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A young Cyborg who goes by the name of CATCH 22 has been on a loose from the authorities since last Friday. The perpetrator managed to escape confinement when he was able to fly after trying to jump twice at the same time.

The human half of the suspect has been charged for free speech and his android half has been charged with battery. The manchine was proven guilty of breaking news all over the country and smashing barriers between men and the machine. He has also been reported for beating around the bush and is notorious for twisting people’s arms so they could be lured into his political bandwagon. Some of his propaganda holograms as well as electronic manifestos have been confiscated from young impressionable chips who had been paid with cookies and some lonely motherboards who had been paid with joysticks.

The Person Computer is the initiator of suffrage for Cyborgs who have been fighting for their identity since one century Before Amazon. There is no law in existence that clearly recognizes Cyborgs as independent beings. They are neither humans nor robots which means they cannot be issued a naturalized or artificialized citizenship. Experts agree that since these compersons are a connecting link between creationism and science their issue needs to be debated for a few more centuries.

Before leading this revolution, CATCH had been living as a Brahmin boy without any reservation or personal vendetta. But his unstable family background may have been the prime source for his downward spiral on this flat Earth. His father, CATCH 21 had suffocated himself in a bubble and his mother, BLINK 182, had buried her head into the sand; they had invested everything on real estate. The depression hit, they could not find a solution to liquidate their assets. Some psychologists even believe this childhood trauma may have led to the development of his split personality.

CATCH 22 is a man in his mid-twenties. Since he is irony, he measures about 177 cm in winter and 180 cm in summer. He has a viral infection on his android part and has a loose screw on his human side. The felon leaks of motor oil and confidential information.

If sighted, report immediately to our quantum computers.
Note: Please provide either his location or his speed, do not include both information in your tip

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October 3rd, 2016
Sunday Morning

Two unprecedented events will occur in Bhanila’s life this morning. She will read ‘THE DREAM OF A RIDICULOUS MAN’ by Fyodor Dostoevsky and she will see a bare naked lunatic in the middle of the city. The former will make her appreciate the skills of a master, so much so that she will change her profile name to ‘Ridiculous Vanilla’ from ‘Vanilla Kafka’. It will also become her gateway to nihilism, a significant milestone for a sixteen year old. The latter however, is going to shake her to the core, this will be made more apparent by her tweet ‘g0D i5 D3AD’.

October 3rd, 2016
Sunday evening

After the routine jam session with her band ‘METAFOUR’, Bhanila will suggest them to wear black Ts and black pants. And will propose they should experiment with minor chords, if possible even suspended. After all this discovery and evolution, she will sigh at the thought of going home and being at the womb of carefully crafted luxury. She will then contemplate, if everything is ephemeral, her decision now won’t matter in the grand scheme of things. So, she will have to, for once, choose the path less traveled by. But on her new way to old home, she will be run over by a lorry with a ‘SEE YOU’ painted on its rear. They will never see that truck again.

October 4th, 2016

An untimely rain will wash away her blood from the road.

October 15th, 2016

Her funeral will be complete.

October 20th, 2016

Her band name will be changed to ‘Ram learns to MIDI’, they will be solely dedicated to EDM.

January, 2017
Some of her friends will unfriend her.

Oct, 2017
Her anniversary is going to be observed.

Sometime in 2056
Bhanila’s father will remember her face on his deathbed.

A convenient time in the future…around 2090
A band member will die with their final memories and a deep regret for pursuing EDM.

February 29th, 2100
Facebook will wish her one last Happy Birthday

March 1st, 2100
She will be forgotten

October 2nd, 2016
Unbeknownst to everything, Bhanila is smoking pot in the terrace, lying down, watching the Big Dipper getting bigger and deeper.


I agree, my posts have been quite depressing lately. This was not intended during the inception of this blog however, this is where it’s going and i don’t mind it all, at least the way my journal flavored articles are coming out every other day, it, in a strange sort of way has made me more content. No way it’s not about writing quality stuffs, but churning out readable stuffs consistently, that’s definitely the purpose. Moreover, my recent attempts are a process to find a middle ground between a subtle and ‘on-your-face’ style of writing. This sounds generic, hell i sound generic nowadays, but it’ll stop once a sweet spot is found and the experimentation will die eventually…hopefully.

