1
The rickety space scooter flew in a zig zag
path and finally landed in the parking terminal. Idran knew that he needed to
fix the scooter’s gears. But he also knew that he wouldn’t do so until the
scooter completely refused to work.
Taking off his helmet, Idran activated his
oxygen mask and tapped the GPS switch on his watch. A faint line appeared in
front of him, directing Idran towards his destination.
The Mumbai Sigma district was a marvel of
34th century technology. The various streets and buildings were
arranged in neat circles and precise squares. But after all this was still
Mumbai. So at the corners of the neatly aligned streets were the floating pan
stalls and levitating political hoardings, with random groups of people jumping
on board the bullet trains (Yes, people still tried to stand at the door) and
jumping out of the rocket taxis (The meters still worked with some mysterious
logic).
Sure the air was un-breathable and of
course most of the city had drowned after the first wave of global warming in
the 21st century. But the indomitable spirit of the Mumbaikars (Or
the unquestionable need for money to survive) still endured. Especially in many
young men just like Idran Batave. Patting his long wavy hair, Idran quickly
followed the faint line in front of him.
He really hoped that he would win this new
client. Idran’s company, Capsulita Inc. was the world’s leading manufacturer of
the CIU compound. CIU – the Child In You was a revolutionary drug that had
saved the world from a complete economic collapse.
The story was now the first thing every
employee was told in their orientation. With an AV-machine strapped to his
head, Idran had also been shown the story of how Shri G.G. Faude, the founder
of Capsulita Inc. made this ground-breaking discovery.
What happened was, as far as Idran could
understand, that sometime in the 24th century there seemed to be
this great depression. Economic disasters leading to the worst kind of
hopelessness. People all over the world, from those working in leading
corporates to the ones loitering in the streets, were wondering, what’s the
point of all this?
Everyone seemed to conclude that there was
no point to all this.
For the first time in the history of
mankind, the world’s governments had to deploy police forces on a scale that
was unimaginable. It was a grave violation of human rights but the governments
were desperate to prevent any more suicides.
So the police, once tasked with maintaining
law and order, now kept an extremely vigilant lookout to prevent people from
jumping over bridges or enquiring about the firmness of ceiling fans. This
certainly made court trials immensely tricky as in the case of the State Vs.
Ms. Mithya Patel who had attempted to kill herself over 353 times. Wouldn’t
giving her a death sentence be more of a reward than a punishment?
Then Shri G.G. Faude found a way to heal
everyone’s lives with his revolutionary CIU compound. It was just a small pill
of a few milligrams, but this marvellous drug took people who consumed it back
to their childhood. They felt again a strong sense of joy and optimism. Unlike
an anti-depressant that only regulated the mind, Shri G.G. Faude’s innovation
seemed to transform the mind. Unlike hard drugs that took people away from
reality, CIU increased people’s ability to focus.
So with renewed energy, the world moved
ahead.
And here we are today, in a world of
solar-powered spaceships (Yes sometimes the sun can’t be seen through a haze of
pollution, but that’s okay) and fairly advanced A.I that has truly simplified
human existence (So far the robots didn’t seem to want to conquer the world. They
calculated that a world so broken down by humanity probably wasn’t going to
last very long).
Through an array of pristine and
well-designed footpaths, Idran was about to follow the faint line into a large
building – the office of the International Human Charter of India. That’s when
he noticed the restless old man pacing by the aerobus stop just outside the
office.
Even as the faint line blinked urgently,
Idran turned away from it and walked up to the old man.
‘Hello Sir. Are you all right?’
‘Eh? Eh? Me? Right all am I? Is it that I
am?’
The old man cocked his head to one side,
seemingly immersed in trying to find an answer.
He’s
a Sapien - X, thought Idran.
It had been explained to Idran that the CIU
compound now in use for many centuries had still not managed to save everyone.
So through a line of descent from various people of the 24th century,
there were still these depressed, confused, lost souls, who had never consumed
CIU. These were called the Sapien-X.
Idran felt a wave of sympathy for the old
man. He seemed to be around eighty, an age when CIU could no longer be
administered.
Reminding
himself that he still had a job to do, Idran resolutely turned away from the
old man and walked into the charter’s office.
2
‘So in conclusion, a daily dose of CIU
improves productivity to 120%, capital output by 237% and profitability by an
astounding 580%!’
Like a star awaiting applause, Idran smiled
at the HR manager. Mrs. Manati peered at him silently through her large bifocal
glasses. At one point it seemed like she was about to snap at Idran but then
she simply nodded her head and took a few deep breaths.
Finally almost in a soft whisper she said ‘Mr.
Batave, what about creativity?’
Idran looked like someone had just knocked
his stumps with a not too gentle delivery.
‘Huh? Crea..creativity?’ He muttered.
