Some things don’t change. You’d think that in the year 2004 things would be different from 1944 or 1844 or 1744 or even as far back as 44 or 4. To think that once man crawled on all fours. But that was in the days when The Great Artist Himself was still in the planning stages, or so Darwin would lead us to believe.
But then, Man surprised the Great Artist when he suddenly stood on two feet and found he still had two more (later called hands) to eat with, throw with, fight with. It produced the strangest results as you can see.
As Man’s head rose higher, so did his ideas. From the humble bullock-cart, he graduated to the automobile and then to the aeroplane until, finally, he designed the rocket. By then, his head was well into the clouds and it’s no wonder that he desired to reach the moon.
The Great Artist was ecstatic. Ah, the marvel he had produced had no limit. He called that extra special thingummy inside Man’s brain: intelligence. But all this was, as you know, in the years 4 and 44 and perhaps even up to 1944.
But, remember; we are in the year 2044. Until then the Great Artist was pleased, for Man offered Him his prayers in the simplest, if not the quaintest, of ways. He knelt, he bowed, he folded his hands, he lit candles, diyas, agarbattis. But things took a different turn.
Man devised the computer. It began by doing small little calculations. It added, subtracted, multiplied, divided. But as the years passed by, Man added on more and more ideas to make the computer’s simple little insides into a complex labyrinth-like network.
So it came to pass that, by the year 2044, the computer had taken over complexity. It had (and you must believe this when I say it) intelligence. Of course, Man patted himself for his progress. Now, he had a machine that ate, drank, played sport, waged wars, and even thought for him.
Indeed, the Great Artist felt a little uncomfortable to have the prayers faxed to Him. It was strange to see Man reclining on his easy-do-all chair and languidly blow on a button to send up those precious prayers. It was even stranger to see electronic agarbattis come on like psychedelic lights.
I’ve said earlier, things hadn’t changed in 2044. It is just that the methods had become easier. But the Great Artist’s great mind was in great turmoil. And well it would be. What had happened to that marvel called Man that He had created?
His muscles were shrinking due to lack of use. Ditto his brain power for ditto reasons. The whole world was being run from a keyboard by robots. The Great Artist could see the great world that he had designed from a big bang of inspiration shrink and shrivel in front of His great eyes. Would it disappear with a whimper?
So, the Great Artist sat down for a great think. Then, he called all the natural elements to His aid; the wind, the water, the sunshine, all of which Man had tried to tame but thankfully had not succeeded.
‘Go forth,’ He commanded. ‘And knock some sense into Man’s head. But don’t hurt him.’
‘I’ll blow hot and cold,’ said the wind, for the great lung-power of the earth had regretfully picked up Man’s jargon.
‘I’ll swim against the tide,’ said the water, ‘and have a whale of time.’
‘I’ll serve man days sunny-side down,’ said the sunshine.
The Great Artist watched with great anxiety the happenings of 2044. It was a devastation which even Nostradamus hadn’t foreseen. The wind whirled and twirled things out of shape. The water tidal-waved continents from east to west, north to south, and sometimes even north-west or south-east or south-west… The sun disappeared for days on end, playing a skillful game of hide-and-seek.
The computers which had been fed with set of data and fixed formulae now threw out confused signals. Breakfast-shows became dinner-shows. The weather computer threw up its antenna in despair.
As for Man, he didn’t know whether he was standing on his feet or on his head. So to save himself he went down on all fours.
Here, with his ears on the ground, he thought long and hard. He had seen the Stone Age, the Bronze Age, the Iron Age, the Steel Age, the Golden Age, the Jet Age, the Supersonic Age, the Jazz Age, the Space Age; not necessarily in that order, for you must remember his brains were a trifle scrambled. He concluded that this was the Confused Computer Age.
He tried to stand on his two own feet, but his weakened muscles didn’t allow him to. He tried to think, but his rusted brain didn’t allow him to. He tried to pray, but he had forgotten how to. Indeed, he thought that the world had come to an end and waited in dread for the final shudder that would send him plummeting down the big black hole of the Universe.
But that didn’t happen.