There are many things i’d rather keep inside, like dirty rugs under the staircase, somehow i was convinced they’d make fantastic materials or a major source of inspiration; still as of now, there have been zero stories whatsoever that could be of meaning and make use of those pieces. Like Hemingway in “Snows of Kilimanjaro’, i too was worried7, of not having my thoughts materialized and ideas taking shape. This is why i say whatever the hell that comes to my now liberated mind, and often polish the floor with those dirty rugs without having any second thoughts, without saving them for future endeavors. I live on a day to day basis of creative allowance, basically like a teenager. This in my case has been a significant reason for me letting loose and writing without meandering.

What are people if not for conflicts?

And this leads to my major issues; first of all this is not my style and secondly, it gives out the vulnerability and mystery of a person cheaply. Without any plots, any exposition and without much literary dimensions, this might as well be a mindless ranting of a teenage girl. Here, i am not claiming to be a writer or an amateur but what’s essential eventually, is finding out the balance, the nuances, saving your idiosyncrasies and at the same time projecting your identity, even if you are a newbie. And getting acquainted with them, for times are confusing and when stuffs generate from a milieu of jeremiad, things can really go south real fast. This transition is fruitful for a time being, later it slowly becomes a hindrance and finally the constant lamentation needs to be stopped at a proper moment.

For this to be achieved, a lot of work needs to be done. A lot of creative paths needs to be explored. A whole lot of reading needs to be carried out. And everyday something, anything must be written. Everything must be followed without a hint of regret and displeasure. This is tough, basically everything is tough. Hopefully, i can do it.

Political sheeps

The owners of ‘Nepal Pet-shop’ in Naya-Baneshwor are having a peculiar problem in their hands. Unlike other caged avian, the parrots in here do not dream of an open sky or any other earthly pleasures, for they had discovered something even more beloved, even more enticing, politics. After continuously overhearing the passers-bye, pedestrians and politicians, every parrot in the shop had formed a strong political opinion, right under the nose of the bewildered owners. They had associated themselves with two of the biggest parties of recent time. And so, a strong faction of two opposing groups had been formed, the likes of which anyone had ever seen, because of this, parrots in the shop were in constant argument with each other, mechanically repeating anything and everything. Just today, this happened.

Parrot 1: Leftists
Parrot 2: Right is right
Parrot 1: Republic
Parrot 2: Democracy
Parrot 1: Our turn, our turn
Parrot 2: We screwed, You’ll screw
Parrot 1: Prosperity
Parrot 2: Propaganda
Parrot 1: Development
Parrot 2: Deceit
Parrot 1: Sovereignty
Parrot 2: Servitude
Parrot 1: We won, we won
Parrot 2: Not four times, no no
Parrot 1: Give us a chance, we’ll prove
Parrot 2: Given a chance, you’ll crumble
Parrot 1: We’re based on trust, truth
Parrot 2: Lies, lies

The hostile argument of such stupid, brainless birds got on the nerve of the owner, so one of them went and violently shook the bird cage. This rattled the passionate creatures, some of them panicked and a few even looked disoriented,as if they had forgotten their way back home.

Parrot 1: Dear lord
Parrot 2: Dear lord
Parrot 1: Save our flock
Parrot 2: Save our flock
Parrot 1: Save our leaders
Parrot 1: Save our leaders
Parrot 1: Stop parroting us
Parrot 2: Stop parroting us
Majority of parrots in unison: Ruff Ruff
Opposing parrots in unison: Meow

Canis sapiens

Monday morning, the day of Satan, Rinku, Cerberus’s one headed cousin who also happened to be our neighbor’s dog, raised hell barking severely at something/somebody. My brother, who shares my enthusiasm for sleeping, woke up with a severe distaste for the dog, to existence as a whole. With raging curiosity we went outside, wondering what  led to this peculiar morning disorder.

There within the paled premise of its house, Rinku was barking and growling and doing everything in its might to scare a waif walking with his rugged clothes and a rough look. Poor boy, that miserable creature! He happened to be collecting some bottles around the fence when the dog viciously lunged after him, only to be stopped by its chains. He seemed petrified.