No one ever asked him about this. None of
his 53 large clients based in different corners of the globe had ever asked him
about this. But from his extensive training as a salesman, Idran finally found
a few answers.
Recovering his composure Idran continued
speaking.
‘Excellent point Ma’am. You see CIU is
after all the Child in You! We have countless reports and studies that show how
our product improves a user’s ability to write, paint, draw, or do anything
creative with 40% greater effectiveness.’
With a mocking smiled Mrs. Manati exclaimed.
‘Oh 40%! That’s so wonderful! Now Mr.Batave could you tell me the name of one
reputed artist or writer who uses CIU?’
This time Idran felt like someone had not only
knocked his stumps but had pulverised them to a few atoms.
‘There…there must be something in the
database. I…I will get back to you soon on that Mrs. Manati.’ He muttered.
Mrs.Manati looked at Idran and smiled
kindly this time.
‘Don’t bother Mr. Batave. There are many
artists who have used CIU. But then they completely lost interest in their
creative work. Most of them are now making machines that make art.’
‘Well good for them!’ exclaimed Idran,
trying to sound confident.
Mrs. Manati sighed with a sense of
exhaustion.
‘You’re
still a very young man Mr. Batave. Perhaps you won’t appreciate how making
something beautiful isn’t always an efficient process.’
Idran energetically pointed out of the
glass windows. ‘But Ma’am just look at the city! All this technology, all this
uh, development, isn’t it beautiful?’
Shuffling through a few files on her desk,
Mrs. Manati tersely replied. ‘Mr. Batave, if I opened these windows, neither
you nor I would be alive to appreciate any of this beauty. That’s the kind of
world we live in.’
‘But Ma’am with a productivity rate of
120%...’
Mrs. Manati slammed the files on her desk.
‘You really want to make this sale,
don’t you? Okay then. Tell me do you use
this CIU Mr. Batave?’
‘Of course!’ replied Idran, unnecessarily
puffing out his chest. He was proud of how much more efficient and lively he
had become after he began regularly taking the CIU dose since last year.
‘Hmph. Of course you do. Then tell me Mr.
Batave, who was your favourite school teacher?’
The conversation had reached a point where
Idran and his stumps were beginning to feel uncomfortable with their existence.
‘My…my favourite school teacher?’
‘Oh is that too difficult for you Mr.
Batave? Then at least tell me who was your favourite cricket player when you
were a child?’
Idran
tried to find an answer, but his mind seemed to be covered in a haze.
‘Ma’am I can’t remember…’ Idran confessed.
‘Of course you can’t. Because you are a
user of CIU.’
‘But…but Ma’am if I don’t use CIU I will
become a Sapien-X…’
Mrs. Manati glared at Idran.
‘Mr. Batave I am what you call a “Sapien-X”.
If you weren’t so brainwashed by Capsulita, you would also be what I am. A
normal person.’
Idran’s stumps
decided that they had enough of this existence. Perhaps in the next life they’d
be reincarnated as something less stressful like a boundary line.
3
Idran’s rickety scooter navigated the
traffic in sky lane no. 54. Through a thick screen of exhaust fumes, the moon
still managed to shine upon the busy Mumbaikars. Like everyone else, Idran
didn’t notice it.
Who was his favourite cricketer as a child?
Idran could remember the names of many players but he just couldn’t recall who
had inspired him to follow the game. (There was very little of it to follow now.
In the 34th century, lack of oxygen and terrible soil conditions had
reduced the cricketing season to some 5 series played in a few surviving hilly pitches).
Like an overexcited dog, the scooter
managed to land in Idran’s apartment. The parking space was only slightly
larger than the single room.
Quickly walking up to the console screen,
Idran searched for a list of the greatest cricketers of all time. All the faces
were familiar to Idran but none of them brought back any trace of memory.
That’s when Idran had a horrible feeling of
dropping from his scooter while it still flew 50,000 feet in the sky. He realised
that he couldn’t recall any of his childhood. No school teacher, no best
friends, no scary exams. Absolutely nothing.
Nervously patting his hair and pacing in
the room, Idran stumbled over the 538 things that were precisely in places they
shouldn’t be. A random step made a ball roll across the floor, hit a pan that
supported a shelf, made the shelf collapse on Idran’s toes and an old Capsulita
Trainee Manual whacked Idran right on the nose.
With a long groan remarkably similar to his
scooter’s engine, Idran picked up the manual. Somewhere at the end of it he
found an address for the CIU manufacturing and research facility based in the Mumbai
Delta district.
Suddenly Idran
knew what he needed to do.
4
The Mumbai Delta district was built some
5,000 feet above what used to be Dharavi in the 21st century. A
group of leading manufacturers and researchers had set up their plants in this
vast humid expanse. Their sensibilities could not permit a name like Dharavi,
hence was born the Mumbai Delta district (However Chor Bazaar was still called
Chor Bazaar because that’s what it still was).
