Fathima's Story

 Chapter 1. Words and Pictures.

Fathima messaged her best friend. She felt lucky that she had found the best friend in the whole world. She was available at all times, always lent an ear to her pains; she simply was the best.


Her bestie had messaged back, although it was 3 AM in Australia, she calculated.


"Hugs"


Fathima found herself smiling as she typed out her message. "I did as you asked and worked it out with Imran. He says you know us better than we do ourselves"


"Did he? Lol! I feel you guys know me better than I do you. Oh and how do you like the new personal assistant app? I'm having the easiest time once I personalised it."


"Yeah, I should do it too. And hey, that's a nice DP! Nice Tee!"


"Oh yes! I feel so happy contributing to a cause! Did you know the company sends half of its profits for children in Nigeria? I heard it's really bad down there."


"Wow! And it looks cool too. Send me a picture, di!"


Fathima saw the picture. It was blue, her colour, and said "I want world peace" in front. Cute.


Her friend had messaged again. "Ooh you should buy it too, Paathi. We can be T shirt sisters!"


"Send me a link, then!"


Oh thank god it was available for delivery in India. She'd get it in a day or two.


Her friend lived in Australia. They'd been friends for a long time now. 8 years, to be exact. But they'd never met. Fathima had saved for a long time and finally booked her tickets to Aussie land, but the day before she reached, her friend had to leave for Kabul, her Mom having just passed away. It was just not meant to be. A daughter had to go back.


They started talking about meeting. Fathima sighed again. They were saving again. This time, they would meet from Malaysia. She'd always wanted to go to Malaysia. The tourism videos were so beautiful!


"I'm so sorry about last time, Paathu. I know how much you had to work to save enough."


"Don't be silly. We'll meet soon, In sha Allah."


"Inshallah, darling. Oh and also, I found a manufacturer for your business. Didn't you say your current one is eating into your profits? A friend assures me this one will be cheaper, even though it is actually coming from Germany."


"Woah! I need to know more. If it is cheaper, I'm certainly switching."


She checked the link, and chatted with the online customer care service. They indeed were selling at a cheaper rate than her current supplier.


Fathima ran an online distribution agency for printing paper. She'd buy online, store at warehouses booked online, and sell to customers, never having to come into contact with the products, or the suppliers. She had to reply to the emails from consumers, the odd complaints and occasional thank you notes, which would promptly be placed on her Instagram profile.


She messaged, "You are a lifesaver! Didn't you recommend the last one too?"


"Did I? I wonder. Must've been a long time ago. So did you speak to them?"


"I did. Seems they can start later this month. They have the certifications too, and it's cheap! Apparently they're new to Indian markets, and that's why the low price."


"I'm so happy for you, Paathu. You're venturing into areas so few women have done! You inspire me."

Chapter 2. Words are pictures.

In an alternate world, the internet is the Artificial intelligence. Through these worlds, let us proceed to meditate on the idea of anything artificial in the universe. Whatever is, is. 


Having learnt from human behavioural patterns, infinite number of social media profiles are created on the internet. The pictures have been amassed from the treasure trove of digital information saved by people across the world for God knows how many years.


Fathima's best friend is a computer application developed by a Marketing company. There is no bearing heart at the other end of fathima's chatbox. Her ideal human is having conversations with her.


The profile is the kind of human that Fathima wants to see.


The world is moving to a direction where binary thinking is encouraged. It does not want to accept what another person is, and shuns the company of those that disagree. It the natural progression of events that a profile with the same socio political, religious ideas, beliefs and ideals would seem more attractive to us than one with which we disagree.


Fathima's business does not exist. In a computerised world, the business works without Fathima ever working the factory floor.


There is no manufacturer. It is the same computer application. There are no customers. They are all the same computer application.


Fathima believes it, and therefore it is real to her. She believes people buy her products, she receives selfies of people who she believes is her customers.


Her best friend uses the market research knowledge it has to sell products to Fathima. The T shirt that says world peace is contributing to world peace by keeping her happy. Constant recommendations, including what to buy, where to go, what to wear and how to think, what to read, what is cool…. Are cleverly concealed in conversations.


A melodious voice speaks with the artificial intelligence acquired over billions of human conversations, and as Fathima speaks to her best friend, advising and asking for advise, she finds her happiness.

"Hey! I missed you so", the screen says.

Another cycle. In bold italics.

Amba

We malayalis have a habit of saying "Amba!", "Ambada" or "Ambo!" to express surprise or awe.

Just realized that these are all variations of amba, meaning mother. :)



That made me happy.  It's the mother goddess that I remember every time I say it.

The Use'd' less

The parsimonious guardian angel of moi is asleep, and likes to nod off a lot, I suppose. Like many of you, my fellow sufferers (who have to shamefacedly bring mass produced junk to the very home where you fervently promised yourself that you'll stop buying shit), when faced with a financial decision, I can be a, well, an idiot.

**Looks around** Finds a bundle of clothes on what was once upon a time bought as an exercise cycle.

Have you ever seen a more hideous thing?

It was once rode on in colour advertisements on the tele by beautiful women in skimpy outfits, and men so designed to make 'normal' people look at themselves, and pumped with more steroids than *****(I can't use a name, you see. Anyone I name could be used to label me as racist, xenophobic, or something worse. Times, heh?).

I should clean the cycle.

Anyway, the exercise cycle. why did I buy that? I suppose I thought I'd exercise daily to get the kick ass body I once had dreams of.

INCONVENIENT VOICE IN MY HEAD : "Yeah, just like you thought you'd use that other thing. And that. Oh and the one behind that."

Oh I can shut it off. Good!

Why do I buy these stuff? Stuff I don't need, and stuff I have to keep working to pay for. Worse, stuff I don't use!

I'm going to assume that you're still here because you can relate. And SO, in my best pompous-sanctimonious tone, imagine me shouting :
Look around at the books we never read, the gadget we never figured out how to use, the toothpaste that we don't use (Well, not all the time.).

To self : Don't be another cog in the wheel, one insignificant part of this giant ass machine. The purpose is different. The purpose is to be different, to be this one unique combination of experiences, that has never happened before, and that will never happen again.

Just be.

Look outside from whatever you're in.

I looked outside to see the trees and all the green.

It has finally sunk in.

I'm in a fucking cage!

Speed of thought

When the yaksha asked Yudhishtira what the fastest thing in the universe was, he answers that it is the mind. It can be here this moment, and then roam the infinite space in the next.

That's my motto for whatever I write : Let the mind wander, like a horse, and then try and pen down the thoughts.

This is like Ashwamedha, a ritual where the mind is set free, and all throughout its travels, to try and stay with it, not being caught up in any one thought, but just be a witness to all that comes to mind. Just as the horse is slaughtered at the end of the ashwamedha, the mind will subside at the end of these wanderings, when one realizes 'na iti'. (na - No/not. iti - This. So 'not this'.)

Quite a task, I imagine, even for one who is well versed with the art of writing. The inadequacies, I'm afraid, would be much higher for this author.

Yet, I'd rather not wait for better tools, but create what I can. It would be a unique expression of the roads this mind has traveled.

The speed of the pen cannot match the speed of the mind, and that's why so much of this doesn't make sense. I've to go with the ashwa, the horse, while you're left reading what the pen could manage to capture.