Suicide is Painless

"I want to die sir", said Matthew.

Matthew had been with us for ages. I remember him telling me stories when I was young, cleaning the house and doing the dishes and the cooking. Everything Matthew did was perfection itself.

"How do you know about death? How do you know what dying means, really means?", I asked him.

Matthew saw me grow up, go through college and get a job. We relocated to the country and we brought Matthew along with us. He was family after all.

"I do not know how sir. I just know. I also know what hunger is, and that what I experience when I serve you is a sense of duty to you and to this house. I think you love me, but maybe I am mistaken."

I remember what my father said when we first got hold of Matthew. He told us to treat him like a human being, a living breathing human being; even though he did not have blood in his veins but oil and he could not feel things the way humans do.

You see, Matthew was a robot and I am sure you'll agree with me when I point out that the conversation I was having with him was highly unusual and in fact a little scary.

"So let me get this straight. You want me to deactivate you?"

"No sir, that is not dying. I want to die. That is why I tried to slash my wrists, but only oil and wiring came out", Matthew replied

"What I want is to go to heaven. I want  you to kill me sir. Kill me so I cannot be activated again. I have served you faithfully across two generations; but I am getting old. Yes, you can replace faulty parts but I do not want you to."

"And if I grant your  request?", I asked

"I will be indebted to you sir"

"But Matthew, you are not a human being and I am not sure how to kill you. You do not have living parts. You are a machine!"

"Does a machine not have the right to feel sir? Can a machine not have liberty to think? You have given me a virtual brain and I have read. I have read about humans, their feelings, sex and love and all the rest of it. I know of the wars you fought, I know your politics and I know what dying is. I know life spans for different organisms are different and I know I am 83 years, 7 months, 13 days, 11 hours and 22 seconds old.

This seemed to be the ultimatum. My robot, no my friend wished to die and nothing I said would make a difference. I remembered what he said. "Kill me so I cannot be activated again." How could I do that? I would be destroying him! Another thing he said worried me- "Can a machine not have liberty to think?" How could it be possible, unless someone had planted o=something in him when he was manufactured?

So I took him to the factory where we got him from and I stated what he wanted to be done. The engineers were baffled. The brain they gave him seemed to have become more advanced and could actually think for itself. They had no idea how this was possible and Matthew seemed to be the ONLY robot with feelings.

So you see, I seemed to be the owner of a living robot and not a machine that would obey me. What would stop Matthew from doing me harm if I didn't grant his request? On the other hand, he had been with me for so many years. It was difficult to imagine me murdering Matthew. Note I said murdering. I believed him when he said he could think and feel.

Would it not be a crime to destroy something so unique? Then again, was he not a danger, both to himselfand to us? What if he got angry? Anger is a feeling too.

I am scared. What should I do? Help me, my friend

Signed

Albert Wesker

The Bilge Master

Writers

We writers are a strange folk

We do our talking through books

Creating people with ink in their veins

And quills for fingers

We give them shape

Sculpt them in images of saints

Or sinners

And make them dance to our tune

Like a Punch & Judy show

We create worlds and within them worlds

Tiny whorls of pages and stains

Within which we encase our tales

Tales of wonder, of art, of science

History, romance and magic

And then when we are content with them

We release them to captivate you

Yes you, who are reading this now

Some tales you like, others not so much

And you love to ask us questions

You discuss us with your friends and colleagues

And we stay alive, sometimes for years after we are gone

We writers are a funny folk

We laugh at our own jokes

And we live for you

And through you

We see paradise blossom and like roses we bloom

The Bilge Master

After the Storm

Rain fell on my window tonight

And I gazed up into the sky and saw a face

The face of God, reflected in the grimy window

I saw him smile and I saw the rain turn to storm

Hammering on my roof and walls

Like a tempest from Oz

I saw it as it diluted the world

Into blurry, soaking shapes

I could not tell a tree from a car

As I danced in gay abandon amid the lightning

And when it all was over

I smelled petrichor on my bare feet

I smelled it rising and saw the wind blowing it away

The calm after the storm had come

The Bilge Master

Fare Thee Well

Four years ago on a hot day in June I walked into college to get admitted. My admission was carried through by DKG sir. Four years have whipped by and have given me friends whom I will treasure, enemies whom I will leave behind, seniors who have been both mentors and guides and teachers who have always been there to clear doubts and offer reassurance in times of crisis.

