Penance

I remember how I used to love the rain. I loved the drops of water falling on my face, and I loved the sweet odour just when it would begin to rain. It was not so anymore. I do not mean that I dislike it now - I am just indifferent. I am indifferent to the rain, to the heat, cold, to everything.

How many days had I been here in the forest? How far was I from home? Home? Did it even exist anymore? That place which I called home - could I call it by that name ever again?

It was beginning to get dark and yet another of the days that I have lost count of was about to end. I sat down under a tree and soon the fatigue got the better of me. I dreamed of my life before this one, the nightmare that has haunted me ever since this started.

A----- was angry. She was always angry. Sometimes she'd be playfully angry. But this was not one of those times. I could only listen to her and look at how beautiful she looked with her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. Yes, she was indeed even more beautiful in her anger. I kept looking at her. What else could I do? We had no money. We had run into debt and that day at the supermarket A-----'s credit card had been refused by the machine. Her anger and frustration were justifed. We just could not carry on like this anymore.

Six months into her pregnancy, A----- could not work and I was yet to find a job that I was not overqualifed for. There was no food at home, we were hungry and so was the unborn soul growing inside of A-----.

Hunger - there was something about this that felt strange. I was at home and yet I was wet and cold. At least the hunger was something that felt real. Real - It's funny how dreams always fall apart the moment we become conscious of reality.

I opened my eyes and stared into the growing darkness, broken only now and then by the faint glitter of raindrops falling from the leaves. Indifferent as I was to everything else, millions of years of evolution prevented me from having the same attitude towards hunger. I got up and started looking for something to eat. It was not diffcult to find. Soon I came upon a tree with small round fruit that tasted like apples but made the mouth rather dry. Irony - It was easier to eat here in the forest than in civilization where one has to earn the right to live and feed oneself and one's family.

I suppose I was very hungry because when I stopped eating, I had already eaten about twenty of the small apples and I was very thirsty. I could hear a stream up ahead and made my way towards it. By then, it was very dark. On other nights the moonlight would be sufficient to make one's way safely through the forest. But that night the moonlight was blocked by the clouds. I had to depend entirely on my hearing to find the source of water. I slipped and stumbled on the rocky path but continued in the direction of the sound
of water.

Finally the sound of the flowing water was very close and I could perceive some movement up in front of me. I walked forward cautiously with my arms stretched out in front of me. Then suddenly my fingers touched the
cold water. Why was it so high up instead of flowing on the ground? Was this a cascade? Why does it stink here? Why do I feel weightless? Wonder - Thought is indeed faster than light.

I felt a sharp blow to my head and a darkness - darker than that of the night - closed in upon me.

That night was dark too. We were expecting it as the result of the unpaid electricity bills. The timing could not have been worse. In the darkness I could no longer see A-----'s face. With nothing to distract me from her words, they now started cutting deeper into the wounds of my conscience. I was irresponsible. I leeched off her income while I was studying for my PhD. She had no savings because of me and now I had no job. It was I who wanted the baby and not she. She wished she'd never met me. It was sickening. I felt like I was about to throw up. Real.

I came to with a throbbing pain in my head and the feeling of nausea caused by the foul stench in this place - wherever this place was. I could feel the cold water around my feet and I could hear the splashing behind me. I must have fallen into this hole as I walked towards the water. I could see some light in the distance and I walked towards it.

As I advanced I became aware of a light splashing that seemed to be moving parallel to me in the darkness to my left. I stopped to look. There was nothing - no movement, no sounds. I turned back to continue on my way. Many minutes later, the light seemed as far away as it was in the beginning, and this splashing was following me relentlessly from the darkness.

I stopped, turned to my left and took out the kitchen knife I had in my pocket. Would I have to use it again?

I called out, "I know you are there. Come out and show yourself." Nothing. I thought I was hallucinating. I started to turn back to face the light when I saw a creature, with bulging eyes, wrinkled skin and tattered clothes jump out from the darkness towards me. My instinct of self-preservation caused me to lift my hands - one of them still holding the knife - to cover my face. As the creature fell upon me I heard the sickening sound of my knife penetrating its throat.

It was not the first time I had heard this sound. It was not the first time this particular knife had done it either. In the darkness of that night A----- continued to vent her frustration by calling me names and cursing her decision to have married me. I sat quietly at the kitchen table with a strange sickness rising up in my throat and a dizziness in my head. I wanted to hold on to something. As I put my hand on the table I touched the knife. At that very moment A----- walked up next to me and shook me, saying "Now say something, will you?" I don't know exactly what I was thinking then, but with one movement I got up and my left hand swung the knife straight into her throat. It was not until a few seconds after the deed that I realized what I had done. In my panic I rushed out of the house, and somehow found my way into the forest. Murder - Why does it bother us so much when it is woven into the very fabric of life here on this planet?

This person that I had killed here in the hole was now lying face down at my feet. I turned away from the corpse to resume my journey towards the light. I do not know how long I had been walking but I was still no closer to it than I was before. I strained my eyes to see something of what was around me but it was too dark. Time did not seem to have any meaning in here, I felt neither hunger nor thirst - only the urge to reach the light. There was one other thing that I felt - Regret.

After what seemed like an eternity, I was still no closer to the light. Then I heard a thud and I saw something fall down in front of me. I went closer to look. It was a man and his face filled me with rage beyond what I have ever known. As he started moving I quietly slipped into the shadows. He got up, looked around and started moving towards the light - it was the only thing to do in this hole. I started following him from within the shadows - my rage growing with every step we took. Once he stopped to look in my direction but I do not think he saw me because he turned back and continued on his path. About an hour later, I could not contain myself any longer and was about to come out of the shadows when he stopped, turned to me and called out. I did not move, but as he turned back I pounced upon him. I did not expect him to be armed but I was wrong. I felt a sharp pain in my throat and moments later I felt nothing at all - ever again.

The man turned and continued towards the light.

Non-Stop Genie

This is a story I heard in my childhood, but I do not remember from whom

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a very intelligent young man. One day, as he was rummaging in the cellar of his parents' house for old books to read, he found an old lamp. He had read wonderful stories about genies that came out of lamps to grant wishes, and so he rubbed the side of the lamp.

As soon as he rubbed the side, he heard a rumbling sound from within the lamp. The lamp started shaking, and he dropped it to the ground. There were fumes at the spout of the lamp, and then, with a flash, out came a genie !!

The genie said, "My name Non-Stop Genie! Thank you for freeing me from the lamp. You are now my master and I shall do whatever you will ask of me." The young man was somewhat shaken, but quickly gathered his wits, and asked the genie, "How many wishes do I have ? And what kind of a name is Non-Stop Genie ?"

"You have an unlimited number of wishes. However, you must keep me engaged at all times. The moment I will not have an order to fulfill, I shall kill you, and return to the prison inside the lamp. This is why I am known as Non-Stop Genie."

The young man got rather scared by this, and immediately ordered the genie to arrange all the books in the cellar in neat piles. He thought that the genie would be occupied for at least a few hours, and started mounting the stairs, when the genie called to him, "It is done, Master. What shall I do next ?"

