Why People Are the Next Big Tech

Our age is swamped with technology. 

From robotics to smartphones; from e-rickshaws to international space stations; from CRSPR-Cas9 to Solid State Drives. Human ingenuity and science are being rapidly encapsulated in complex algorithms and packaged into dense devices and executive routines. Governments and corporations are ramping up R&D budgets to create or acquire the next big technology, like with AI, Data Science, and Machine Learning.

The One In Which Gulliver Is Bored and Calls Newton for Advice

Destiny washed Gulliver up on the shores of the island nation, Lilliput, a kingdom ruled by minuscule intellectuals.

Gulliver’s ship was wrecked during his long voyage. Floating on a rotting plank, he was desperately seeking terra firma. It was a blessing that the tropical storm that thrashed him one night also deposited him on the shores of Lilliput.

Question of the Sinner Stomach

Burning eyes and shallow my breath.
A knocking buzz constant my head.
Revolting against inertia deathly,
Limbs, spine, heart and belly.
The brain begs and begs for mercy.
I put foot down--ever so gently,
"Just a few more hours and we'll be done."
"One last push and this'll be won."
But, we are here, in an interrogation room.
Not being bailed out anytime soon.
Tortured beings out of tired souls,
Bleeding away from minute holes.
Struggling away with a question plum--
"Where's the next meal coming from?"

The Communion of Rocks

I was once drafted

Into a communion of rocks.

There was a war out there

Between various pointless blocs.

A war between rocks,

Rocks dumb and inflamed.

They fought with words,

empty words that blamed.

A rookie soldier, I,

Among leaders of rank nonsense.

It all seemed alien to me—

Somewhat touchy and tense.

And on the battlefield

Of halls lined with chairs,

Armies met across mahogany,

And oak and pine squares.

Rocks of all denominations—

Jagged, smooth, big and small,

Glared at each other

Eyeball to eyeball.

Then bang-bang of sentences,

And boom-boom of exclamations.

It was a foreign tongue!

A lingo of an unknown nation.

A language or battle cry—

No one understood a word.

There were pauses and periods,

But the meaning was blurred.

Yet everyone spoke it,

Simultaneously and separately.

Some nodded agreement,

Some disagreed vehemently.

No one attempted to

Figure a word that was flung.

Who was I to question—

A pawn on the lowest rung.

What are we fighting for?

Who are we aiming at?

What will be the casualties?

What will come of that?

Words were screaming inside me,

Gnawing their way out of my brain.

I numbed the seething agony

With an overdose of refrain.

I was invisible to the rocks—

A speck of dust at best.

Little did they discern

Of the turmoil inside my breast.

As I stood on a cliff

Of fiery, incandescent rage,

A question raised its hand—

Should I or shouldn’t I engage?

The inferno glowed bright

And spot lit a strange wisdom.

Something that could assuage

My deepening conundrum.

You see, the communion of rocks

Is a meditation of sorts—

Of sitting still and quiet

In a sea storm of retorts.

Of not getting lost

In a garden maze of baloneys.

Of keeping your faith intact

In the cacophony of phonies.

With a few simple scars

I came out of that battle.

Ready to be herded to the next one

Like simple, innocent cattle.

Paper Tigers

Tiger, tiger, burning bright;
Made of paper, serves you right.
Tongue of steel but fluffy butt;
All you can give is a paper cut.
Proud of rank but courage scant;
Your middle name is psycho-phant.
Questions aplenty, answers none;
If we question, we are done.
Silent footsteps and hidden claws;
Playing us around with wicked laws.
When its good, you scowl and hover;
Trouble brews and you run for cover.
Tiger, tiger, burning bright;
Made of paper, serves you right.

Hierarchical Sloth

"What the fuck is this?"
"What? This is the final product."
"You're going to sell it like this?"
"Yeah. What's wrong with it?"
"This is crap! This is bullshit, man!"
"Hey, it's been approved by the top-management. And we don't have time to re-do it. We have to meet our targets, the retailer is waiting for stocks, the designer has been paid once already and no one really gives a shit. Just let it pass, dude."
"No I wont! Coz I FUCKING CARE ABOUT THIS SHIT!!"
"Suit yourself, bud. It's your funeral."