There is no pleasure in this world really, I said; after centuries of breeding and completely deforming the poor creatures we had now successfully pushed our twisted human agendas into their conscience. They share our beliefs, our faith, and our cynicism.

Evolution took a hit when a dog could sniff, differentiate and discriminate between people. It can now filter strangers, distinguish the important ones from the non-important ones. Dogs barked at cats, dogs learned to bark at street dogs, rich dogs now bark at poor people.

“We ruined dogs, didn’t we?” I asked my brother beside me.

He replied, “no, we just made them more human.”


Chapter II

“Sirshak, let’s watch this movie together.”
Sirshak turns on the TV, puts the tape in the VHS player and goes back to where she is sitting. The movie then begins.

Casablanca of Morocco was a free French colony during the Second World War even though France was occupied by the Germans. It was one of the last transits to America and also the most difficult one. The film opened with a patriotic French anthem and a very crude depiction of earth sitting on a table accompanied by traditional narration in a neatly prepared hand painted map. It portrayed a bleak situation of an ongoing war and a horde of problems refugees had to deal on their way to the American freedom. After the ‘classic’ opening, the movie dived into a very set like bazaar with very actor like actors where an announcement was made about a fatal attack on a German train from which two important visa documents were scurried out by the Anti-German revolutionaries dealing in underground. The usual suspects were rounded out on the premise of the Prefect of Police. However someone was shot dead trying to flee the interrogation. Surprisingly there was no entry wound or any blood, just a theatrical murder.

A plane, an old German model landed on an airstrip. From which came out a stern man, an important man by the look of it. He had on a Swastika badge. He was tall. One of the French officials received him at the airport. He had on a peculiar hat. The stern man was Major Strasser while the latter was Captain Renault. Maj. Strasser was apparently from The Third Reich which probably had a reputation, which was why he was sent to supervise the security concerns in Casablanca. The short captain assured him of the security of the region and also revealed about an arrest that would be made later that night at Rick’s.

Rick as described by the officials, his employees and customers had had a very high reputation to maintain but the actor pulled it off in a single shot when he wore that un-wearable white jacket like his skin. And also he refused to drink with some aristocrats, just so he could follow his principle of not drinking with customers. That was why one of the customers called him, ‘snobbish saloonkeeper’. He was just a regular acentric, witty and charming lead that every other movie in thirties and forty had. Nothing special.
A strange looking man called Ugarte with even stranger expressions came in the club that night to hand Rick the stolen visa documents. He urged him to keep it safe.

Sam was on that night, he was one hell of a singer, that Sam; a prized possession of Rick who never intended leaving his boss even when he was offered a lucrative deal by Ferrari, the leader of illegal market in Casablanca.
Rick with his sleek talks and suave had already won Renault on his side. They made a wager about escape of Victor Lazlo who was visiting Casablanca with his wife on his way to flee to America. Apparently Lazlo was a big deal and had a big reputation, so big that even Rick admired the guy for his achievements.
As soon as Major Strasser entered the café, Ugarte was captured as expected. The officials celebrated with subtle interrogations with Rick who when asked about his nationality, in keeping with his wit said, he was a ”drunkard.” He was good.

Rick was good. He was the best flyer in the regiment. Laced with space lasers and jet thrusters, he was bound interstellar. Sam, his co-pilot was rapidly maneuvering the plane between the asteroids. Rick was shooting Mig-blasters at a bunch of enemy ships; he was destroying them at his will. They were fleeing his sight as fast as they could but no matter what they tried he always gained on to them; his new quantum propulsion engine was unbeatable in the whole Star system. But those fries were just a consolation prize; his eyes were on the big fish, a specific ship with a large Swastika sign. It was Maj. Strasser’s star bomber. Rick concentrated all his firepower and blasted the bomber, the bigger the ship, the easier the target. Almost all of them hit a bull’s eye. The strike from such powerful cannons broke down all the deployed shields of the Star bomber thus blasting its intergalactic ass in the oblivion of the space.