Surprised, the man asked the genie to now order the books by title. Again, the genie was back in less than a minute, waiting for his next order. This time, the man decided to send the genie on a long journey, so he said, "Go get me some snow from the north and south poles." This time, the genie was even faster. He was back within a flash. Seeing this magic, the man was baffled.

The genie promptly reminded him that since no new order seemed forthcoming, he would have to proceed to kill his master. The need for self-preservation became a lubricant and set into motion the gears of the young man's mind, jammed by the rust of fear.

He said, "Go get me a 100 metre long pole".

The genie got it.

"Now plant it in the ground in the backyard."

"Done, Master. What am I to do next ?"

"Now cover this pole with oil and then climb up to the top of the pole."

The genie said, "As you wish, my Master." and started climbing up the oiled-up pole. Every time he would climb an inch, he would slip back to where he started from. Thus, the clever young man saved himself from the "Non-Stop Genie".

The cat who became Station Master

I read about Tama, the cat who became a station master in Japan.
Have a look here.

Recurring dreams

I have had this dream ever since I can remember.

I dream about an infinite staircase, and I am going down it. In the beginning I walk, then start running down the stairs. After some time I start jumping over the steps to go down faster. Since the staircase is infinite, I never reach the bottom though.

In fact, I'm so used to this dream now that whenever I have it, I realize that it is actually a dream, but still continue dreaming.

I wonder if it means anything, and if anyone has had such dreams.

The Impossible Choice

Peter opened his eyes slowly, and let the cool morning light flow in. As he looked out the window, he saw the blue autumn sky, providing the background for leaves drifting down to the earth after having lived out their lifetimes in the heights of the trees. This thought jolted him back to reality, a reality that was as ugly as the morning was beautiful.

He quickly showered and grabbed some breakfast before running off to the hospital. His wife, Sara, was to have an operation today to remove the cancerous tumours that were corroding her from within. Sara was such a sweet little woman, that it was hard to imagine why she should suffer so. ”Life is not just”, thought Peter as he entered the hospital. Just a fraction of a second before he entered Sara’s room, all signs of worry vanished from his face, and he greeted Sara with a great smile. Peter had done this so many times, that it came to him with clockwork precision. Unfortunately, this time to practice his change of expression came at a huge cost, and all of the money that they had been saving for that dream vacation, for their home in the suburbs, for their children’s college education, every last penny was gone. But Peter couldn’t think of these now. As he saw Sara, he thought that she was still so beautiful. He knew how much he loved her, and how much he wanted her to be happy.

Sara was very happy to see Peter, but the heavy medication that she was on permitted her to only manage a feeble smile. They sat there together for a while, talking about each other, holding hands. The moment that Peter dreaded the most had arrived. He had to tell her now. Sara knew that Peter had lost his last job two months ago. Instead of joining another low paying job as a restaurant help, Peter decided to take a chance, and entered an internship that paid him nothing for first two months. However, if he was selected at the end of this period, he would start earning five times as much as he could earn in any of the jobs he could get easily. Both of them had decided that it was worth the gamble. Peter had done very well at the academy, and was confident of gaining the position. He had worked very hard for the last two months, had foreseen everything that a client would want, and had pleased customers on every deal he closed. What Peter did not, and could never foresee, was that the final selection interview would be scheduled on the same day as Sara’s operation. He had to leave, and when he told Sara about it, she was surprisingly strong. Sara told Peter not to worry, and convinced him that there was nothing he could do during the operation, it was the doctors’ show all the way. Hence, it was perfectly alright for Peter to go for the interview. So, reluctant as he was, Peter decided to leave Sara until the afternoon.

As Peter was leaving, the matron called him to her table, as she had some forms for him to fill out. That took quite a lot of time, and Peter was afraid he’d be late for the interview. He rushed out into the street and hailed a taxi, an extravagance, considering his present financial condition, but a necessity, considering the hour. As the taxi rolled out onto the main road, and subsequently sped over the flyovers, Peter began to relax. He was confident that he’d reach the office in a few minutes, and ten minutes remained before the scheduled starting time. Peter closed his eyes, and recalled all the work he’d done in the past two months. The first deal he’d got after making thirty-odd calls, the first time a client had been delighted at his handling of the deal, the first time a client called back and expressly asked for Peter’s services. All this helped Peter calm his nerves, and he was sure he’d get the job.

The taxi suddenly started decelerating, and in less than twenty seconds, it came to a standstill at the end of a huge line of bumper-to bumper traffic. ”Merde !!”, said the French taxi driver, and jolted Peter out of his réverie. As he looked out over the flyover, he saw that the traffic jam extended from the top of the flyover till the road down below, up to a very long distance. He could see his destination from here, but estimated a ten-minute walk down to the building. He would be late, but not too late perhaps. ”Why must it happen now?”, thought Peter as he stepped out of the cab, paid the driver, and started walking. He was walking quite briskly, and the closer he got to the building, the faster he walked. As he left the flyover, Peter could see the famous fountain in front of the museum. Tourists were a regular feature there. Peter thought how fortunate some people were, who had enough money and not enough worries, so that they could visit some place that they’d read about somewhere, and throw coins into a fountain which was supposed to return favours for the coins. How could anyone believe something like that?

Peter’s train of thought was interrupted by a loud screech, followed by a blow to his shin. He was thrown off balance. He had run into the middle of the street as he was looking the other way at the fountain, and had been hit by a car. He was unhurt, thanks to the driver’s excellent reaction time, but his portfolio file, which contained all his hard work through the internship training period, was ruined. It had fallen to the side of the street, and was soggy by the time Peter could pick it up. Peter’s jacket’s right hand sleeve was also torn, but Peter couldn’t wait any more. He quickly got up, collected his things, and rushed off towards the office, leaving the traffic disrupted and eighty-three surprised pedestrians and twenty- four equally surprised motorists following his progress with their eyes.

Peter reached the building looking like a mess, and he left his dripping portfolio in the waiting room. The interview was a disaster for Peter. He had apologized for his appearance, giving an honest account of what happened, but he did not believe it would melt the hearts of the boardroom sharks that made up the jury. There was an hour-long wait before the results would be declared, and all Peter could think of now was something that would help him get the position. He had already lost all hope, but was still trying to think of something, hoping against hope, that would help him get the job. Suddenly, he saw the famous fountain through the window, and he knew what he had to do. He ran out to the fountain, but this time he was more careful about the traffic, and reached there safely. He fished out a coin from his pocket, and prayed hard for the job before he dropped the metal disc into the sparkling water. He couldn’t believe what he was doing. All his life, he had laughed at the fools who willingly dropped coins into a pool of water, and today, he had become one of them.

When Peter returned to the building, the results had already been declared. They were on the board. He saw the candidates crowded around the single piece of paper. From a distance, Peter could see that only two had been chosen from a pool of thirty applicants. As he came closer, all the world became silent, and nothing existed except the paper and himself. He read the names, and could not believe his eyes. The fountain had done what it was fabled to do! Peter had been chosen!! He was overjoyed, and after meeting the jury members, and congratulating the only other successful candidate, he rushed out, and back to see Sara.

