Skip to main content

THE NUMBER GAME

Digital Number One Red Animation Clipart
Digital Number Zero Blue Animation Clipart                                                                        


Those days, Shakespeare used to say, What’s in a name? A Rose by any other name smells as sweet”. 

Now the appropriate expression would be, “ What’s in a number?”

For -all of us are being converted to numbers. Man is trying to make robots increasingly like him, but Man himself is getting increasingly machine-like, being ever increasingly identified by numbers. From PIN to PAN, human identity is being hopelessly enmeshed in numbers.

You have to remember a bewildering number of numbers to transact any kind of business today.

Remembering your name is probably going to be just optional in the future. In other words, the days of the ‘Name’ are numbered!

The numerologist never had it so good! The astrologer’s loss is the numerologist’s gain. Now people will probably go for marriage matches to the numerologist instead of the astrologer—“ Does my son’s number match with that of this girl?”

In Banks and offices, machines have taken over the function of identifying people; by numbers, what else! Gone are the days when you could walk into any office, say a bank, be instantly recognized and received with a warm smile (Come, come. Rameshji--- etc). Now the scenario would be more like this---“Welcome sir, your credit card number please, your debit card number please, your ---- number please”, and so on.
 In the event of not recalling any or some of the numbers, the machine refuses to identify you, or grudgingly tries to recall your identity through your name--- as a last resort!

The other day I tried to obtain some information about my credit balance from a renowned bank.

All my efforts at getting a normal direct response were futile—They had handed over such matters to a call center, it seems. A prerecorded voice took me through a series of mental gymnastics or (memory tests) by asking for a number of numbers, and finally announced gleefully that I must be Shankar!

 I pray the Lord that HE may not yield to this numberful temptation and start numbering our Souls! Imagine God’s PA punching feverishly into his laptop, yelling, “ Hey there! Number 12345 is about to arrive! –he is breathing his last!” 
                                                            
                                                                                                                

Popular posts from this blog

THE LOCKED ROOM

Govindan was facing the problem of plenty.
A very large ancestral house.
Relations of all hues- in dozens-living as a disjointed joint family, of which he was supposedly the head.
Huge quantity of valuables, including cash and jewellery-which he found hard to safe guard from the greedy cockroaches calling themselves his relatives. Try as he might, he could not dislodge a single one among these detested people for fear of offending either a brother, a sister, mother or his wife.
He tried hiding the stash at different places in his ancient thirty-two roomed bungalow and changing places every few days… but was shit scared that someone or other would find out.
Thus, among plenty of other things, he had plenty of angst also.
One day, Govindan got a flashy idea after watching a Malayalam movie about a haunted room in a large house like his.

(UN)GAINFUL RAIN

Ah! It’s started to beautifully rain, So it’s time for me to feign, An infection, cold or any pain, A day off, with sympathy to gain.
But alas! spousey says, ‘Off to work! You lazy, cunning little jerk, Calling in sick to watch buxom ladies twerk, Watching your lusty channels, with a daylong smirk.’
But when she says, ‘If you still be insisting, I will rope you in for housekeeping,' I look out, sigh, ‘The rain, it seems, has stopped, My leave plan for today is hence dropped.’





THE PAINTED VASE

Returning home from work that day, the first thing that grabbed my attention was the painted vase sitting prettily on a side table in the hall.
“Mynah!” shouted I, addressing my eleven year old daughter, “How did this come here?”
“Som bought it for me,” said she, quite simply, leaving me dumbfounded.
“Som!”
“But you hate him!” I said, referring to my new boyfriend whom she detested.
Som had come into my life recently, two years after Mynah’s dad died in a freak accident. He was only 40 then- I was 38.
Mynah shrugged and said, “But he likes me, it appears. That’s why he got it when I told him you refused to get it for me.”
I was left still wondering at the turn of events as her tantrums on seeing him were still fresh in my memory.
Two days later, Som came home during the weekend. He too merely shrugged when I complimented him on winning over Mynah. “Girls like things. You can keep them happy by indulging in these simple things.”
I really hope it stays that way, I thought, hoping to marry Som …