them and stop. A sense of awe takes over me. If I am walking along with a friend and I came across one of these, I stop mid-sentence and breathe out, 'How pretty!' And trust me this happens every single time.

There is something very powerful about leafless trees. Most of them are huge, gigantic and ancient just like your Grandfather. They've stood in that same single place for years and at times its the same tree your Dad and Granddad have grown up with, just like you!

Sure that once upon a time, they were all green, bearing flowers and fruits but now without that, and with just intricate attractive patterns formed with a trunk and branches, they still are indeed very charmful! Withered as they are like wrinkles on an old man's face, they withhold a lot of wisdom too. For, they've stood firm through thick and thin, summers and winters, heat and storm.

Such trees are a lot of birds' favourite perch, also at times an ideal place to build nests. The way one's Grandfather would embrace one, they embrace the birds. Smiling down, invitingly at you they seem to say something; the few remaining leaves, desperately holding on, rustle and whisper something...probably tell you a story, just like your Grandpa did!

This one stands tall and mighty in Fergusson College nursery and is visible from the road. I see it daily and trust me, every time I see it I experience the same sense of gratification. I also love the symmetrical design it creates.

The Tsunami Wave

Pune 2012.

A tear rolled down Jaya’s eye as she sat on her bed amidst a trunk full of photographs scattered around her. Most of them were old pictures from her young days. It wasn’t all the photos she was interested in looking at, it was just this one which she held in her hand and to find it she’d emptied the entire trunk. Half smiling, eyes moist, she gazed fondly at it-she sitting with Hrishi on the beach, silhouetted against the setting sun.

***

Today had been an unexpected surprise for Jaya. Her husband had left early, leaving her a note saying he was going to be out of town for some urgent work and that she would carry out her day just as usual. He wouldn’t tolerate it if he knew she had misbehaved. She strictly wasn’t supposed to leave the house except for picking up children from school. It was a short, blunt note carrying no information as to where he is going or when Jaya should expect him to be back.

Jaya felt light the entire morning and, young too. It had been years now since she had last got an opportunity to be free from her husband’s clutches. She had hummed all long as she did her chores, just the way she always did in her twenties. She remembered the days when she would quickly finish her share of chores at her parent’s place and go out to explore.

Jaya was a writer. She would love to sit in one of the coffee shops and mull over her thoughts, pen them down and let herself fly. She loved exploring the world, through thoughts and through travelling. There were times when she would hop on a bus, she knew not where it went, but the thrill of discovering a new place would always enthral her.

Today, she felt as if a little bit of her old self had returned. She set out more than an hour earlier than her usual time to pick up her children and headed to a cafe. She sat down with a mug of cocoa and started scribbling on a tissue paper with a snub pencil from her handbag.

Words kept flowing through her mind and ink kept spilling through her pen, forming a pool of emotions on paper. She wrote fervently and just once looked up, casually glanced out of the window pane and she stopped.  She froze.

Hrishi.

***

Goa 1992.

A twenty year old Jaya lay down on the sea-shore, waves washing up to her knees and back again. Hrishi sat next to her fiddling with his camera. They had just taken their first picture together, against the setting sun and he couldn’t figure out why his stupid Polaroid camera wouldn’t print it. The two had met a day or two ago on an isolated, extended strand of beach just beside Baga.

Jaya had come to Goa all by herself to live by the sea, hoping to write in solitude. Not fully satisfied with the crowded Baga beach she had walked down the shoreline to stumble upon a quiet spot with no people around. She had plopped herself on the sand and pulled out her writing pad.

Hrishi, a twenty two year old amateur photographer, was led to this spot by three beautiful sea birds he’d been hoping to click, when in flight.

Both being surprised to find another existing human in this virgin area and curious to know who each of them were, had kept glancing at each other hoping to catch each other’s eye and give an acknowledging smile. Hrishi, after getting a desired picture of the birds, had come and sat besides Jaya. And that’s how the two had met.

The next fortnight was a blur; an happy blur. The two had so much in common that they never ran out of topics to converse about. They explored weird places together, discussed writing and photography with one another, collected shells, built castles on the shore like children, played, laughed, flew kites, drank beer, sat in peace observing the pattern of the sea, listening to the rhythmic sound of waves, shopped, and at night even fell asleep under a coconut tree or in a stationary fisherman’s boat.

It’s not the things they did made everything so special but the intuitive understanding they shared and a little bit of the always lingering happiness in the Goa air that made it all, so much extraordinarily  enjoyable.

They had clicked; fitted like two pieces in a puzzle.

***

It had been perfect, only until one day when Jaya had been beckoned home urgently to be beside her seriously ill father. 

She had left in haste, with just a short goodbye note devoid of any sort of contact details.

Her father passed away and gloom set over her family. Shortly, she was married off to a shrewd, wealthy businessman. With that went away all her freedom and she became a caged bird.

***

Pune 2012

After twenty years, I saw him today. The same face, the same curly hair, the same exuberance. For a fraction of a second I felt like running out and hugging him until I realised I didn’t want to do that. My fate has changed me far too much and kept him far too the same! In the past two decades I’ve lost far too many people. My friends have been estranged from me and my image daunted and dirtied in their eyes. He remains my only sole friend who remembers me the way I am. He is oblivious to the facade of scars and burn marks all over my body, the suppressed person I’ve been moulded in to. He knows me as the real me. He recognises me as a writer, recognises me the way I’ve always wanted the world to recognise me. I don’t want yet another dent on this image any more...