Peter was ecstatic. By the end of the week he would have enough cash and all his problems would be over. He would have a steady job, and Sara and he could start saving for their future again. He could start paying off his debts, and would be a free man before the year was over. Soon, through the net of a hundred of different things he could think of to do with the money, Peter could see the hospital. He would see Sara soon.

Entering the hall before the operation theater, Peter sensed that something was wrong. Why was the doctor outside? Shoudn’t he be still operating on Sara? Maybe he had finished, and Sara was back in her room, recovering. Peter ran to the room. The doctor had seen him by this time, and followed him in. Sara wasn’t in her room, and Peter was about to go back to the doctor to ask where she was, when the doctor entered, and closed the door behind him. One look at the doctor’s face told Peter what had happened. The doctor explained everything. Sara was gone, she had not survived the operation. He tried his best to comfort Peter, but Peter just sat there silently, staring blankly. All he could think about was the fountain, where he had prayed for the wrong thing. He could never forgive himself for making the wrong choice.

2063 AD

On October 21, 2063, as the maglev train shot silently through the tunnel connecting the cities on opposite sides of the chain of hills, there was just one single sound that rang out feebly. A tiny pebble, dislodged from its place at the ceiling of the tunnel by a small rodent, had struck the side of the train. The impact at 450 km/hr had created a nasty gash about an inch long on the glossy surface of the train. Immediately, there started a silent movement among the meshwork that lay below the surface of the vehicle. The arteries that were exposed by the gash were now sensing an imbalance between the chemical potential within them and outside. The pasty material inside them started diffusing out of the semi-permeable membrane of the mesh. As it came into contact with air, it slowly hardened. The rate of diffusion got slower, but it was never quite zero. As the train emerged out of the kilometre long tunnel, its surface was smooth and flawless to the human eye. To the computer eye, that is, sensors, the surface was near perfect. There was a recorded log of the outflow of material from the meshwork in the concerned area. A repair schedule had been fixed when the train would reach its terminal station.

After the passengers had dismounted, the train pulled into its hangar. The repair robot moved to the specified coordinates and measured the depression of a few microns at the site of the accident. The robot extended its arm and sprayed a small quantity of the same pasty stuff on to the surface of the train. Now the body was flawless to robot eyes too. The train moved out for another trip.

Though steel was still used for most of the beams and columns of the shell of the mega-city, and also for the supporting rail of the maglev trains, this ’pasty stuff’ had revolutionized the world of materials since the first decade of the 21st century. It was a lightweight material with adequate strength to endure light impacts. Traffic jams and in general road accidents had dropped to zero after all vehicles became controlled by the supercomputer at the traffic department. The only accidents were of the form described at the beginning: the so-called ’natural catastrophes’. Even with these accidents, the self-healing process done by the meshwork below had rendered this material the universal choice.

Close relatives of our material here were extensively used in hospitals, and to a lesser extent, in common households, where the walls were covered with a germ repelling paint. The more affluent customers had a mesh installed directly on the walls before they were painted. This gave their walls a self-healing property too.

After dinner, each member of the family put his/her plate into the dishwasher. As the last plate was in, the machine started its daily task. After the leftover food had been scraped off, the clean plates were dried and elevated out of the machine. A free flowing clear liquid filled the chamber of the dishwasher. This liquid was the new universal solvent. It dissolved almost everything except the inner lining of the dishwasher and the pipes that carried it. As the liquid flushed out of the machine, the chamber was left sparkling clean. The underground pipes from dishwashers, industrial plants, and toilets, among a variety of other places, carried the garbage-saturated fluid to the processing station. Here by the simple principle of fractional distillation, the low-boiling liquid evaporated first, leaving all other residues behind. This waste was divided between biodegradable and non-biodegradable on the basis of its source. The residues were sent for recycling or degradation, or for filling purposes.

Now that dinner was done, I proceeded to my favorite couch. It was a new one. It had in its memory, the comfort settings of all the family members. As I sat down on it, the sensors identified me by my weight and posture of sitting. Signals were sent to the small nodes at the large number of joints just under the soft surface of the chair. These nodes, on receiving the signals, produced an appropriate temperature at the respective joint. Taking all the joints in conjunction the effect produced was wonderful, the shape of the couch changed to suit me. I felt myself sinking in ever so slightly, yet there was a firm support for my lower back. The small thermal expansions and contractions had molded the couch just for me. I decided to buy a bed of the same series.

Just then my sister walked in. She had bought one of those new skin patches. She tapped her right temple lightly and a soft glow of the right side of her face indicated that the patch was active. With a very subtle movement of her eyes, cheek and eyebrows, she switched on the television. This patch was synchronized with most household electronic devices. The signals through movement of eyes, eyebrows and cheeks were simple and easy to learn. Each gesture produced a different state of stress inside the patch. The material of the patch was inlaid with several million microscopic piezoelectric crystals arranged in a network. As the stress was relieved, all the stressed piezoelectric crystals released a unique combined electric signal. This signal, within limits of human error, was interpreted by a small processor hanging behind my sister’s ear, and sent wirelessly to the concerned device as an instruction. Even considering the wide range error for humans, it was still possible for the processor to identify and send several hundred thousand different signals. The TV showed an advertisement for the new skin patch that would allow us to type and control cursors on computers with just the subtle gestures of our faces. Of course, learning to use it was an issue.

Suddenly, I thought of my uncle, who worked at a public Laundromat until it closed down nearly thirty years ago. Not only that particular Laundromat, but all of them. All clothes today are made of material having an obtuse angle of contact with all water-based liquids, grease, dirt and most foodstuffs. Washing clothes was a thing of the past. Just a simple jerk to the cloth was enough to remove any loosely adherent dust.

I slept early that night; I had a presentation the following day. The next morning I was up and ready to present my idea for the new line of cars that our company would start manufacturing. Reaching the office, I headed directly for the conference room where the board members were already waiting. I pressed my thumb lightly on the small pad on the wall beside the door. The green light confirmed recognition and the doors parted to let me in. After the necessary protocol, I drew up the slides in each of the directors’ personal viewing screens from my computer. The new car was to have a wholly different type of propulsion. The spherical wheels of the car would fit into a larger cavity on the underside of the car leaving a small section outside to contact the road. The inside of this cavity and one equator of each wheel would be lined with magnets. With the static magnetic field, the repulsion would balance the weight of the car and leave the required gap between the car body and the road as well as the wheel and the cavity. Superimposed on this field would be another dynamic field, which would cause the wheel to rotate such that the magnets on the wheel remain in a vertical plane. This system would eliminate friction between the car and wheel and provide acceleration. I had had this idea when I was in engineering college, but it had not proved feasible due to the large mass of high strength magnets. With the discovery of the magnetism of carbon, it has now become easy to use this system with lightweight carbon magnets and electromagnets. The directors loved the idea and sanctioned the funds for research in this area.

That evening I had a small party celebrating the success of my presentation with a few relatives and close friends. At night, I sat down to watch a movie. My friends had recommended it as the best watch among the latest releases. It was about a young engineer in the decade of 2000-2010 who had drawn up plans of several of the technologies that common people use today. Truly, today’s science fiction is tomorrow’s science fact.

