Jabro

 

Jabro lay drugged and sedated on a huge marble slab. He was a 250 kg silverback gorilla. And he was brought here for an experiment - rude and against his rights. But better for the future generations of gorillas or maybe for all the animal species in general, so Michael thought. He was fussing over him. He had developed a chip called NUT which he had inserted into Jabro’s brain. 

NUT would monitor Jabro’s thoughts and stream them over Michael’s computer screen. He wanted to know what or how a gorilla thought. They all seemed to have very inquisitive eyes so Michael knew they could process it like a human being. Maybe not to that extent but still. 

NUT was designed to work like an AI. Just like how a computer is aided and made more expressive with the help of AI, so would this NUT help gorilla think, imagine, and ultimately express more like no other gorilla had ever been able to do so before. Maybe Jabro would start talking.  

He wanted to send Jabro back to jungles before the effect of the drug wore off. The bandages were being removed. And Jabro was now moving slightly and making funny sounds….

The Garbage Man

 

He dragged a rag each day along the street. 

A bit tipsy but in his element. 

Amidst this braggy crowd a smile so sweet. 

In high spirits though shoulders - a bit bent. 

He carried our used and unwanted load -

empty plastic bottles, half eaten food. 

He roamed the neighbourhood, knew every road. 

He was no stranger but the stray dogs shooed. 

He thanked each soul though not required of him.  

Just a few nodded but many ignored. 

We are of a class that is trim and prim. 

While he the parasite walking our roads.

We indulge, litter, find ways to amuse. 

We refuse to acknowledge our refuse. 

Faked

 

Michael lived on the 44th floor of an apartment. In the middle of a cold rainy night he saw something weird happening in the street. It was unclear. He took his binoculars and witnessed a man getting stabbed. Michael rushed down. The victim was stone-cold dead.  The killer had vanished into thin air without leaving a trace. Michael was a private detective. He called the police. They all came and surrounded the body and after an elaborate scrutiny realised it was impossible to solve this murder. The killer had left no trace at all. Even the footmarks had been washed away by the relentless rains. 

But Michael had a plan. He looked at the dead man. He was about his size. He told the police not to inform anyone at the moment. Not even to the man’s relatives. They were more than obliged if the murder could be solved. Michael put the plan into motion. 

They took the body to a morgue as quickly as they could. It was unfortunate but fortunately in this case, there were no marks left on the road to indicate that something out of the ordinary, let alone a murder had taken place. 

Once in the morgue they checked the body again. The man was wearing  jeans and a brown shirt. Shoes without socks. Other than that there was nothing on him - no wallet, no ring, no watch. Nothing to declare his identity. Even better - thought Michael. And whatever little he had witnessed from his 44th floor, he could say robbery wasn’t the motive. 

Well, whatever little perception to help solve the murder. 

He got a pair of jeans and similar brown shirt the victim was wearing.  No need to replace the shoes. He tore his shirt where it was torn on the dead man, lied down on a bed, put a fake oxygen mask on himself. He attached some random tubes on the mask and plugged to a stand which had a water bag but looked like glucose. Basically, he dressed himself as the dead man unconscious lying on a hospital bed. But gave an effect as if he was still half alive. Because of the mask and the tubes his features were kind of camouflaged. He told the police to take a picture of him and a small video, and ran it on a news channel announcing that an unknown man was stabbed but still alive and if any relative knew him then to come and visit him.  There was a phone number but no address. 

And they waited. The neighbourhood was just about waking up. Before the first light they received a call. A lady, not really sobbing but telling the police she knew the man. His name was John. She worked for John at his house doing laundry and a bit of cleaning. John lived alone. As far as she knew, she  wasn’t aware of any relative or any friend visiting him at his house. They thanked the lady and told her to call back if anything else she knew of John. 

They waited, waited for a long time for the phone to ring. Nothing. Dead end. No one to claim Johnny boy? Michael thought and changed his plan a bit. The police had a safe house in that area. They did their secret work there. Michael resent the  video and the picture  they had taken earlier to a few more news channels informing them that John was still alive. But this time they sent an address - the address of the safe house. 