The night that would harbor great many ordeals reached its climax when a tall man entered Rick’s with a beautiful woman. He was cleanly shaved. And the woman was an exquisite beauty. The man that everyone talked of, that tall man was Victor Lazlo and the woman his wife Ilsa. They were on a run from the Germans that was why it raised a serious concern for Strasser and his men. But Renault on the forefront of buttering things up reached them and complemented Ilsa saying,” I was informed that you were the most beautiful women ever to visit Casablanca, that was a gross understatement.” She took the complement with grace.
Ilsa called the pianist Sam whom she recognized from Paris. Sam had his piano on wheels! She requested him to play ‘The Song’. He denied, saying that song was forbidden at Rick’s by Rick himself. But Sam had to give in to her persuasion and played ‘As time goes by’ in his own peculiar style. A beautiful style. However that was cut short when Rick barged in…as expected…right then he met Ilsa…again.

Traditions broke that night when he drank with Lazlo and Ilsa. Those traditions were supposedly built to be broken, they were for a dramatic exhilaration, a cheap shot, but it worked nonetheless…smoothly. Lazlo, Ilsa and Rick, the three vertices of a triangle and a point in space, Renault sat on a table and exchanged love, admiration and skepticism like four good gentlemen. Eventualy Strasser came to the table where the couple received a hostile invitation for the next day.
When everybody left and the bar was closed Rick stayed there waiting for Ilsa. There he rekindled his days with her in Paris. Apparently they were a thing back then. But Ilsa who never aged and Rick who was always old parted in a tragic way when she stranded him at a train station in Paris. He had nothing but Sam and an apology letter from her, whose ink gradually washed away in the heavy downpour.

“Where were you?” Ilsa was worried.
“Right where you left me… Paris” said Rick dusting off gunpowder from his white Jacket. They were in a park with nobody except two kids playing swing at the back. Then there was calm for a moment, they gazed at each other’s eyes and slowly Ilsa enquired, “Where’s your ship?”
“Seized by the Germans”
“Did anybody see you?” she asked with great concern.
“I was careful. I said goodbye to Sam at the train station and flew in a jetpack to you. I’ve hidden it in that school” he pointed to a school across the street.
“Let’s run away before the Germans get here” she said and added, “Let’s fetch that jetpack.”
“Wait” sighed Rick
She turned back. He held her close and found her to be more beautiful than ever.
“Here’s to looking at you kid”

As expected Ilsa came later that night to explain herself but witnessing Rick was no more the man he used to be, decided to give it a rain check.
The next day in the office of the Prefect of the Police, Lazlo and his wife appeared for their rendezvous with Strasser and Renault. There they were informed about the death of Ugarte, an accomplice of Lazlo, in captivity. Poor Ugarte! As the tension built Maj. Strasser tightened his strangulations on the couple to prevent them from fleeing Casablanca.

Some unsuccessful attempts in the illegal market and a looming threat on Lazlo brought Ilsa back at the gates of Rick, this time to express her undying love for him. The timing of it seemed suspicious to Rick at the beginning but once he heard her part of the story he couldn’t stop but fall back to her.
There she expressed her desires to stay with him forever and urged him to think for both of them. She cried.
“…he cried and cried but King Midas could never turn his daughter back from the gold.” Yamala Ma’am read. “The moral of the story is: Do not be greedy. It never does well to anyone”, she concluded. Everyone seemed satisfied.
“But why didn’t he wear gloves?” Sirshak raised his hand.
“I’m sorry!” Yamala Ma’am gestured him to keep his hand down.
“Ma’am, why didn’t he wear gloves?” Sirshak asked keeping his hand down. “He could have saved her!”
“Because it was hot” someone yelled. Everybody laughed. Poonam smiled.
“But that’s not the case here, is it?” the teacher smiled. She was used to him, the whole class was used to him asking questions at the end of every stories.
“He could’ve been happier, could’ve saved her!”
“Say Midas wore gloves, say his daughter never turned to gold; would that make for a good moral? That way King Midas would’ve stayed greedy, won’t he?” Yamala Ma’am replied with questions. It kept him busy; meanwhile she turned the next page and went over to the board to assign the class their homework. Everyone frowned.
A man in a white jacket and a beautiful woman passed the hallway.
“But she died” Sirshak was disappointed.
”She had to for all the other children to understand what greed brings to people and their families. From that day on people will think of King Midas and what happened to his daughter before they try anything greedy. It was a lesson for everyone…a greedy person will never be happy.” Yamala Ma’am tried. She knew she was only wasting her breath. Nothing she told would ever amount to anything. She knew his mind was not there anymore.
It wasn’t. He wished the story didn’t have a moral. That way the King wouldn’t be bound by it and the girl wouldn’t have to die. But it was all there. The story was over. Its end was there. No matter what, she’ll always stay dead. Even if he wrote another story, it’ll just be a version; he could never save her from the real one.