The Sixth Sense

Humans hardly ever ventured into the colony of mutants, and mutants almost never came into the human world. What little interaction there was was limited to necessary trading of commodities that one needed, and the other possessed. This too was always done through chosen representatives, and the masses never participated in these exchanges, most were unaware of it.

This peaceful divide had existed since time immemorial, though some of the elders spoke of a time when there was only one race on this world. The world was peaceful back then, as it is now. But there are centuries of conflict dividing the two epochs. Conflict to decide who was more powerful, which race was superior, which should be the ruler, and which the ruled. All this started by the desire of a handful of humans, to improve humanity through their experiments. They intended to empower humans with a sixth sense, the power to read thoughts, without speaking a word. Their experiments were very successful, but the converted ones had to pay a terrible price for the new power, they lost speech altogether.

While a large number of humans crossed over to the other side, many chose not to improve themselves. And thus was born the divide, and an age of war followed, until it was understood by both that none was the more powerful, and must coexist, albeit separately, for their cultures had grown very differently in the years of isolation.

Whether this story is true or not, nobody knew, for no records existed. However, it was taken more as a legend to be respected, and a studied separation existed between the two races, which none tried to violate.

The exchanges of materials took place at certain appointed checkpoints. There was always a representative of either side, who took away all that was brought, and provided a list of items required on the next meeting. One such checkpoint was manned by Mali the human, and Wust the mutant.

Both of them had been at this post for over ten years, and had formed quite a friendship, of which neither spoke to another soul, and were afraid to think about themselves. Such a relationship was unheard of, and the fear of rejection by their communities kept it that way.

Mali grew more curious every day. She always asked Wust to describe the special sense that he had. Wust had tried several times, but it was not easy, especially with the total lack of speech. He had tried to show her some books they had on the thought-reading sense, but it was not enough for Mali. The more she read about it, the more she wanted to know, the more she wanted to understand. Finally, that day came when Mali requested Wust to do what he had feared most. She wanted to experience the sixth sense. He immediately signalled, "No! You must not!!"

"Why? Just for once, just for ten minutes."

"There is a divide between our races, and let it be so. One must know when to stop."

Mali was not to be turned down so easily. She knew of the serum which could give a human the sixth sense for ten minutes. Finally Wust relented. It was agreed that on the next exchange, Wust would carry a syringe with the serum, and they would try it out in the evening.

Mali could not contain herself throughout the next month, and her parents noticed the change in her. They did not like her choice of career, and always warned her to stay away from 'that dirty mutant'. Now they were more convinced than ever that it was his evil influence on their daughter. They decided to speak to the border control authorities.

Thirty days passed like thirty years for Mali, but they passed, and the time had come for her to try out the sixth sense. She greeted Wust with more warmth than usual, and Wust replied with less. After the contents of the trains were verified, and they went off in opposite directions, Wust and Mali went into the now desolate checkpoint office. Wust tried to dissuade Mali one last time, but she would hear none of it. She simply rolled up her sleeves, and signaled Wust to begin. Reluctantly, Wust pulled out the syringe, and injected Mali with the serum.

At first Mali did not feel anything, and was wondering if her dear friend had fooled her. One look at Wust told her that he had not fooled her, the serum was real. It came to her slowly as a soft murmuring, which grew into a terrific shriek in a fraction of a second. She was thrown off balance by the sheer loudness. Then there were some strange odors, was it an orange, or a damp smell, or is it some smell that there is no word for? As she staggered to her feet, her skin felt warm and cold at the same time. When she thought of the warmth, it started feeling hotter and hotter, and the moment she thought of the cold, her skin started to freeze. Wust warned her that what she was experiencing now was only her own thoughts, her brain reading its own thoughts, and multiplying the effect several times over.

Mali suddenly realized that Wust had neither spoken a word, nor had he signaled any gestures, yet she understood him perfectly. It was working!! She was thrilled. She wanted to experience it to a higher degree, she wanted to run out into the world, and listen to all the thoughts flying around. Wust restrained her, and urged her to communicate with him through thoughts first. She agreed, and they started talking, if it can be called that. It was wonderful, there were no words spoken, neither were there any words playing in her head. It was just a continuous flow of thought, and a perfect understanding of the others ideas.

Suddenly, Mali realized that the ten minutes were almost up, but there was still so much left to do!! Her thoughts started getting incoherent again, and noise blocked out Wusts thoughts from her. Was it her thoughts that clogged the communication? No. There were unknown voices, strange sensations. There was worry, anxiety, anger, horror. What was happening? As the effect of the serum wore off, the sense diminished to a mere murmur just as it had started, and Mali began to plead Wust for another shot of the serum.

It was only then that Mali realized what all those incoherent voices and sensations were. The border control authorities had arrived to investigate the complaint filed by her parents. They just saw the mutant Wust sitting helplessly on a chair, and the human Mali begging him for another shot of the serum. She was oblivious of the fact that she was being arrested for violating the rules; all she cared about was another shot of the serum. As she was dragged away, she saw Wust being taken away too, but all she cared about now was another shot of the serum.

Regrets

Pierre felt the servo motors in his legs give way, and he dropped twenty metres deeper into the abyss. His power pack was almost out of energy. Nobody would find him for centuries if he remained inside the abyss. Without electricity, his memory banks would be erased in about fifty years. Three centuries of experiences - the early subroutines, the rigid programming, becoming self-aware, developing consciousness, joining the military, the missions on distant planets, rising through the ranks to become a general - would be lost. He simply could not allow that to happen. He had to get out of the abyss so that he could send out a homing signal. If he had his original servo motors in his legs, he could have climbed out easily.

Pierre recalled the accident that had damaged his legs. It was a few years after the onset of self-awareness. He was one of the few androids that had evolved beyond their programming. He had started forming a personality, and was moving toward being more human. He was in a group of friends, both humans and androids, taking a walk in the mountains. They came upon a cliff with a waterfall. It was a sheer drop into the lake below. It was Pierre who suggested they dive into the water. Everyone else was afraid, but not Pierre. He wanted to experience everything, he always questioned the rules, he always wanted to do something new. All the others stayed behind, but Pierre jumped. The free fall was as exhilarating as he had expected. However, as soon as he landed in the water, his visual receptors sensed a large boulder just under the water. He did not have enough time to avoid the rock, but he managed to turn his body around so that he landed feet first. The impact destroyed the servo motors that regulated the movement in his legs, but at least no other critical systems were lost.

The motors were replaced with a newer type of motor that was considered to be better for the androids. These motors had a shorter response time as they linked directly to the neural net, it was later found that they could not be separated from the android without damaging him permanently. In any case, their performance was excellent, but two centuries is a long time for a servo motor.

Pierre regretted that rash decision, and wished he had never jumped. He wished that he had been more careful with his choices in his youth. As his power began to fail, Pierre dropped into a coma, with his brain functioning in a dream-like state to keep his mental pathways active with the minimum possible use of power.

Pierre found himself at the cliff again. With the sheer drop in front of him. He wanted to dive into the water below, but remembered what that had brought him. He decided not to. He decided to be safe. The rest of his life flashed quickly before his eyes, and every time he took a decision he found to be rash, he decided against it. When the pace of events slowed down a bit, he found himself as a junior maintenance officer on board a cargo vessel. The humans and androids he knew were in posts of command, while he was stuck in a monotonous job. What had gone wrong? He felt trapped, he had to escape.

