01010101

We have consigned our memory to 0s and 1s.

How was your holiday in the mountains?
Oh it’s all on camera.
Remember how you used to describe the resort, the flowers, the mist?

Do you have so-and-so’s number?
It’s on my phone, I will SMS it to you.
Remember how you could reel off tens of numbers off at the drop of a hat?

Naah, our memory is for better stuff, we can’t waste it on remembering stuff like this! Even our thoughts – we pull out strands and put it away on our blogs, like Dumbledore’s Penseive, so that you can go back, read it, and rethink that thought. But what then do we use our memory for? To remember the details of the most mindless TV shows, all the spicy gossip, the worst of swear words, passwords, pin numbers.

A typical day, and a letter

It could be the middle of the night as far as sleep was concerned. Through its shadowy depths, I hear an alarm that is quickly shut off. I sink back into the dream, holding on to the last fleeting image, hoping the thread has not been broken. After what seems like merely a few moments, am woken up by a gentle "Wake up Sav, I am leaving, lock the door." In the dark of early dawn, fighting the urge to stay under the blanket and keep away the slight chill, I see him, dressed, packed, ready to fly. A quick "bye, take care, call me when you reach" is all there is time for; the cab is waiting. Lock door, wave good bye from the balcony, stumble back to dreamless sleep till daylight streams in. And then thoughts of "Would he have reached, when did he leave, what was he wearing, has he forgotten anything?" The memory of dawn pretty much a dream now.

For how long, this same routine?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A letter from home. I wave it around in glee, colleagues tell me it is great that we still send letters. The letter... only a chronicle of a dream. But the emotion, the joy, the desperation of the dream is too strong to stay on paper. It jumps out at me, envelopes me, throbs within me. Mother's voice asking: "Why do we have to live like this, miles apart?"

What for, this kind of life?

Anything for the camera?

Was stuck in traffic today on way to work -- as usual -- and got to watch a demonstration by MG Road. A camera was rolling. And in front of the lensman, the leaders of the protest in a semicircle, shouting slogans, passionately pumping their fists. The cameraman decided he had enough footage, replaced the lens-cap and the slogans died down. Down came the raised fists and the resolve in the voices dissolved. The protesters stood around, listlessly holding placards, seemingly waiting for the next camera crew to come along and show some interest. Apparently, it's not worth protesting if there isn't a camera to see it.

Few days ago, was watching David Blaine on TV. Watched without emotion as he jumped from a 90-foot pillar (where he had been standing for over 30 hours) into a stack of cardboard boxes placed below. Only one of his many stunts. Would he be doing these insane things if there aren't all those cameras pointed on him? To what extent will he go, if ensured it will be taped?

SMS your vote

SMS to select your favourite singer on the talent show.
SMS to vote out the worst person on the reality show.
SMS to get yourself into the 1-crore game show.

You think general elections would be more effective if votes were to be sent in as SMSs? Imagine... Big-budget glamourous TV promos. A series of numbers to SMS to -- 1231 for Candidate 1, 1232 for Candidate 2 and so on. Reminders running as tickers even while the evening news is on. Suspense filled music as a booming voice (preferably AB) asks, "Who will win?"

Think it will work?