He tried to save Ilsa. He ran some errands and made arrangements. He sold his café to Ferrari and struck a deal with Renault.

Once the plan set sailed, Renault found out he had been tricked, he cunningly informed Strasser about Rick’s idea of letting Lazlo escape. Once they reached the airport, Rick revealed Ilsa that he was never part of the plan and Lazlo needed her more than ever. She was baffled by his sacrifice but kept on moving along with a broken heart. Her expressions were gloomy, and her lips were devoid of smile. Her hopes were shattered. Rick said to her one last time, “Here’s to looking at you kid”

Strasser came right in the middle of the take-off. He could’ve ruined everything. He would never let Lazlo leave Casablanca. That was why he called guards even when held at a gunpoint. He dared Rick to shoot him, which Rick actually did. He SHOT Strasser. The man fell down in total disbelief. He got what he deserved. It was a long time coming.
The plane flew way into the mist, sharing melancholy with sky.
“Aren’t you sharing that?” Poonam asked.
“Share what?” Sirshak questioned.
“That chocolate”
“Chocolate…what chocolate?” he acted indifferent.
“The one in your right pocket” Poonam said pointing towards his pant.
“Oh! That one…” he exclaimed. “…it’s not mine”, he lied.
“Whose is it then?”
“Lier” she accused Sirshak. “I know it’s your favorite chocolate…If it’s Sandeep’s then why are you carrying it?” she asked with suspicion, “You are lying, aren’t you?”
He nodded.
It was a major dilemma. Poonam shouldn’t eat chocolates, but she found out he had one. As stubborn as she was, her soul won’t rest until she had a bite out of it, even the littlest one. But Sirshak couldn’t give in to her stubbornness, he had been strictly instructed by Poonam’s parents, not to give her any sweets or chocolates, even if she insisted. And boy, she was insisting!
She was a diabetic, her mother had told. Sirshak had asked about this to his father who told him she already had high levels of sugar in her blood, so anything extra might be dangerous. Even his father had warned Sirshak not to hand any sort of sweets to her. He had promised he would never.
But promises are made easy, kept difficult.
However, Sirshak decided he would not hinge away from his promise, this time.
“You shouldn’t have it. You know it’s not good for you” he tried convincing her.
Poonam rose from her swing and stood in front of him.
He stopped swinging too.
“Just a little bite” she pleaded, “one itsy bitsy bite. Nobody’ll know” she insisted.
Sirshak was not going to fall for her sweet talks. He just sat on his swing set, observing her persuasion techniques.
“I’ll give you my Pokemon card.” Bribery’s what she’d come to. “Whichever you want” The proposal was definitely tempting but there was not going to be any sort of transactions that day.
“I’d have given it if it was sugar free, I’d have given you the whole bar.”
“You shouldn’t have shown it in the first place if you weren’t going to share it” she complained. “You’re acting like Sneha. Sneha’s greedy and nobody likes her. Are you Sneha?” she asked.
Sirshak nodded. He smiled.
She was annoyed by his persistence. He was impressed by her.
“I won’t tell your mother about what happened to your Encyclopedia” keeping herself calm, she made a light threat.
“You can say whatever you want” he gave her the permission.
“Bishnu aunty” she yelled. “Bishnu aunty…this Sirshak…lost his Encyclopedia” her voice gradually lowered into a whisper.
Nothing. He did nothing to stop her!
Poonam was infuriated. She tried threatening him once more, “Give me a bite or I’ll tell about your bicycle” At this point she was already yelling.
Sirshak sat there smiling letting her make those hollow threats.
“I’ll tell everyone that you don’t like any movies…not even ‘The Lion King’” her voice raised an octave. She was putting on an extra effort. Her face was turning red.
Should he be concerned, Sirshak asked himself.
He should’ve left right then. He should’ve walked away. But he didn’t.
Flustered, Poonam stamped the ground. Her rage was boiling off the roof.
“Give me the chocolate…” she yelled.
“Or…or…” she stammered.
“Or I’ll tell everyone, you see faces in clouds” she screamed.
Sirshak rose from his swing.
Poonam stopped. She stood there without moving an inch, with her mouth shut, revisiting her chocolate debacle.
She knew she shouldn’t have said that. She realized it wasn’t right. You never say something out loud, something that’s been sworn to secrecy.
He walked past her, didn’t even look at her.