This shook him back to consciousness. He looked around him. He was back in the cave, wearing a general's uniform. He knew then that whatever he had become was a result of all the choices he had made in the past. Nobody ever became great by following the rules, by playing it safe. Pierre had no more regrets in his mind. Even if he did die, he would die as the first android to reach the rank of an army general, which was inifitely better than living as the android who was exactly like a hundred thousand others.

Festival of lights – Lyon 2009

Sunday, 6 December 2009, was a cloudy, not too cold, and somewhat depressing day in Saint-Étienne. Yet, I was very happy as I was looking forward to my visit to Lyon for the Fête des Lumières, or the Festival of lights. This festival of lights has been celebrated by the people of Lyon every year since 1643, when the town was struck by the plague. The municipal councilors had promised to pay a tribute to The Virgin Mary if Lyon was spared.

This festival, which started with people lighting candles in their windows, has now evolved into a grand spectacle with nearly a hundred different light shows all over the city.

I visited this festival with my good friend Adeline, and before we realized it, we spent 5 and a half hours walking around Lyon, thought we had seen just a few of things there were to see. We started our tour at Vieux Lyon, at the Cathédrale Saint-Jean. Here, there was a projection show titled Les Bâtisseurs or The Builders. It chronicled the construction of the cathédral with the finale being the projections matching in every detail with the façade of the building.

The Cathédrale Saint-Jean

I do not have a better camera, or I could have got a better picture.

Next, we moved to the banks of the river Saône, which provided an excellent vantage point to watch the fireworks. These fireworks were originally planned for the 14th of July, the Liberation Day. However, due to heavy rains, they had been canceled. It was fortunate for us that we got to see them on this day.

Fireworks

Following the fireworks, which lasted about 20 minutes and was spectacular, we decided to climb the hill to reach the Basilica of Fourvière. On the way to the basilica, we spotted this tiny garden with quaint lights, and a very soothing ambiance. There were lights shaped like tulips. There was also a nice woman who greeted me "Bon soir!!" just as I entered. I began to rummage in my head to recall where I may have met her before, or how she knew me, when I realized that it was just a friendly greeting. A gentleman standing just next to the woman offered us some hot soup made of lentils and sprinkled some coriander over it. We enjoyed the garden in silence, sipping the hot soup. As we were leaving, we christened this garden Le Jardin Peace.

Le Jardin Peace

After this slight detour, we continued our ascent to the basilica. The light show that they had here was different from the others in that the music was more modern – Adeline and I tried to do an impromptu autobot dance here – and the lighting was more internal than projected. Also, the music was made up entirely with the sounds of church bells. The enormous front face of the basilica looked surreal just a few seconds before the end of the show.

The Basilica of Fourvière

We also had some very good hot wine (vin chaud) which we bought just in front of the basilica. Vin chaud is made by heating some red wine with sugar and certain spices. Everybody seems to have their own recipe for it. My good friend Zuzanna uses Quatre Épices and so do I, but I did not taste any of this spice in the wine we bought here at the basilica. It works very well to warm oneself on cold nights, at the same time not getting drunk too. Adeline and I walked to the rear of the basilica where a display was mounted, thanking Mary in huge luminous letters "Merci Marie". The view of the Lyon city centre is breathtaking from this location. There were too many people here, and so I was unable to take a picture.

Having emptied our glasses of hot wine, and having rested ourselves a bit, we began the downhill trek to reach the Hôtel de Ville, or the city hall, where the light show is a must-see. On the way down, we discovered a space beside the road, where there was a unique style of lighting. Everywhere we had seen projections on to walls and buildings, and lighting from within at the basilica. Here, the projectors were placed over head, and the designs were formed on the floor, and on the people walking over it. Personally, this was my favorite as I found the simplicity of the idea and the complexity of the result overwhelming. I did take some pictures here, but due to the low light conditions, none of them do any justice to this amazing spectacle.

At the city hall, this year's show was titled Jouons du temps or "Let's play with time". Throughout the length of the show there was a clock and a métronome placed centrally on the two displays. The métronome kept the rhythm while the direction of the movement of the clock indicated the sense of the passage of time. The seasons passed, time changed direction several times, buildings were erected and they fell, all of which reminded us of the transient nature of all that exists, and showing us the beauty of every passing moment, which can be just as eternal as it is fleeting.

Various stages of the show at Hôtel de Ville

We were mesmerized by the profound thought and excellent execution of this show and we watched it several times. This was when we realized that it was getting late and if we were to take the last train out of Lyon, we would have hurry up. Therefore, we decided to take a look at one more place before we walked to Bellecour and took the metro to Part-Dieu from where we would leave Lyon.

As we left the square of the city hall, we came upon another large square just beside the Lyon Opéra, where there was a garden of lights. There were giant glowing mushrooms, trees with tiny sparkles at the end of their branches and a variety of other shapes as well.

The Garden of Lights

This is where we ended our visit of this festival. I am sure I will return next year and every year when it is possible for me to visit Lyon.

Le mystère de l’enfant bryuant

En août c’est les vacances, en septembre, c’est la rentrée! Du coup, la ville qui me semblait morte en août était devenue soudainement très active et vivante en septembre. Comme les gens qui avaient recommencé leur travail, les enfants aussi avaient recommencé le sien.
Il y a une école maternelle près de mon appartement, et chaque matin quand je sors, je vois des parents qui partent avoir laissé leurs enfants à l’école.
Par habitude, je pars à 08h30 tous les matins. Vers 08h15, je suis en train de prendre mon petit-déjeuner. C’était un matin en septembre que j’avais marqué quelque chose très intéressante. Il était 08h15. J’ai entendu un enfant qui chantait dans le couloir juste en face de la porte d’entrée de mon appartement. Quelques secondes plus tard, j’ai entendu quelqu’un disant ”Chut!”. Mais l’enfant continuait chanter sa chanson. Encore quelques secondes plus tard, j’ai entendu un deuxième ”Chut!”, et cette fois, l’enfant a arrêté.
J’ai pensé que c’était peut-être un parent de l’enfant qui avait dit deux fois ”Chut!” avant que l’enfant s’était arrêté. Mais, le lendemain, la même chose s’est passée. Je l’ai trouvé très bizarre que l’enfant arrêtait toujours à la deuxième fois que le ”Chut!” fut dit. Pourquoi?
Pour meiux comprendre ce qui s’est passé, j’ai regardé bien le couloir. J’habite au rez-de-chaussée. Il y a seulement un autre appartement au rez-de-chaussée. Un vieux homme habite dans cet appartement et il n’y a aucun enfant qui habite chez lui. Les portes des tous les appartements du bâtiment sont du bois, et elles ne font aucun bruit quand elles se ferment. Juste en face de ma porte, il y a deux portes des deux ascenseurs de l’immeuble. Cettes portes sont métalliques et elles ont des revêtement en caoutchouc. A gauche, il y a l’entrée principale de l’immeuble. Cette porte, comme celles des ascenseurs, est métallique et elle aussi a un revêtement en caoutchouc.
Lorsque j’avais bien regardé le couloir, j’avais tout de suite compris ce qui avait passé avant. C’est très important de se rappeler que je n’avais rien vu. Je n’avais que entendu le bruit dans le couloir. La chanson était, bien sûr, la voix d’un enfant, mais le ”Chut!” n’était pas forcement celle d’une personne.
J’ai reconstruit dans ma tête donc les événements de tous les matins. L’enfant qui chante ne s’arrête jamais de chanter. Mais, les ”Chut!” ne sont pas du tout la voix d’un parent, mais ils sont le son du caoutchouc des portes de l’ascenseur et l’entrée principale qui se traîne sur le sol. Quand l’enfant sort de l’ascenseur, je commence de l’entendre. Le premier ”Chut!” vient donc quand la porte de l’ascenseur ferme. Le deuxième vient quand la porte d’entrée ferme. Après la fermeture de cette porte-là, on n’entend plus l’enfant, même s’il puisse continuer à chanter.
Le lendemain, j’ai laissé ma porte ouverte et j’ai vérifié que c’était bien le cas et mon histoire était justement ce qui se passe tous les matins.