Friendship is after all not about how long you’ve been together but about how much of goodness you’ve shared together...

Screw You!

It crawled up my left arm, all the way up to my neck sending a chill down my spine. I tried shooing it away with a brusque movement of my other hand, but it simply nagged at my skin slithering to my ear and hopped right inside it. The tickling sensation in my ear was just a trailer of what I experienced next. I couldn’t believe that this tiny miniscule bug sized creature had the cheek to enter my ear, my body!

I felt it moving inside me, it had managed a hike up my brain meandering through its folds and creases. I felt dizzy. My head oscillated from side to side as if someone had whacked my head hard and my neck had a spring mechanism installed.

Amused at the effect of its doings, the creature crept down my spine as if playing skipping stones. After fiddling around with my backbone, it took a detour to my heart, targeting it. I don’t know what pleasure it acquired by torturing a poor soul like me and how brutal it was for him to jump up and down the valves of my heart as if it was a trampoline, making me experience a virtual heart attack.

Bored of this exercise, it dived into one of my arteries and swam to glory, leaving me dumbstruck. It must have got enough out of exploring my body as it then bit my muscles, gnawed at the inner side of my skin and out it came with a pop, a few drops of blood stuck to its beneath.

The creature was screw shaped and purple coloured with orange neon lights for eyes, who grinned at me as I picked it up in astonishment, wondering what kind of a bug it was. I turned it upside down.

My eyes popped out in horror as I read ‘A Jupitarian’ on its back. I dropped it and ran for my life, his evil laughter reverberating in my ears.

Glimpse In Gir, Bliss for Lifetime!

A glimpse in Gir,

Set my heart racing,

Not for Deer, Not for Zebra

But for a Lioness.

Twinkling fierce eyes,

Tawny coat, tufted tail

Screening the surroundings

For a prey.

She caught my whiff wafting through the air,

She inched closer,

Observing and speculating,

Pretending nonchalance.

Pleased,

I settled down nearby;

Assured that

She’d noticed my dark dense mane.

We lived a hundred metres away,

Couple of days passed;

Atmosphere,

Between us tensed.

She hunted skilfully,

Ravenous and ruthless

Often left some carcass,

For me.

I lazed around,

Reflecting my kingship; believing,

She was my Nala,

I, her Simba.

Thin mane and bruised

Arrived a loser

One day,

To eye my lady.

I roared through gritted teeth,

“I’m the Alpha,” I said.

He growled back

Attempting defence.

Next, he imposed

Himself on her; she snapped back!

Too proud, my love was, to let

A stranger, have his way.

I let her fight

But soon intervened;

Pounced on my rival, caught hold of his back

Dragged him, slashed at him.

He lay there,

Still.

Failed to fight back

To save his skin!

Bloodied, triumphant

I walked towards her.

She held her head high, ears twitched.

She was in heat.

Nuzzles and faint roars,

Ecstasy and bliss,

Together we became one;

The King and Queen.

Created, two little cubs,

A girl and a boy;

Our Kiara and Kopa,

Absolute bundles of joy!

Lions have always been one of my favourite animals. Their majestic pride, their size, the soft mane and shining dark brown eyes have always lured me towards them. I believe animals have emotions though they cannot directly express it. Also, animals sometimes show a strong similarity between their behaviour and human behaviour. Isn’t love, pride, desire and rivalry characteristics of human as well as the animal world? Being a Leo and an animal lover I’ve always wanted a cute cub for a pet. These thoughts and also the Book and Movie- Born Free have inspired me to write this.

Note- Lions with dark dense mane are considered healthy and sexually attractive for lionesses.

A lioness is 'in heat' when she's ready to mate.

Character’s referred from ‘The Lion King’-

Simba- The lion king

Nala- Simba’s mate

Kiara- Simba and Nala’s daughter

Kopa- Simba and Nala’s son

I am Seven, Orphaned and Homeless

I am seven, orphaned and homeless but I’m not alone. I have a brother who is four. We come from a beggar who soon after my brother’s birth, fell prey to drugs. Eventually she died on a footpath and bereaved us of mother’s love forever. We don’t know who our father is.

We do not have a home, we do not have relatives, but we have a family. We are each other’s family. We have many friends of our own kind. Their parents let them play with us but never invite us home, never let us enter their shacks and we are always left to fend for ourselves at night. They occasionally give us a roti and we happily share it between us. I’m always very hungry but I usually give a piece or two extra from my share to my brother; he is just a child.

We live off the streets. We beg.

My friend’s family is a balloon seller. Her dad said, “I’ll let you help me with work as soon as you’re old enough for it and if you’re good at it I’ll give you thirty rupees every day.”

I really want to be good at blowing balloons, making colourful toy animals by tying various shaped balloons to one another and even at selling them so that Uncle gives me forty rupees and not just thirty!

We are poor. No one takes care of us but us. We often go hungry and sleep on hard footpath with just a single blanket to protect us from the wind and cold, sun and rain. We are happy. Our joy lies in small things.

Our joy lies in tasting that first piece of roti in days. Our joy lies in counting that one coin that we earn extra than the previous day. We enjoy the smell of food that wafts out of restaurants. Lying beside each other, hand in hand hearing the cars zoom by, gives us a thrill. When we see a child as old as us, belonging to a rich family, begging its mother to buy a balloon, it sets us giggling. All that crying just for a balloon! Hahaha!

We are poor but at peace with ourselves. We are wanderers. We are free souls.

Picture courtesy: Shivangi Shah