Inside [~] Outside

Inside [~] Outside
Amber glow [~] Slatish skies
Busy murmur [~] Silent rains
Clickity clack [~] Tippity tap
Soundproof windows [~] Happy clamor
Cubicle walls [~] Strawberry fields
Order [~] Aria
Pyramid [~] Woods
Work [~] Life
Without [~] Within

Tedium

Tedium, Sisyphean tedium

Still, in the middle of the Pacific
Hot afternoon sun and pin-drop silence

Slow...dead slow...
Calm...dead calm...

Not a ripple in the skies
Not a gust in the waters

Breath sucks molten lead
Thoughts pushing shut synapses

Steady beat of a sluggish heart
Noisy gush of thickened blood

An unending rhythm that doesn't change
A drummer in a silly silly trance

The flickerless glow of fluorescent lights
The muffled hum of the AC plant

Tick tap taps of keys on keyboards
Mechanical murmur of official kinds

Printers puking mundane manuscripts
Shredders editing them to rest

Yesterday, Today Tomorrow
Tomorrow, Today Yesterday
Today, all over again

Tedium, Sisyphean tedium

In Search of Excellence

The reluctant minion has tears in his eyes.
And a grimace on his face—
   He has he been crying...
   Or... Has he been laughing?!

Blind to his torment and predicament
   the lordships roar timidly into
   the imagined horizons of gold and glitter.
They ride on shifty waves of delusion;
Powered by gusty winds of arrogance.
Self-righteousness is their only map.
And the destination, a vague presumption.

The minion surveys the flagship and sighs—
   Where are the oars?
   Where is the rudder?

A Hustle Amidst the Bustle

Life―
Is a tussle,
a hustle amidst the bustle,
of alternatives and choices,
made worse by
oxy-morons and paradoxes.

A trade-off―
between pros of this and cons of that;
between cons of this and pros of that;
between the safe and the right;
between bank notes and sleep good night;
between what they say I ought to do,
and what I say I want to do.

But I am not one of the fighters;
Just an arbiter of destinies
of fictional characters.

Let me retreat
to the refuge of the world
of make-belief and rosy tints,
of veiled protests and subtle hints,
of safety of my family,
lovingly, warmly and cozily;
Where courage shakes hand with prudence;
Where ambition makes room for convalescence.

Life is a tussle,
a hustle amidst the bustle.
But I am one of the fighters
who armed with ideas and characters
wage war against might and muscle.

Little Men

Dreary dystopia and despondent chance
        siege me from all sides;
Miniscule men with mammoth shoes
        stomp into my cube;
Demented dwarfs with duplex heads
        butt away my scrolls;
Lazy leeches with large mouths
        suck the life out of me;
Machiavellian maggots do a manic dance
        and eat the insides of my head;
Indignant inferno in incandescent rage
        come rescue me to cinders;
Fearless phoenix with felicity and grit
        rise gloriously from my ashes.

A Pile of Trashed Files and Empty Binders

Carcasses of discarded arguments;
Empty shells of history
   of acts of men and machines.
An unwanted pile of incidents –
   like no one really cares;
   like now no one really cares.
Orphaned bastards of commercial transactions;
A past being buried unremarkably;
To be consigned to flames without ado.
Hope they burn bright;
They have burned many a life.

Mediocrity

He is bobbing like an unnamed cork
in a sea of mediocrity.
And there is a tempest of inanity
thrashing him about.
There's a storm of inefficients
lashing him about.

The behemoth of a system --
A spherical rock-mountain of rigidities,
A juggernaut of ghastly proportions --
It pardons those who abide,
Protects those who lie,
Nurtures those who shirk and
deify its mammoth edifice.

Mediocre is the new norm.
It's the garb of official uniform.
Mediocres love mediocres.
And despise everything out of box.
In the warm, cozy embrace of their likes,
Inefficiency is lulled to sleep
with sugar-coated excuse pills.
Ah! You don't recognise
the efficiency of inefficiency?
Cap your imagination buddy.
Or off to Section '84!

The boulder rolls on inexorably.
Dragging the coins
of the unsuspecting benefactors
in its wake --
They who out of humble reverence,
believe -- Mass Is the New God.

If money is the new token of your worth,
Once, I was afraid to die mediocre,
Today, I'm afraid to live poor.

Zack and Bill

Zack and Bill 

went up the till 

to fetch a bale of clutter.

Zack yelled down 

and choked his frown 

and Bill came mumbling later.

Does this remind you of some people you know?