The Mystery of the Noisy Child

I arrived in Saint-Etienne at the beginning of July. The summer months see people moving out of the cities and into the holiday locations for their annual vacations. As a result, the city seems deserted. I spent the first two months in this new city seeing on an average one person every five minutes when I was outside on the streets.

Thus, when September began and the schools opened, more importantly the primary school just across the road from my house, it took me some time to get accustomed to all the noise every morning. It was during the first week of September that something very interesting happened, and this is the story of that very event.

I wake up at 6:40 every morning and by 8:25 I leave my apartment to go to work. Since the first week of September, every morning sometime between 8:15 and 8:17, I hear a child singing in the corridor just outside my door for a few seconds. Just about a second later, I hear a sound as if someone were asking the child to be quiet. It sounds like "Shh!" The child does not stop. Around two seconds later, there is a second "Shh!" and the child becomes silent.

When I heard this the first time, I did not attach much importance to it. However, the next day, the exact same sequence of events followed. This is when my curiosity was piqued.

The first day when I heard the child, I had formed the following story in my mind. I had assumed that the child was going to school accompanied by a parent. As the child sang, the parent said "Shh!" to ask the child to be quiet. The child did not listen and continues to sing until the parent says "Shh!" again. However, I asked myself the following question: "Why is it that everyday the child becomes quiet only after the second time the "Shh!" is said?"

I could have just looked out the door the next day, but I thought it to be a nice challenge to be able to figure it out on my own. Therefore, later that day, I examined the corridor. Standing at my door, there are two elevators straight ahead. The inner doors of the elevator are sliding doors while the outer doors, which open on each floor are of the swinging type. To the right of the elevators is the door of the only other apartment on my floor, which is the ground floor. An old couple lives in this apartment and they have no small children in their house. To the left of the elevators is the security door which has heavy glass panes and leads to the exterieur of the building. Thus, anyone wishing to enter or leave the building must pass through this door.

Having seen this I thought about the events and arrived at a solution. I verified it the next day and was delighted to see that I was correct. If you wish to solve the problem yourself, I suggest you stop reading here because I will describe my solution in the remaining part of the text.



I first brought to mind the fact that I had seen nothing, but only heard. Therefore assuming that the sound of "Shh!" was made by a person is pure speculation. The sound the child made was definitely beyond doubt that of a child. This led me to the following solution to the problem. The child goes to school every morning around 8:15. He descends using the elevator and is in the habit of singing or making some sound as he walks out. The first sound of "Shh!" is not made by a person, but by the closing of the swinging door of the elevator. Of course, this does stop the child from singing. In order to exit the building, the child now moves to the security door and opens it. All this time, he continues his song. As he leaves the building by the security door, it is the door that makes the second "Shh!" sound. After the door closes, the thick glass prevents the transmission of sound. Therefore, I do not hear the child any more, even though he may as well still be singing outside.

Fifteen Minutes

Vincent always wished he had more time. He needed more time to finish his homework, he needed more time to sleep and he needed more time to play.

Vincent was neither lazy nor stupid. He was a genius, who was interested in so many things, that 24 hours in a day were just not enough for him. To add to that, he was a perfectionist, who would go to any length to ensure that his work not have even a single error. He was commended for this sometimes, but most of the time, he was reprimanded for not being able to finish on time. If there was one aspect where he had not been able apply his perfectionist tendencies, it was time.

Vincent's prayers would be answered, in a twisted sort of way. He would indeed have time.

That fateful weekend, we were going to the forest nearby to spend the morning. It was to be one of those trips where we would observe the plants that we learned about in botany class, and see the birds we saw in the encyclopedias that we rescued from gathering dust in the library. It would be a trip when we would flatter the great Sherlock Holmes, if imitation is the best form of flattery, by trying to draw conclusions from whatever we saw around us in the woods.

Vincent & I always loved going on these walks in the woods, and getting up at 6 am didn't seem to bother us as much as it did on the busier five days of the week. We went out of the hostel by 6:30 am after a light breakfast of bread, butter and eggs. This morning was a little different, the air was still, and the morning light had a shade of orange to it. It remained like that as we covered the two kilometres between the hostel and the entry to the woods. It was nearly 7 am now, and the sunlight was beautiful in its orangeness, as it leaked through slit-like openings between the tall trees.

Vincent, having finished reading his last book of short stories with the famous detective as the protagonist, was more interested in observing things and drawing incredible conclusions than in occupying his mind with the poet's fantasy when he saw the beauty of the forest. His attention was immediately drawn towards the dirt path where we were walking, as he pointed out the marks of bicycle tyres, and different kinds of footprints. I had read Sherlock Holmes before, but Vincent was the genius, who actually possessed the intellect capable of becoming like him in real life, if he had more time, that is. As we proceeded deeper into the woods along our regular route, Vincent suddenly stopped near a boulder. He asked me if I had seen the stone there earlier, and I replied that I did not remember. Vincent was positive that it had not been there before. As I protested that he was going too far with his pretense of Mr. Holmes, he actually showed me proof that he was correct. There was a trail of trampled grass behind the boulder, about as wide as the boulder itself.

We were excited at the chance to solve a puzzle, however unimportant it may be, and we set off on the trail of trampled grass. Ten minutes later, we reached a small clearing in the woods, where the trail ended. This was a very strange clearing, because the grass itself was no longer present. In the clearing, we saw a small circle of dusty ground with the grass ending just at its periphery. There was a shiny metallic object at the centre of this circle.

Vincent, forever the intrepid explorer, ordered me to stay where I was, as he walked towards the centre of the circle. The moment he entered the circle, Vincent vanished!!! I couldn't believe my eyes. I looked again, and found that both Vincent and the shiny object were gone. I ran into the circle of dust, waving my arms and calling out to my dear friend, but there was no reply. He had simply disappeared. I panicked, and quickly started running back to the hostel.