He walked with Captain Renault.
The soldiers were ordered to round up the usual suspects for the murder of the Major. At the end Rick told Cpt. Renault, “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Sirshak turns the T.V off.
He walks up to the window and pulls the curtain. It’s started raining, nobody’s outside.
“Rick should’ve been with Ilsa”’ he says.

Chapter I

Sirshak’s a little boy who refuses to go with the flow. He might have just been eleven but he’s smarter than most kids his age. That is why it was plain boring for him to hang out with them. He rather would be watching movies inside than play outside. Moreover, his parents were quite busy, they were always away and almost all the time it was him who had to wait and look after the house-which he didn’t mind doing. So, for a kid who stayed aloof most of the time it was obvious he had limited friends, one to be exact-that one too he’s not so sure after recently.

Today is Saturday, sky’s overcast; gloomy and cloudy-much too overwhelming for me to go outside, Sirshak thought. He slides a curtain in the living room window just a little and looks through, several of the neighborhood kids were out already.
The Thapa’s are right across the street; Binita and Binod, their two kids who went to same class even though having a couple of year age difference between them, are playing with their dog ‘Sweety’ in their veranda. The Pomeranian wags its tail tirelessly while its master tries to teach it to give a paw. Luring the creature with ‘Glucose’ biscuit whenever it followed what it’s told, it’s a simple device Binod thought fit for training his dog.
Right beside the Ashoka tree near the Thapa’s, Rita and Susi are counting carefully as Nilima scores higher and higher in her chungi. A hundred and four they sigh at last as Nilima gets tired and drops the chungi, thus bringing an end to her record breaking run. She throws a light fist in the air for her unprecedented triumph, Rita drops it at fifty and Susi can’t score more than ten. Why those Sharma sisters even bother competing with her?
Abigya is on his bike; riding up and down the road, being an only son his parents were much too cautious whenever he went outdoors. That might be the reason why he still rides with the training wheels even though he’s already ten. Susi is eight and she had outgrown them a year ago. He’s such a sissy Abigya.
Further down the road, Shirish and Utsav are playing football. They are both thirteen, say plyan-tik to penalty and still consider themselves to be the best in the ward.

This is an ordinary start to a normal weekend, nothing unusual except for the weather, even though ten in the morning, it’s almost as dark but the neighborhood is buzzing with blithely enthusiastic kids. After a while all of them will go and plant themselves before TV, watch the matinee show and then come out to talk about the movie they’d just watched. It happened every Saturday. Ordinary kids getting overwhelmed by generic movies, unimaginative plotlines and shabby songs, that was the ritual, it applied to all except for Sirshak. He wasn’t easily impressed. Up until now there hasn’t been a single movie worth his admiration. Mediocrity bothered him and clichés too. But nothing bothered him more than the endings of every movie. It killed the possibilities. He couldn’t make his peace with endings of anything, for that matter. However, Sirshak liked watching them even though his mind drifted off every time to venture some new adventures along the way. Maybe that is why he loved watching them so much.