They moved to the safe house and changed the place a bit to make it look like a makeshift hospital. They stationed two good policemen outside the house dressed as hospital staff. Two more on the street like hawkers. Few video camera to monitor the movements in case they missed anything. 

The stage was set, the trap was set. The waited for the killer to perform his act. The clock ticked on. Nobody came to see the body. Late afternoon a postman came and delivered the post. Michael was tired acting as a dead man.  Half dead man to be correct. Come on John, if no one knew you then who randomly killed you? In the evening Michael finally got up, taking off the tube and all the paraphernalia. He went to the video room just to pass the time. The only footage of someone other than the police guys was of the postman. Michael was about to switch off when he realised it was Sunday and no post was delivered on a Sunday. He rewound the tape. And there it was. The postman was looking a bit suspicious and he was checking the surrounding suspiciously after delivering the so called post. Michael ran and checked the letter or mail he had delivered. There was one envelope with no address. He opened it without taking a permission from the police.  There was a note that just said “ NUTS “

Michael gaped at it. 

They had drawn in the killer.  Enticed him with a brilliant bait. They almost had him but for the last minute goof up or oversight……

New Building

 

The building was bare - its skeleton left. 

A few bones protruding from its windows. 

Those once welcoming doors now felt bereft. 

And the flesh of memories no one knows. 

But soon new cells will form and settle in. 

The idle veins will pump with a new flow. 

The bones will clatter creating a din,

and try to match the old fluorescent glow. 

Brick by brick, step by step stones will be placed. 

Light of a flame to dust off the lament. 

The old tiles will wither to be replaced

with dabs of fresh paint, layers of cement. 

Hope our hopes are not a fancy built-up

for they do not lie in building’s framework. 

The Yak Temple

 

The sun filtered through the trees, not by much. The forest was dense, wet and calm. Michael gazed at the temple. It was in the shape of a yak- majestic and powerful. The temple was made from black stones. He touched one stone and realised it wasn’t stone. In fact, it was a black, robust diamond. The quality of the diamond was unlike anything Michael had ever seen or heard of. It was ancient. Michael was scared of guessing its age but if he had to -  a million-year-old. He went closer to examine and heard some buzzing sound- as if the yak was breathing. He touched the temple again almost in reverence. There definitely was some humming. The diamond was vibrating and he could feel it in his hands. There were probably a hundred such diamonds stuck together to make the temple, like a jigsaw puzzle.  Each diamond was about one square foot.  Suddenly Michael realised that they were stuck together by magnets. The buzzing  was the low thrum of a magnetic field. These magnets seemed very powerful since the temple had withstood, if Michael was right, for millions of years. If the temple was that old then how could  human or any creature know magnetic theories then? Or was it that they were far more advanced and we had still million years to get there? Then there were diamonds. Michael wouldn’t be surprised if these diamonds were translucent. And then why did the temple represent a yak since yaks cannot survive in forests or jungles. They lived in areas with high altitudes. So could this yak  have lived in humid as well as cold places? 

Michael paused and thought. He thought for a long time. These theories were quite mind boggling. Or were they really theories? He was seeing them in action here, wasn’t he?……

The Circle

 

The beach appears calm as the full moon shines. 

The sea waltzes a mile back from the sand. 

A smiling fisherman his boat aligns

before the sun shows off its orange band. 

Some old men form a circle to gossip. 

Their easy-chairs seem heavy with laughter. 

They relish the spicy tea sip by sip. 

And retell the tales once much sought after. 

Soon the moon will shine less and change the tide. 

The circle of old men will diminish. 

Old tales will fade as they have run their ride. 

Pretend not the sea-salt to be sweetish. 

Those chairs will remain so will the circle. 

Men will be replaced by the new cycle . 

The Blind

 

A blind man waits at the door-

waits for his stop to arrive. 

A smile and the cane to oar

this human tide, and survive. 

We hustle, bustle and fight

to jump on the bandwagon. 