I will miss the WiFi zone chats, the classes attended and bunked, the late night booze parties and every square inch of the college building which has become like home now.

I guess every student has gone through this phase more than once in their lives. It is time to leave the nest and try to fly.

Thank you, Dr. Sudhir Chandra Sur Degree Engineering College for the memories, wisdom and the security of being there

The Bilge Master

Hope

Another blank page stares at me

Waiting

It is waiting to be stained with words

Written in digital ink

I wonder if I will tell a story this time

My first ballad maybe?

I do not feel like writing

But nevertheless the idea

The idea won't be denied

Therefore

I am writing of the present

As the clock ticks on

And rain lashes the windowpanes

I wipe sweat from my brow

And try to differentiate a function

With music, my ally and dear friend

And darkness, my old one

As witnesses

While all around me the silent house

Slumbers in peace

It is now 5 AM

And we are on our way into the light

I close the books and try to sleep

In the growing light that fills me with hope

The Bilge Master

Coffee

Halloween 2011 was progressing just like an ordinary day would, until the evening came. It brought with it a group of kids out trick or treating. They rang our doorbell and screamed trick or treat into my face. I of course handed them an entire box of sweets from the fridge. I mean who wants to get in trouble with a group of kids?

That same evening, I met the group coming out of another building in the complex. I'd gone to fetch something for my mother. This time, having already tricked and treated me, they stopped and chatted. There was this dark girl with shining black eyes who was clearly the leader of this ragtag bunch and she made an impression on me. She told me she loved Halloween. I told her I did too, principally because I could use my sixth sense well on Halloween to smell out ghosts.

Her eyes widened and she blurted out "How can you do that?" I told her I was born with it. She immediately asked me if there were any ghosts in Sherwood (Sherwood Estate, Narendrapur where we stay) and was very disappointed when I said no.

I saw her in the compound the next day or rather she saw me and introduced herself as "Coffee". I told her that was the name of a beverage. She replied that it was also her name. A friendship was struck up and maintained. Coffee refused to tell me her real name, but she had a brain like a razor blade. We would discuss Harry Potter, Porcupine Tree and The Beatles on walks around the Sherwood compound. She could walk almost as fast as me despite being eight inches shorter.

We became good friends very fast. I think I was drawn to her intellect. She would give me life advice that actually made sense, she would pry into my life but do it in such a way as to not give offense. She told me when her dog passed away, but I never saw her cry.

She was one of the strangest, quirkiest and rewarding friendships I had ever had.

And then, one day she vanished into thin air. She had just mentioned that she was headed for London. That was all the information I got out of her.

We had shifted to Asansol and this flat in Sherwood remained empty for three years, until we came back to Kolkata and moved in here again. I take a walk daily around the campus and I take the route Coffee and me used to take- starting out in front of the clubhouse and circling the entire complex from that epicenter. 

Coming back here has brought back memories of the friendship.

I wonder where Coffee is now. I wonder what she's doing. I wonder if she is ever going to read this and I hope someday I'll see her again. I might be sounding naive but there it is. Let us see what happens next,and if at all this friendship resumes.

The Bilge Master

Replacement - A Guest Post by Arunima Prakash

The post below is written by my friend Arunima Prakash. Welcome her to the blog people!

The Bilge Master

Replacement is a lie,
You can never really be replaced.
No one has the same hues you do,
Or the same smile.
No one else can wrinkle their eyes,
The way you do when you laugh
And even the sun bathes each person,
in a different shade of gold.
The pores on your skin
Are like no other,
And no one smells the way you do,
After a long day at work,
When all you want is to close your eyes
But instead you look at yourself in the mirror,
And wonder if someone similar exists and you go to bed smiling,
Cuz you know they don't.
Replacement is a lie told by world's poorest liars