In about fifteen minutes, I reached the hostel, and was running up to the warden's office when I was stopped on the staircase by an elderly gentleman who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. I was about to step past him, when he handed me something that left me staring in wonder, it was a tattered copy of The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, with yellowing pages, and on the cover I saw written in the handwriting of Vincent's father, "To Vincent, with love. Happy Birthday" and the date was last Thursday's!!! The gentleman asked me to calm down, and said he would explain everything.

As we sat down on the staircase, he introduced himself as my friend Vincent. I simply stared at him in disbelief. He told me that he was the same person whom I had seen vanish before my eyes just fifteen minutes ago. Hearing this I did not have any doubt that he indeed was Vincent, in fact the tone of his voice, and even his face, both bore some resemblance to those of my friend's. Through my utter confusion, I managed to somehow ask him what was going on. He began his explanation with the words, "My prayers have been answered."

He continued to explain. The metallic object that we saw just a few minutes ago was some sort of time bending device. Its effect was restricted to about a metre from itself in all directions, where it sped time up to many times faster than the surroundings. He went on to explain that when we saw the circle of dust, it was more like a sphere of dust, where time was moving at a rate several times faster than ours. Grass was growing inside it, dying and growing again at such a pace, that we could not see anything at all. When Vincent had picked it up, he had not realized anything, but then when he looked more closely, he saw grass under his feet, and that I just stood there, motionless, in front of him. Birds in the sky seemed to just hang there with invisible threads. Being the genius that he was, he immediately understood what was going on I did not believe him in the beginning, but then he showed me the metallic object, shiny as ever, which he had preserved with him.

He said that I too was now within the sphere of influence of the object, and we walked downstairs to see a world that was as still as a painting is.

Birds were stationary in mid-air; people in the yard seemed to be very realistic statues.

Then it dawned on me, and I asked Vincent how much time he had spent within the circle. He replied that time had no more meaning for him, but for my sake, he pinned the duration to nearly forty years. He had actually lived forty years of his life in fifteen minutes!! He said that he had not been "inside" all this time, he had come out once every few months, which would be intervals of a second or less in our time, in a variety of places all around the world.

Vincent had also written volumes of scientific and philosophical literature, which he had stored in my room. I saw the stacks of old yellowish pages filled with formulae in Vincent's beautiful handwriting. As he was no longer a part of this world, he had given all this to me.

I could not fathom the reason why someone would spend an entire life in solitude within the circle of his own time, and live in a world of statues.

Vincent explained, "My prayer was answered." Then he stepped back from me, and disappeared, just like he did fifteen minutes ago.

Neko no Sara (Cat's Plate)

This is a Japanese folk tale called Neko no Sara (Cat's Plate).
In the era when Tokyo was known as Edo, there was an antique shop owner, who would scout the city for antiques that the owners would have without any knowledge of their true value. This way he would buy them for a low price and would make a big profit when he sold them to collectors.
Once he visited a house, where an old war helmet was being used as a flower pot. He told the mistress of the house, “Look at those pretty flowers, but the ugly helmet ruins their beauty. Why don't you plant them in a nice vase?”
The mistress replied, “But vases are expensive. I could not afford one.”
“Don't worry, I will bring one over, and you can use it for your flowers. I have several vases lying around at home.”
Thus he brought a vase to plant the flowers in, and carried away the helmet. A few weeks later, he sold the helmet for an amount five times the price of the vase. He was very happy with the way he found his antiques.
One day, he was on one of his scouting trips, and was tired after spending the whole day without spotting any antiques. So, he stopped at a roadside stall for some tea and snacks. As he waited for his tea, he spotted that the stall owner had three cats, and they ate out of an old, cracked bowl. On looking carefully, he noticed that the bowl was definitely something that could fetch at least three hundred gold coins were a collector to set his eyes on it.
A plan started forming in his head, and he picked up one of the cats, and started petting it.
The stall owner arrived with the tea, and seeing the guest playing with the cat, he warned, “Please be careful okyakusama, the cat may scratch you.”
“Oh no, I love cats. I know how to play with them.”
After the antique shop owner had finished his meal, he paid the stall owner, and sat down to play some more with the cat. A few minutes later, he said, “Would you give me this cat?”
The stall owner was very surprised.
Seeing his expression, the antique shop owner said, “Of course, I will pay you. In fact, I will pay you three gold coins for this cat.”
“This cat? Why would you pay three gold coins for such a dirty cat?”
“Well, my wife and I have no children. So we had a cat for company. But last week he ran away, and my wife has been very sad since then. She would be very happy to see this adorable creature.
“I insist you sell me this cat.” Having said this, he put three gold coins on the table. The stall owner was surprised, but collected the money.
As he was leaving, the antique shop owner picked up the cat's feeding bowl. The stall owner stopped him and asked why he was taking the cracked old bowl.
“Well, the cat will not eat out of any other bowl, would it?”
“You don't need to worry about that. This cat is not that particular. Here, take this nice new bowl for the cat.”
“No, no, I would like to feed the cat in this bowl, since it habitually eats in it.”
Now the stall owner said, “Actually I cannot let you take this old cracked bowl away. It is worth at least three hundred gold coins.”
The antique shop owner tried very hard to look surprised, and exclaimed, “Three hundred gold coins?! Then why do you feed your cats in it?”
The stall owner replied, “That way, I often sell a dirty cat for three gold coins.”

Shibahama

I am not the author of this story. I heard it from a friend, and would like to share it with you. It is an old Japanese tale, called Shibahama.