Though we know the wrong from right-

we grease the wheel of jargon. 

The blind man sees without eyes. 

We turn a blind eye to vice. 

The Pill-Grim

 

Michael led a sedentary time-tabled life. He realised that the only time there was excitement in his life was when he was dreaming- and the only time he showed courage. Perhaps he knew he was dreaming and could get away with anything. He wanted to be part of his dreams. He wanted to act out his dreams even if in a semi-subconscious state. But he could not.  

He had heard of REM (Rapid Eye Movement ), a phase while asleep when the most clear dreams occurred.  But during that time one experienced atonia - a state when the muscles were kind of paralysed temporarily to prevent one from acting out one’s dreams. Hmmm.  If Michael could make a drug which acted as anti- atonia, and in turn released his paralysed muscles…..The Dream Walk…

Now he was fully awake and first time in many years, excited. 

He held a degree in chemistry but had rarely practised it since college. Now was the time. He set about making a drug which would act as an agent for anti-atonia. He would call it Pill-Grim. He would then monitor the isomorphism of his dreams. He thought of putting a camera that would video his movements when asleep and dreaming . He would enact his dreams with the help of the Pill-Grim.  And then he would watch his own video-tape when he was fully awake. The excitement was about to begin….

Trust

 

The ‘walk’ sign is on but you do not cross. 

The smile seems sour even when it is sweet. 

The dove resembles an old albatross. 

And you look both ways on a one-way street. 

The alarm chimes six but you think it is four. 

The queue where you stand is always longer. 

The sky is clear yet you think it will pour. 

Even the truth is a gossip monger. 

A lie and a powdered face have more weight. 

And the good old baker’s bread appears stale. 

So quick to blame the gods for the ill fate. 

Radio and weathermen spin their own tales. 

We work more and more because we want more. 

And the lack of trust creates an uproar. 

Nora

 

It was 12 o’clock in the night. There was a knock at Michael’s door. He was groggy.  Who would knock at this time? He peered through the peephole, eyes already squinted with  lack of sleep. There stood a young lady in a red saree.  She smiled as Michael peeped through. Michael recoiled.  But he opened the door all the same. Curious and suddenly less afraid. 

“Can I have a glass of water?” She asked. 

Michael mumbled something that vaguely sounded ‘sure’. 

“ Please come in, “  he said 

Now, why did I say that? He wondered. She was attractive but there was something beyond beauty that attracted Michael. He felt some connection. 

She entered his house and sat in the chair that was offered. Smiling. Satisfied. Contended - Thought Michael as he brought a glass of water. 

She took a sip, put the glass down and smiled again. 

“ Hi Michael. I am Nora,” she said. “ I have travelled and come from far.”

Really? Where is your bag? Wait! Where are your shoes or sandals or whatever?  And how did she know my name? Michael thought but didn’t ask. Secretly thinking he was famous.  

She said she knew all about Michael. And then she started talking. And how! She talked about history, geography, alchemy and what not.  She talked about computers and their workings. Probably referring to AI? God knows. She talked about anything and everything. 

Michael was mesmerised. And this time not by her beauty. He sat silently stupefied. The amount of knowledge she possessed and processed was astounding. She went on for hours. Michael hadn’t uttered a word, and he wasn’t bored either. Just an odd nod out of courtesy sometimes.  His sleep was gone but again it felt like he was dreaming with a heavy dose of something. It didn’t feel real. 

Michael realised Nora hadn’t touched her water but for the first customary formal sip. Well! She hadn’t knocked at 12 o’clock midnight for water for sure.

After what seemed like a five hour marathon session of encyclopaedia, Nora paused. She looked at Michael intensely and said “ Michael,  I am going to write down a series of numbers and give it to you. “

Aren’t you full of surprises, my dear Nora? As if the history lessons weren’t enough. 

“ What are they? “Michael asked. 

“ It is key in the form of numbers,” Nora said. 

Gosh! This is definitely some dream, thought Michael convinced. 

Sensing no questions coming forth from Michael, Nora continued. 

