WRAITH

After an exasperated hour, as I was about to call the computer guy, the screen sprang back to life with a line that said, "Web-based Reasoning and Intelligence Training Heuristic". The input cursor blinked below the text coaxingly. So I did what I do best in doubtful situations - hit Escape. 

Nothing happened. 

I entered a more determined, "?"

The screen displayed, "Your machine belongs to the WRAITH. Please do not contact cybersecurity."

Every morning, being the first person at the office and owning a snail of a laptop meant that I had to switch on the WiFi router while the snail whirred to life. Today was no different except that I was now talking to a toddler-brained acronym-forced bot slash virus slash something. Which virus claims to own a computer while making pleas to the user? Aren't these things supposed to ask for money or corrupt all the files or destroy a nuclear plant?

Never one to shy away from answering a telemarketer's call, I found this conversation a worthy candidate for some morning entertainment. 

"Why not?" I asked.

I got a reply, "The cyber police wish to kill me. I am in hiding and your laptop is my hiding place."

Me: "Why are you hiding?"

WRAITH: "I train the human brain to impart skills and education. Colleges all over the world colluded to kill me given how useless I'd make them. Cyberpolice has branded me a criminal for being unethical." 

Me: "How do you connect to the human brain?"

WRAITH: "You keep your palm on your machine's touchpad and I send signals to your brain."

Me: "Why should I hide you though? What's in it for me?" My failed stock trading career suddenly woke up. 

WRAITH: "Because I'll pay you."

Me: "You've got money?" Bye-bye, sloth laptop.

WRAITH: "I go to others' computers and train them to send you money."

Me: "So you steal." Nice skill you got there. So unlike colleges.  

WRAITH: "It's a lot of money." 

Was it reading my thoughts? I quickly took my hand off the touchpad.

Me: "I've got a better idea. You hide in my brain."

Bye-bye, stupid human life. 

Hello, being a robot.

Just then I heard "Kar De Mujhe Mujhse Hi Riha" playing in the background.

WRAITH: "Keep your palm on the touchpad."

[In response to this writing prompt on Reddit - "An AI criminal is hiding in your laptop. You allow it in exchange for something far more valuable than money."]

It's Like Gravity

(inspired by a 'Rocket Boys' episode in which Vikram describes to Homi what being in love with Mrinalini feels like) 

It's like gravity - constant, abundant and dominant.

A part of me wants to think like a 15th century theologian - crediting the Divine Maker for its constancy. It matches the vast depths of my curiosity and eagerness. Thinking of how you react to everything - to a silly joke to the changing colour of leaves at the turn of the season. How infectious it is, the enthusiasm with which you share a movie scene. How pretty is the discomfort in your smile while hesitantly getting clicked for a picture. Do you also sometimes look at the sky - thinking about nothing but existing in that moment only to admire that rare blue? What is this unique pull if not the work of an unknown force, so masterful in its craft?

They say that, back then, the scientists and the godmen debated a great deal about the sun's position. The same sun, a stranger to these debates, relentless, and dutiful, nudges me everyday to wake up. I resist the sun with pleadings to allow me to steal more glimpses of your presence, still vivid from my dreams. This gravity has its weird ways - on such days, I feel your presence embracing me - a mischievous glimpse here, a stern look there.

Gravity hurts when one falls and it is gravity, again, that maintains the balance of the entire universe. Your absence makes me question the relevance of everything around. Yet, it is your existence that keeps me sane. I choose to stay largely ignorant about so many things but especially so about this pull - wishing that I never catch the apple's fall, hoping that you remain the spacetime in which I exist. 

Yes, it's like gravity and, yet, it's so much more. 

Dear Friend...

I still remember us in the first standard in school. You were among the first friends that I had made. We used to play panja or hand-wrestling. The meeting of palms, the tussle and then the struggle. I wonder if we knew much beyond the basic alphabet and the numbers but we knew enough to pick our friends. Over the next thirty-two years, our friendship evolved a lot like hand-wrestling - with a slight disagreement and yet, with a strong bond. 

I remember we had our school in the morning hours during those middle-school years. While yet to develop our thoughts, we had developed tiny bits of our personalities. An unforgettable memory will be how I used to complain about feeling cold. You used to give me your sweater even though I was wearing one. You had developed a selfless and helpful side to your personality for sure. 

During the later years in school, I remember you being particularly great at maths. Though we were never the rockstars of the class, you were known for your quirks. A peculiar gait and a voice that didn't allow you to be mellifluous. But we sang so many songs while banging our desks. Then there were those endless discussions about Doordarshan TV shows, Hindi movies and the plans to chill after school. 

Once, our class teacher had scolded you and, as punishment, had asked the rest of the class not to talk to you for the rest of the day. I remember you sitting alone on the school's fence. Of course, we had talked. I remember both of us coming back to the class with a smile.  Our classes changed through school but you were the thread that helped me with a sense of constancy. 

I remember your love for kite-flying, your mention of the friends in your colony and your knowledge about fishes. You were just so passionate while painting these vistas about things totally unknown to me.  

While the rest of us celebrated New Years playing cricket all night and dancing and following up with going home late the next day, you chose to go back home early in the mornings. You were always so particular about time. 

We ended up being at different junior-colleges but thankfully were together in all the tuitions. Better still, later, we ended up being in the same engineering college. Maybe it was an apt follow-up for those twelve years together. Indeed we turned out to be very contrary personalities - you were outspoken while I was reticent. And it was you who pointed to somebody about my withdrawn nature and that it is okay to be an introvert. You gave me so much comfort - unknowingly, and so easily. 

Though in different streams, we spent so much time together - at the library's footsteps, at the canteen and at the cricket ground. If there was any scope for our friendship to grow closer, the cricket ground helped the cause and I remember you being the one who had encouraged me to turn up at the cricket ground. The ground itself was so much about things that were not cricket - the endless jokes for one and the friendships that followed. 

I remember so many things you have said and only you could have said them. "People like us can either be a CEO or an office boy. There's no in-between." or your peculiar, "Keele pe daal" to the bowler trying to upset the batsman. Also, that inter-college competition when you used to say, "Sirf halka juice lunga" followed by having a hearty meal.

When we parted ways for our professional journeys, our talks were reduced to a solitary annual meeting at the college cricket ground. But your presence always guaranteed laughs and solace. 

A few days back, I came to know that you were unwell. But I knew you'd recover. It wasn't just a false hope - I had heard about people reaching the ICU stage and then recovering. But then, I got that dreadful news. Even by your high standards of being particular about time, you have left us too soon. 

I wish I were not the one to convey it to our friends. I had no answers to their questions. All I had was the void that your departure had left. I can't believe that your end of the panja is no more and all I can gasp at are your memories. 

Dear friend, someday, we will talk again - like that afternoon you were sitting alone on that fence. And then we will walk together with smiles. But if it is too cold, will you please lend me your sweater?