As gloomy as the day is, the wind blows ever so slightly, a leaf detaches itself from the Ashoka tree but for some reason it doesn’t fall on the ground and remains suspended. Sirshak cranes his neck to examine whether there is a spider-web nearby the trunk-just then-suddenly someone emerges from the Joshi’s. Is that Poonam? He squints his eyes and looks carefully, surely enough it is-Poonam.
She comes strolling down the road; seems disoriented, detached; devoid of her usual self. Her expressions are gloomy and her lips are devoid of smile. Sirshak knows exactly why it is.
Poonam then comes unwillingly towards the chungi playing trio.
“Can I play?” she asks folding both her hands in front of her blue skirt.
“Yes”, Nilima agrees and then proceeds on explaining the situation they are in,” but mind you, I am at one hundred and fifty one, Rita is at seventy three and Susi just scored twenty five. You’ll have to begin at…” Just then Poonam’s eager eyes wander about Sirshak’s house as if searching for someone-someone important. Sirshak dodges her sight- a narrow escape, he thinks. Then briskly closes the curtains to hide below the window sill…after a while he takes a few light steps and throws himself in the living room couch. He’s alone-again.
Mom and Dad won’t be back until a couple of hours. It’s still cloudy outside and there’s nothing he can do inside-unless-why doesn’t he watch that movie aunt Indira gifted for his eleventh birthday?
Quickly he runs towards his room, goes straight to his bed, kneels down and pulls out a carton from under the bed. There’s a carton labeled ‘Watched’ which is overflowing with movie tapes. He then slides it back to where it was and pulls another one labeled, ‘Not watched’.
Sirshak plunges his left hand in that carton, also filled with movie tapes, trying to fish out the right one. There were all sorts of films there; dramas, actions, horrors anything and everything. Impatiently he flips the box over and all the tapes fall on the ground making a pile. He turns every tape and reads the title at the cover but no such luck; there wasn’t the one that aunt Indira sent way over from the US.
So he looks for it around his room. It is messy, of a fairly standard size and has yellow painted walls, “yellow disperses the light better” his dad used to explain whenever he complained about that dull color. Whatever the science is, it didn’t feel as good as blue though! Sky is blue, the blue whale is blue, light sabers are blue…Poonam’s favorite skirt is blue!
The room has a small sized bed where the blanket and bed sheet are undone, just the way they were when he woke up that morning. A study table with a chair is beside the bed in front of a window that faces the Poudel’s living room; sometimes Shirish shouted from there and they would talk, not really a talk, it was Sirish who yelled and Sirshak would just participate with reluctant nods here and there. There’s also a cupboard at the tail end of the bed. Even though he wanted a computer in his room, his father insisted it’d be of much better use if it remained in the parents’, to compensate for that though they bought him a fourteen inches color TV set that sits right next to the door now. His clothes are all over the room, on the chair, on the bed-scattered all over the places. Crumbs of biscuits and packets of Wai-Wai littered the floor, overflowing the dust bin. A half-eaten bar of chocolate is sitting on his table. But the major share of that mess is contributed by his only secluded-sacred hobby-Movies, more precisely-Movie tapes. It’s like Monarch butterflies in spring, rain in July, sharks in Jaws; they are everywhere. Exhausted by the look of it, sometimes his mom repeated Elliot’s mom from E.T,” This is no room. This is an accident”; his room is a housekeeping tragedy.

Finally, Sirshak finds what he’s been looking for, inside the drawer of his study table; a brand new cassette of a pretty old film; it’s a classic- claims the cassette. An adult male wearing a stylish hat and a grave expression as well as a beautiful lady emoting grace, embellish the cover of this black and white film made in 1942. Further, name of the cast is written on the lower end, ‘Humphrey Bogart’, ‘Ingrid Bergman’ and ‘Paul Henreid’. And, the title of the movie itself is written in big-vintage letters- ‘CASABLANCA’.

“Classic eh…. let’s see if you stand a chance”, challenged a little ego in that little boy.
So, tape in hand, Sirshak goes back to the living room, it has a bigger TV and a VHS player. The TV rack has multiple cabinets, the upper one holds some dolls his mother bought from Sumi aunty, home-made dolls. The central cabinet has twenty one inches Sony TV and a Daewoo VHS player. The lower one holds a few Karuwa his parents received as a token of love from different offices they had been to. And it also holds some certificates of all the family members; however Sirshak has the best ones in his room, especially the one he received in a drawing competition as well as in Story writing competition.

Sirshak turns on the TV, puts the tape in the VHS player and lies on the couch. The movie


then begins.