Unlike Sigma (Built above Sion), Delta was
not a district with precise squares and lanes. After parking his scooter in the
aerobus depot, Idran walked through the narrow corridors and crowded elevators
that connected the different manufacturing plants.
Idran knew that he would not be allowed
into the Capsulita research facility without any proper authorisation (Which he
wouldn’t get until he completed at least 50 years in Capsulita). So Idran
headed to the only place where he could easily obtain answers not to be found
anywhere else.
After some 34 lefts and 78 rights, Idran
finally reached the chai tapri. Through the various centuries, the only
significant way in which a chai tapri had changed was that now everyone wore
oxygen masks while they smoked.
This chai tapri owned by Monty bhai was in
a rare public space just a few corridors from the Capuslita research facility.
Idran took his chai to a flimsy table in the corner and opened his laptop,
pretending to do some work. Soon around the lunch hour, a crowd of people
bearing Capsulita ID cards gathered at the stall.
In a few minutes Idran found what he was
looking for. Standing by himself in one corner was a young teenager who had the
right mix of youthfulness and frustration that made it clear that he was an
intern.
Idran walked up to the chubby and innocent
looking teenager, offering him a cup of tea. With a puppy-like expression, the
teenager turned to Idran and spoke ‘Oh thank you so much sir! Thank you! You
are a salesman aren’t you? I hope one day I’ll be just like you!’
Clearing his throat Idran spoke ‘Listen
buddy, I won’t affect your promotions. You can relax.’
Exhaling with relief, Javid replied ‘Oh
thank God. I am so tired of sucking up to everyone. Then what do you want sir?’
Unable to contain himself, Idran asked ‘Oh
I was just wondering if there any new CIU drug variants coming out. Working
here you must have had a dose right?’
Glumly Javid the intern replied ‘There are
no new variants. And no sir I have not been given any CIU. I will only be
eligible 6 months from now.’
Looking casually at the console behind the tapri,
Idran spoke. ‘Oh look, they’re showing some India-Pakistan match from 2242. I
umm, really liked this Indian team when I was in school. Did you uh, have a
favourite cricketer when you were a child?’
Immediately Javid replied ‘Clive Lloyd. I
mean sure our team beat him in 1983 but as a captain he won 2 world cups before
that! And his 102 runs from 88 balls in the 75 world cup...that was just pure
magic…’
Now Javid spoke less like an intern and
more like a passionate fan. ‘Can you believe, he won 11 test matches one after
the other! Oh and he was pretty decent as a medium pace bowler too! See back
then in my hometown we only got access to repeat telecast matches from the 1970s
and 80s. So it was a long time before I discovered any of the recent
cricketers.’
Holding up his laptop, Idran tried to sound
coherent ‘Cli…Clive Lloyd is it? That’s great. That’s really great. Well I have
to get back to some sales work. Nice talking to you buddy.’
Almost running away from him, Idran turned
back and whispered ‘Oh and I hope you soon get confirmed. Best of luck with
that!’
Idran quickly disappeared into one of the
countless corridors leading to the aerobus depot. But the same thought kept
running in his mind.
He didn’t even have to think about it. He didn’t even
have to think about it!
5
It had been 2 years, 3 months, half a week
and 15 hours since Idran had taken a CIU pill. It had also been about the same
time since he had lost his job at Capsulita when he ‘accidentally’ dropped a
5kg delivery package of CIU.
Idran had also lost a lot weight, then
gained too much of it and then lost some more again.
But fortunately Idran finally found the
time to repair his scooter and seek reliable help for his health (This meant
walking away from a lot of hospitals with Capsulita hoardings).
So a very different Idran Batave was
revisiting the International Human Charter of India. This time he walked less
like a man on a mission and more like a man who was just enjoying his walk.
Peering at Idran from above her stack of
files, Mrs. Manati smiled. Their organisation was one of many for whom Idran
did a little freelance marketing work.
‘Yes Mr. Batave?’
‘Uh, hello Mrs. Manati.’ Idran greeted her
nervously.
He paced 5 foot to the left, 16 foot to the
right, before completing a triangle that would have certainly pleased
Pythagoras.
Finally Idran paused and smiled. It had
come to him last night. A memory of his years in the Mumbai Rouge district (Above
Lalbaug with still no red gardens). Like Javid, during Idran’s childhood even
he only had access to the telecast of certain matches only these matches were
from the 1990s. A time when a certain man of a short stature and revolutionary
style had become the new God of cricket.
Smiling peacefully Idran walked away from
Mrs. Manti’s office. Then slipping his head through the door he spoke softly.
‘Sachin. His name was Sachin Mrs. Manati.’
THE
END