Facsimile

He could not imagine how that stupid technology, out of all the gadgets spurting out of the electronic maelstrom survived so efficiently in a market effervescent and stooped over the back of rash and irresponsible younger generation.

Yet there it was, fitting perfectly on his grandson’s upper body, in bright yellow color taking the form of a t-shirt. The circuitry hid snugly under the stylized cap pointing at an angle, making the trait of vanity all the more conspicuous in Rahul. Not that Rahul was hell bent to ask for his opinion- no one actually was bent at all (hell or heaven otherwise!) to give even a shit worth of attention in his say on the trends of things in regular day-to-day life. He was left to his thoughts, brooding all the time, trying to voice them to the servants of the house- who themselves didn’t much care about him or his thought-process.

Right now, Rahul was contended- well that’s what the facsimile on his t-shirt showed. Well, chattering on with his crush on live video-stream would of course make any teen happy, a shy smile would have been sufficient to express the feelings. No one wanted to flex their face tissues unnecessarily. Gone were the days when anyone smiled at all. Smiling actually strained many skin cells- now with the advent of efficient and energy conserving man; he had done away with facial gestures or verbal spats. Facsimile chattered on mind’s feelings to anyone who had two eyes and an inclination. There wasn’t any room for hidden secrets in mind’s deepest recesses. If you are thinking about money, in less than a microsecond it would be splayed out on that nano-LED ingrained T-shirt. (Facsimile was actually made compulsory for all the bureaucrats in order to keep a check on grafting, still the bureaucrats were known to develop coded system and steel their mind in order to save themselves being caught.)

The world played it cool, now as a result it did go a little colder. All the four members on the table were eating silently, unobtrusively with no bantering about world politics, complaining about neighbours and planning house repairs or festival preparations. In older days, he and his son did discuss about scams, Anna Hazare, riots, war in Middle-East and his son even wished for them today. But he being man of the time wanted his father to telepathically connect with him and continue with their discussions as every other Argumentative Indian out there. But Mahesh Patel was rigid in his opposition that did away with talking, with facial gestures, with hand movements, which eventually did away with emotions………

The connection from Rahul’s forehead had two ports; one was connected with his mini-Laptop, other with his T-shirt. The One connected with the laptop, which when connected to internet which when connected to the girl on other side had made long-distance telepathy feasible as well as practical!! Mind suffused with other, mental imagery overlapping with that of other, it was an extremely efficient manner of communication…

Mahesh conceded that the very technology he loathed increased the number of creative and collective geniuses- where different ideas from different minds channelized into one single brainstorming concept or theory. The combinations and permutations in the process of ideating increased exponentially resulting in greater output than was possible by a single creative genius. As a result group stalwarts (quantitatively and qualitatively) have made a gigantic splash changing the way the world worked.

As the world irritated him by the electronic garb of communication, he became irksome- making it a point that he laid his hands off technology as much as he can. So there he was, global warming and deforestation thrown out of the window, reading a printed newspaper. This indeed annoyed his son, but thanks to his no-speak, he ate up his anger silently. He never heeded the facsimile splayed on his son’s checked shirt. So he was extremely surprised to hear his son’s voice again.

Ahem. Ahem.

His grand son snapped out of his chat- as if he were hit. He apologized his girlfriend for that vocal intrusion- blushing to the very core and tiptoed off the table, into his room, pointedly ignoring his father.

Vatsal was embarrassed to say the least. Due to his father’s rigidity he was forced to communicate with him verbally.

“Father, today my boss has invited the whole family to a musical on Shakuntala.” His voice has gone hoarse.

“Musical- as in with music?” He could not keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

“Yes, father.” It took an effort on Vatsal’s side to speak. His voice box has been a dormant for way to long. Maybe it would be disabled in the course of evolution as the things were turning up. “It would be expected of you that you act according to the etiquette of the times that now govern the society.”

“Don’t worry son, I won’t be an embarrassment for you.” He said pointedly. Still, he was bursting with excitement from within. A musical on the classical Sanskrit Saga Shakuntala- an epic love story between King Dusyanta and Shakuntala and their son Bharata, the Valiant- India was named after him. The classical dance forms- Kathak, Bharat Natyam- brimming with facial gestures, expressions and beautiful music, the air incensed with agarbatti, the tune of Tabla and Sitar- love, drama and passion!!!

                                          ************************

The air lay pregnant with expectation, at least for him. His son was discussing stock market with his boss, communicating through facsimile of course. How could you express your views in such a limited language on such a vast subject of stock market? There were books written on it brimming with all type of words- how exactly could you discard each and every language existing on this earth, replacing it with stupid and dumb limited jargon that by no means compatible with thoughts. How could you write scientific formula through facsimile? He would never switch his places with those poor scientists.

That’s what happens when pseudo intelligentsia with great marketing skills dominate the world.

But why he was thinking of such thoughts now? This place seemed to be suffused with energy- he was about to witness a wonder!!

A facsimile appeared behind the back of seat in front of him, its ears covered with earphones. A black tray wheezed out from the seat. On it was a pair of electric blue ear mufflers. But he ignored them and pushed the tray close. This action was noticed by his son, his facsimile suddenly changed revealing his son’s emotions- a bright yellow face shrugging.

He shifted his gaze to the red curtains in front of him. A large facsimile adorned the centre- pressing its palms against each other in a Namaste.

A rising crescendo of gongs gushed forward to his eagerly awaiting ears- he was giddy with happiness to hear that tune- one which he had heard oh-so often if he walked down the alleys of old memories. The curtain receded back- he was expecting to see a gigantic canvas to act as a background for this grand saga he was about to witness, the splendor of…….

A girl dressed in plain white shirt adorned with a bright red simile appeared- she was Shakuntala.

Cold water splashed down his childish anticipation.

With each passing microsecond of this play, torture aggravated. One word described his feeling…..

Bland.

In the background some pretty naïve bunch of kids performed on the musical instruments as if they were taming the tigers instead of Bharata. Instead of harmony and symphony- he heard clangs of the rude rape they were carrying out of this play.

He was horrified when he saw the audience flashing their facsimile of contention for this piece of shit.

This was the play hailed by the greatest critics of the age; they considered it to be teeming with plethora of emotions, one not to be missed out.

He felt the walls closing in on him. He stood up, immediately he felt his neighbor getting disturbed. His son flashed an angry facsimile at him. He didn’t care.

The erratic noise filled his ears, his vision hooded by a flurry of facsimile- everyone present there, with their ear mufflers on expressed no type of reaction as he gritted his teeth in sheer frustration.

He ran out of the auditorium……………