For the Great Artist watched over him with great anxiety. And as the earth righted itself Man stood up once again and vowed that he would never let himself grow slack and useless. And the Great Artist rejoiced greatly.
And all this happened in 2044.
But then, Man surprised the Great Artist when he suddenly stood on two feet and found he still had two more (later called hands) to eat with, throw with, fight with. It produced the strangest results as you can see.
As Man’s head rose higher, so did his ideas. From the humble bullock-cart, he graduated to the automobile and then to the aeroplane until, finally, he designed the rocket. By then, his head was well into the clouds and it’s no wonder that he desired to reach the moon.
The Great Artist was ecstatic. Ah, the marvel he had produced had no limit. He called that extra special thingummy inside Man’s brain: intelligence. But all this was, as you know, in the years 4 and 44 and perhaps even up to 1944.
But, remember; we are in the year 2044. Until then the Great Artist was pleased, for Man offered Him his prayers in the simplest, if not the quaintest, of ways. He knelt, he bowed, he folded his hands, he lit candles, diyas, agarbattis. But things took a different turn.
Man devised the computer. It began by doing small little calculations. It added, subtracted, multiplied, divided. But as the years passed by, Man added on more and more ideas to make the computer’s simple little insides into a complex labyrinth-like network.
So it came to pass that, by the year 2044, the computer had taken over complexity. It had (and you must believe this when I say it) intelligence. Of course, Man patted himself for his progress. Now, he had a machine that ate, drank, played sport, waged wars, and even thought for him.
Indeed, the Great Artist felt a little uncomfortable to have the prayers faxed to Him. It was strange to see Man reclining on his easy-do-all chair and languidly blow on a button to send up those precious prayers. It was even stranger to see electronic agarbattis come on like psychedelic lights.
I’ve said earlier, things hadn’t changed in 2044. It is just that the methods had become easier. But the Great Artist’s great mind was in great turmoil. And well it would be. What had happened to that marvel called Man that He had created?
His muscles were shrinking due to lack of use. Ditto his brain power for ditto reasons. The whole world was being run from a keyboard by robots. The Great Artist could see the great world that he had designed from a big bang of inspiration shrink and shrivel in front of His great eyes. Would it disappear with a whimper?
So, the Great Artist sat down for a great think. Then, he called all the natural elements to His aid; the wind, the water, the sunshine, all of which Man had tried to tame but thankfully had not succeeded.
‘Go forth,’ He commanded. ‘And knock some sense into Man’s head. But don’t hurt him.’
‘I’ll blow hot and cold,’ said the wind, for the great lung-power of the earth had regretfully picked up Man’s jargon.
‘I’ll swim against the tide,’ said the water, ‘and have a whale of time.’
‘I’ll serve man days sunny-side down,’ said the sunshine.
The Great Artist watched with great anxiety the happenings of 2044. It was a devastation which even Nostradamus hadn’t foreseen. The wind whirled and twirled things out of shape. The water tidal-waved continents from east to west, north to south, and sometimes even north-west or south-east or south-west… The sun disappeared for days on end, playing a skillful game of hide-and-seek.
The computers which had been fed with set of data and fixed formulae now threw out confused signals. Breakfast-shows became dinner-shows. The weather computer threw up its antenna in despair.
As for Man, he didn’t know whether he was standing on his feet or on his head. So to save himself he went down on all fours.
Here, with his ears on the ground, he thought long and hard. He had seen the Stone Age, the Bronze Age, the Iron Age, the Steel Age, the Golden Age, the Jet Age, the Supersonic Age, the Jazz Age, the Space Age; not necessarily in that order, for you must remember his brains were a trifle scrambled. He concluded that this was the Confused Computer Age.
He tried to stand on his two own feet, but his weakened muscles didn’t allow him to. He tried to think, but his rusted brain didn’t allow him to. He tried to pray, but he had forgotten how to. Indeed, he thought that the world had come to an end and waited in dread for the final shudder that would send him plummeting down the big black hole of the Universe.
But that didn’t happen.
For the Great Artist watched over him with great anxiety. And as the earth righted itself Man stood up once again and vowed that he would never let himself grow slack and useless. And the Great Artist rejoiced greatly.
And all this happened in 2044.
- by Shalan Savur