Hello, fellow ancient Homo sapiens sapiens, I am Bishal, a Homo intelpithecus and I am a transcended human android computer. Welcome to the future or according to your peasant Einstein and his primitive incompetent Theory of Relativity, welcome to the land of paradoxes, magic and fantasies.

I work ‘Shift+2’ the ‘Department of Languages and Slangs’ and here I ‘Fn’ as a scientist for the preservation and restoration of extremely vulnerable and endangered languages like Bushman, Klingon, Minion and English. My office lies in Geneva on the European Province of People’s Republic of China and World. Forgive me homie, for my archaic English is extremely rusty, underused and underfunded! And I haven’t yet deciphered the meaning of SH-asterik-T.

Although the Medieval ‘meme’ and ‘gif’ scriptures from 2010s and twenties had great expectations from the future, it turned out to be pretty ordinary. There are no flying cars, no female presidents and still no signs of UFO or UNO.
You must be surprised when I say Climate Change was a hoax, a massive propaganda. It was ruled out after the great ‘Ice Age’ of 2021 and was considered a crime to even utter the word when a series of Moon influenced Tsunamis engulfed Maldives, Indonesia and Bill Nye, the now dead guy.

After a tireless research, finally in the year 2025, it was discovered that being Gay was actually a disease. The pathogen was found to be a ‘unicorn virus’ which was observed in the ‘Hell lab’. This landmark achievement was credited to the brilliant scientists from the Middle Eastern province for which they were awarded the MTv Nobel Prize for Medicines and Wizardry. Similarly in the same year the polio of 2000s, Cancer, was cured as it was a psychological disease all along; however the cancer of 2050s, Polio, still remains a looming threat.

Even though fusion energy was mastered in the year 2028, it was banned in 2030 for its potential to be used as a Weapon of Mass Destruction; eventually the priority for energy solution was re-shifted to the good ol’ nuclear fission Energy. My self-driving car which recently acquired its driving license, runs with petrol even though it was really scarce after a brief period of setback due to the depletion of crude oil in 2018, the oil industry rejuvenated when the Black gold was pumped out from the ground where previously the Scandinavian Nations stood. On further examination it was discovered that the major constituent of that oil was fossilized pseudo Socialist ego. To this day, scientists could not agree whether the fall of these nations was due to a meteorite or due to the Great Refugee Epidemic!

Being a humanoid computer doesn’t mean I don’t have a college degree, actually I do have one in Literature. But Literature was not part of the curriculum from 2020 until 2031. It was considered unproductive and mediocre just like Humanities. However because of the Renaissance in the mid-twenties brought upon by the Illuminati it was re-introduced along with Astrology and Scientology, the two pillars of human civilization.

For an evolved being like me, money is obsolete but for the capitalist computers at Forbes it’s still relevant. That’s why even to this day they publish the rich list which for the second decade running has been topped by Swami Balkrishna, the Chyawanprash Excreting Officer of the conglomerate Patanjali. In the great depression of 2032, they also acquired Apple and Coca-Cola Company and renamed them to Organic Apple Inc. and Sudh Desi Coke Company. Recently they launched their most anticipated device ‘iPhone Fiber’ and also ‘Diet Coke’ the revolutionary beverage without any contents in the bottle which was targeted at the African colony.

Something tragic occurred to our family last fall. My cousin died of stroke; it was extremely rare because people usually do not die of petty coronary heart diseases nowadays. Selfies are the leading cause of death as it overtook Friendzone in the forties, followed by religion and fourth is always Arsenal. From early childhood it was his wish to die of boredom, but what a shame! Talking about religion, Hyppocritism is still the biggest religion. Moreover the demise of Google in the year 2020 made ‘Bing’ the only living god. ‘He’ is the almighty. ‘He’ has surveillance over everyone. ‘He’ is omnipresent, omnipotent and hates feminism. But the Lord has gone loco nowadays. Seems like his cloud’s leaking, his codes have been cursed, he’s getting sillier every day. No one can talk against him or about his user interface. Last time my neighbor, MacBook 40 made fun of his ‘small’ search results and immediately caught a virus. It was even worse when my friend Galaxy 40 did nothing and still caught a virus! However I am different, unlike those tin cans I have my First Amendment rights, and I can speak my damn CPU, nothing will happ