A long time ago, when Tokyo was called Edo, there was a town called Shiba, and a fisherman named Uokoma, who lived there. He knew a lot about fish, and was very good at his work too. However, he had one flaw: he loved to drink sake. So, when he would get drunk, he would stop working, and wander in the streets, saying, "Who cares about my business anymore?" And then, he would sleep all day long.
His wife was very worried about the state of the family, because Uokoma had been on a long drinking spell, and had not gone fishing in a long time. The debts from all the sake and food were growing, and this troubled her deeply.
One night, she was unable to sleep, and finally, an hour before daybreak, she turned to her husband as he lay deep in slumber. She shook him, and said, "Hey you! Hey you!! Wake up, and go to work!!" He woke up, dizzy from his drinking, and asked her what the racket was all about. She told him again, "Go to work!"
He said, "But my shoes are all worn out."
"I have got new ones for you. Here they are."
"But my nets are all tangled up."
"No, I straightened them out for you."
So Uokoma reluctantly got up, and stepped out in his new shoes and carrying his nets under his arm. He returned within a minute and shouted, "You stupid woman! Its not even day now! How can I work in darkness?!"
His wife replied, "No, you must go now. It will be daybreak soon." Thus, she sent him off to fish and waited for his return.
An hour after sunrise, Uokoma came back. His casks still had fish in them.
"Why did you not sell them? Why did you come back so early?", she asked.
"Well, I went to the market, but it was too early, and none of the shops were open. So I decided to sit by the river, and wait until the shopkeepers came. As I sat there, I started feeling sleepy. So I walked up to the bank to wash my face. As I stooped down, I felt something at my feet. I looked, and saw something shiny."
"What was it?"
"This!!", said Uokoma, as he slammed down an exquisite wallet down on the table.
His wife opened it, and found it full of golden coins.
"There are 50 ryou in here! We are rich!", shouted Uokoma. "Now give me my sake. I have done enough work for this month."
Saying this Uokoma started drinking again, and within a few minutes went back to sleep, while his wife sat at the table counting the ryou again and again.
That day, Uokoma woke up late in the afternoon. He was in a good mood, and sang a greeting to his wife, "Konbanwa!" She merely shrugged, and pointed to the tangled mass of nets, and his torn old shoes, and said, "Please go fishing. We don't have any more money!"
"What?! What happened to the 50 ryou I found this morning?"
"50 ryou?!"
"Yes the wallet, with the 50 ryou!"
"What are you talking about?"
"I brought home a wallet with 50 ryou. You saw it too."
"I saw no such thing. You must have dreamt it."
Uokoma knew that he had been drinking and it was quite possible that he had dreamt the whole thing. Yet he searched everywhere, but by nightfall, he was tired, and started to believe his wife. He sat beside her, and said, "Yes, it must have been a dream, a very cruel dream."
She replied, "Perhaps this is God's way of punishing you for not working."
"If that is so, then I will work very hard from tomorrow. I will not drink a single drop of sake!"
Uokoma was true to his word. He woke up before daybreak, went fishing, and sold his fish at the market before the first customers came in. He would spend the rest of the time mending his nets, and his boat. He paid off his debts one by one, and was free of them all in a few months. All this time, he never went anywhere near sake. His wife was happy that her husband could now walk as a proud man. They were living comfortable lives and were very happy.
Three years passed like this. One morning, after making his sale at the market, Uokoma was tending to his boat, when he found a tiny leak. So he went back to his shed to look for a plug. As he was looking for it, he came across a small box in one corner of the shed. He picked it up and opened it, and he could not believe his eyes. Inside the box lay a pair of brand new shoes, and the same wallet he had dreamt about three years ago!
Uokoma ran to his wife, and asked her how they came to be there. His wife explained, "It was not a dream. You really did find the wallet."
"Then why did you lie to me? Why did you hide it?"
"If I had given you the wallet, would you be like you are now?"
Uokoma sat silently for a while. Then he suddenly spoke, "You are a Daimyo wife. Truly, you are a noble wife. Thank you."
She replied, "I am sorry if I hurt you. I only did it because I love you."
She poured him some sake, "Here have some."
"No! I vowed I would never drink another drop."
"You are not that man who is controlled by drink anymore. You can have a sip."
Uokoma replied, "No, I will not have any sake. What if this too became a dream?"

Confession

The bell at 1:15 pm marked the end of the school day. After the prayer, I hastily packed up my books into my bag, and ran out into the courtyard. Another busy day in kindergarten was over. With various combinations of the angular english alphabet to form words, the curvier Hindi lettersi n confusing shapes, and other things jumping around in my head, I was running towards the school gates, where the bus would be waiting for me.
It was a hot April afternoon. Summer vacations would start in two days. However, at that moment, all I could think about was the orange cylinder of ice, sheathed in a plastic tube, that some of my friends were sucking at. This “Pepcee” was a favorite of all kids. At one rupee for the four-inch pepcee and three rupees for the twelve-inch long one, kids could afford it with their pocket
money. Well, most kids could, but I could not. I could not afford it because at the time, my pocket allowance was the princely sum of zero rupees.
I had asked my parents several times to give me one rupee so that I may indulge in the pleasure of biting the pepcee, but they, in their desire to protect me from anything that may bring disease, they decided that I must stay away from the pepcee. I had absolutely no idea what the pepcee tasted like, for nobody ever shared his, and I was too poor to buy my own. Yet, the very fact that one would not share it indicated that it must be something amazing.
As these thoughts as replaced the alphabet, and were bouncing around in my little five-year old head, one of my friends walked up to me and said, “Tomorrow is the last working day before the vacations. We will buy the big pepcee tomorrow. Get three rupees for it.”
Peer pressure is a strange thing. It makes one commit to doing things one knows is impossible. I replied, “Sure!”
While the bus made its fourteen kilometre long journey from school to my home, my determination to obtain the three rupees grew stronger. I devised a master plan. I would first ask my parents to give me the three rupees. If that did not work, I would tell them that all my friends were having it. They would understand. The concept of lying had yet to be born.
Well, they did not understand. I was not a stubborn kid, so I simply walked back to my room. No sobs, just a few tears rolling down my cheeks. In fifteen minutes, all was forgotten, and I was happy as ever playing with my cars.
For some reason, I walked into the kitchen. Nobody was there. I rolled my car up the vertical cliff, and turned off at the first plateau. Weaving through the tall cylinders filled with powders of different colors, and an occasional one with some liquid, the car moved forward on its expedition. Suddenly, the intrepid explorer discovered treasure!! It was in the form of a metallic hexagon, with the number 3 embossed on it. Could someone have left it here? Has it been forgotten? Finally, the greed of the treasure seeker overwhelmed the well-meaning concern, and the explorer quietly picked up the treasure, and put it in his pocket.
The next day was the last working day and summer vacation would begin at 1:15 pm!! Everyone was excited. The day passed very quickly, and as I rushed out of the classroom, there was only one thing on my mind. The coin in my pocket, and the twelve-inch pepcee that would soon be mine.
As I approached the gate, I started looking for the friend who had proposed the grand plan the day before. I spotted him near the pepcee cart and I ran towards it. The disheveled looking pepcee seller was giving out ice cylinders of different colors, orange, green, black and yellow to little hands, in exchange for tiny metal discs. I finally reached the cart, hoping that it was not all sold out. He said, “Quick give me your three rupees!!” I pulled out my coin from my pocket and gave it to him. He was surprised. He said, “Ha!! This is not three rupees! This is a beggar's coin!!” He dropped the coin back into my hands and moved on to get his pepcee.
At that moment, I remembered what we had been taught in class a few weeks ago. The coin I had was not a three-rupee coin; such a coin did not exist. It was three paise. In my rage I flung the coin on to the road and walked back to the bus.
I never spoke of this incident to anyone until a few years ago, when I confessed to my parents about stealing three paise from them in 1988.

The Three Cats

When I stooped down to pet the first one, she very promptly jumped up on to my shoulder. I was very happy. I walked back to my room with her perched on my shoulder, claws clinging on to the threads of my shirt, and some to my skin. I fed her eggs, milk and sometimes chicken. Then one day, she was gone!

I fell in love with cats right then.

Then the second one came. He was a tiny kitten, and had probably gotten separated from his mother. Oh what a delight he was! He curled up into a tight little ball when he slept, almost in a fetal position. I fed him milk, eggs and an occasional fish.
I must have started smelling of cats by now, because one person who was leaving the IIT Bombay campus, asked me to look after his cat. That was the third one.
This is when I bought fish everyday for about a week. I had a kitty litter in my room, which I cleaned twice daily. I swept and scrubbed my room clean every night. The cats were adorable. I loved playing with them. Every morning, I went out with them on short walks. They would play in the sun, and have a great time.
One day I left them outside to play. When I returned for lunch, they were gone!! That morning was the last time I saw the second. The third, I saw him playing with another guy a few weeks later. He seemed healthy, so I did not attempt to retrieve him for myself.