Plugged into the Grid
Of optimism and delusions
Ruhani hurried home. Today was her turn and if she missed her slot, her business license was likely to get revoked.
It was not an easy life, but it was the only one she knew. Several years ago in that kiosk that had reminded her of those telephone booths of the yesteryears, she was presented with that rare chance to determine what path her life would take.
Two buttons, one red and one blue. One which would send her hurtling down the roller-coaster of an entrepreneurial path, the other where she could continue in her job at the Data-analytics firm, replete with all the pains and perks of a steady paycheck.
She had chosen the Red one.
Ruhani was an only child and growing up she had had the feeling that something was off. That her parents for all their bonhomie weren’t quite the wholesome unit that they presented themselves to be.
And one night she heard them arguing. It was in soft simmering voices, but she remembered huddling deeper into her blanket instinctively. Even her 9-year old self could feel the harshness of their voices, the force of their whispered allegations, and the metallic taste of truth colliding with truth, like arrows with nowhere to go.
And then it happened, a sharp crack followed by a muted scream. She had shut her eyes tightly and recited the names of Indian Prime Ministers on loop, from the first to the sixteenth, till everything had gone dark.
She had grown up and the world around her had become unrecognizable in that short decade and a half.
They lived in a technological paradise, where every material need was predicted and taken care of immediately. The wearables would pick signals off her body hours before she experienced them and offer course-corrections, be it a meal or a neurotransmitter shot. She had a bubble of acquaintances around her, perfectly matched to her lifestyle and her personalized lifeguide software sent timely reminders for conversations and get-togethers, when it sensed her social metrics dropping below “normal” levels.
Yes they lived in ‘the good place’ and like everything else that’s relentlessly advertised as idyllic, it was a misnomer. Underneath this apparent Shangri-la lay much of the same angst and iniquity that had plagued humanity from the beginning of time. And in many ways it was worse, with people numbed into believing that all was well, yet experiencing an inner disquiet from time to time with no one and nothing to point fingers at.
Ruhani had never bought into this idea of the promised land. A childhood fraught with conflict had exposed her to many a crack, from social ills to human failings, and even as the world around them accelerated towards 24/7 technological dependence, she had retained the sense that it, the world, needed fixing. Now more than ever.
And that’s why when the time came to choose paths, one that would lead her deeper into the grid, where every amenity that humanity could think of was available, and another where she would be on the outside, working against the System in many ways and entirely unprotected against material and emotional deprivations, she chose the latter.
She was an entrepreneur, a dreamer, a challenger.
She was a David up against an increasingly powerful Goliath, a data-monster feeding itself notions of its own accuracy, a monster that had humanity in its grip.
And expectedly, the freedom to choose this Frostian path came with a huge price, a Faustian bargain if ever there was one.
Ruhani quickened her steps, her heart racing at the thought of what she might lose if she didn’t arrive on time. For the thousandth time she wondered if she had made the right choice by taking the deal and hastily slapped away that thought before it could take root.
She had agreed to plug herself into the System, one day each month.
It was that she and others like her, irrational individuals with huge reserves of optimism - who dealt with rejection and dejection day and night only to bounce quickly back - in return for the freedom to chase their delusional fancies, had to sign up to power the grid with their untamed energy. Which in turn would power other humans in need of cheer.
It was Ruhani’s turn today. And if she didn't hurry, it would be the third time this year that she would be late. Everything that she aspired to do, her goals full of fire and fury, depended on her not losing her business license.
She quickened her pace, almost breaking into a run, as if in pursuit of her dreams. And she was sure she would make it.