“ Let me explain,” she said. 

Please - I have no energy to understand or ask any question. 

Nora smiled and nodded. 

Did she understand? Mind reader?

Anyways.  Michael waited for the fantasy dream to get over. 

 “ The series of numbers which I will jot down is a sequence to open a locker .  And that locker is the cell in your brain,” Nora said. 

Well! Well! Well! Cent percent a dream. Thank god I will wake up in some time- Michael mumbled to himself. 

“ In fact it is a formula which, when repeated three times in the order which I give , will open a brain cell in your head which has been idle so far. You are not aware of this cell nor the memory it contains. It is in your subconscious mind. Once this cell is opened you will see a picture of a grave with an address.  And in this grave lies a key. The key is not hard to find. It lies just underneath the stone. It is the key to a vault. The address of which I will send you after you get hold of the key. And the procedure will be the same. You will receive more sets of numbers to open a brain cell in your head. Remember, the sequence of numbers can only be opened by you. It will not work for anyone else who possesses this sequence. Because it is stored by me with your identification.  And that identification involves lots of things. Gene, voice, biometrics,  to name a few,” Nora concluded. 

“ Any question? “ She asked. 

You must be joking. 

Number 1 - who are you?

Number 2 - why me? ( not that he minded )

Number 3 - are you serious?

But instead Michael asked, “ Could you explain that in English, please?”

Nora smiled. Well- she looks just like me, thought Michael. 

“ The numbers are like any secret numbers that open a safe. Only in this instance they are called memory numbers. Instead of punching or turning a key to open a safe, you call out these numbers, which is basically a formula that opens a cell in your brain. And that cell has a picture of a grave,” Nora said. 

“ Where is this series of numbers or formula as you call it? “ asked Michael. 

“ It will be on your phone once I leave,” Nora said. 

“ And what’s in the vault? “Michael asked. 

Nora smiled. That smile again. “ Thank you Michael for the water” She got up and without a further word opened the door and left. 

 Before Michael realised this was an abrupt end, she had closed the door behind her. Michael walked back to his balcony hurriedly to catch a sight of her leaving.  But there was no sign of her. He just heard a faint swish somewhere. 

Wow!  Quite a night. Must be close to morning, thought Michael scratching his head.  He looked and glanced at the wall clock. It showed 12 midnight still. Thinking the clock had stopped, Michael went to look for the time on his phone. It was 12. 

Utterly confused and sleepy now, Michael went back to sleep. I’m sure tomorrow there will be no trace of this, he thought.

He slept for a long time. Or so he thought. He got up with a start. His alarm was ringing. It was 4 AM. He thought he must have slept for ten hours. He went to the hall to check the time on the clock. It said 4 AM. 

Michael went to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, brushed, and still thinking returned to the hall. Nothing was amiss. Well! It was a dream after all. But then he noticed the glass of water lying on the table with one sip missing. 

The dream or whatever it was , came roaring back. Michael went and checked his phone again. Nothing. But when he looked closely there was one tiny light beeping on his phone. 

When Michael touched it, there popped a series of numbers. Just like what Nora had said. Michael almost dropped the phone. So it wasn’t a dream. But then , why did it feel like one? And what about the time? It had stayed at 12 even after many hours. 

Not knowing what else to think or do, Michael repeated the number sequence once- nothing, second time, still nothing, third time, still nothing. He kept his phone down and waited.  He didn’t  know for what to happen. And then he heard a swish inside his head. It was the sound of a safe opening, just like Nora had said. Michael waited. He closed his eyes. And there it was. He could see the picture of the grave in his mind. It was like remembering something or visualising something long forgotten. The picture was very clear. And below the picture there was an address.  The address of the grave. It was written by hand. It was probably written by Nora but it felt like Michael’s handwriting. Michael memorised the address. Not that he needed to since he could always reopen the “ safe” with those numbers. But still. Just to be safe. 

Michael couldn’t make out the location so he typed it in his laptop. 

The first leg of his journey was about to begin….