Maya: The Middle

Part 2 of 3: Sci-fi. Dystopian. Futuristic. Love story. That ineffable human need...

Jun 16, 2024

“Doubt is all black and white” Photo-art by Reena Kapoor. Instagram.

The “accursed” day was the day he worked late in the KNOT Collabrium, and Xarina, the woman he reported to, carelessly left her privacy shield open. She sounded agitated, but spoke in her usual clipped way. “Two reasons. One, production can’t keep up. Replicating third gen CF fertility tests costs us. Two, we’re behind on well-being checks for the test CFs in circulation. Nearly 7% of officers are showing excessive angsts…” Then Xarina sealed off her space.

Raman had heard enough. A CF test? Cyborg Females already in circulation in the population? Raman knew about the CF program — to furnish men with perfect girlfriends, partners, wives. Much like KNOT, the rationale and the data behind the program were impeccable. Men needed steady, fulfilling primary relationships to reach even higher productivity levels. The next phase in maximizing potential of the dwindling human race.

Despite KNOT, genetic rewrites, and super matching algos, marriage or even temporary partnerships were yet to be perfected. A stable marriage, which The Center encouraged, was high stakes. It could make or break a man. Details beyond this were above his pay grade. But now Raman knew CF’s were in test, even in marriages. Perfect partners? Maya? NO!

When he got home that day, Maya was preparing his favorite Murgh Musallam with Kashmiri chillies, extra kaju and garlic. The way he loved it. He’d craved it that morning but hadn’t said a word. Instead of watering, his mouth went dry. Raman shook his head as if to shake off a prickle. “How did you know?”

Maya just laughed. Her gushing waterfall laugh. Raman tried to smile, nodded, then ran his hand over his face.

Maya didn’t miss his hesitation. “All OK?”

He shook his head. “Khyber quotas!”

Maya made him go to the meditation pod. He felt calmer. She ALWAYS knew, didn't she?

That night Maya came to him after her ritual perfumed bath. A field of chameli engulfed him. A pull he could never resist. Maya arched herself towards him, coaxing him closer. Raman shook his head and turned away. It was a first. Maya put a hand on his back. Raman turned to her. She was looking at him, puzzled.

“Work,” he lied.

Maya made a sympathetic face. Then she got up, went out and brought him a cup of her warm haldi concoction. Raman took it, forcing a smile. He fell asleep. The next morning he woke refreshed, kicking himself for thinking Maya could be anything except his perfect Maya.

Then Raman met the Roshans. Their dossier indicated they already had a two-year-old son. On the night before their appointment, Raman had woken up in the dead of night, unable to go back to sleep. When he headed out in the morning he had a headache. It was pouring rain. That was the other thing he hated about Khyber, how unoptimized weather could change at any time! How did people live like this?

Raman landed his transporter by the Roshans’ home. It took him a minute to find the front entrance, strangely off to the left side of the house. A visibly pregnant Dr. Roshan let him in. They forgot THAT on her dossier! He stared at her. Had they met before? Then he noticed the brass urn near the door with chameli flowers in the water. Must be a Khyber thing. See? He did learn from Maya!

Dr. Roshan didn't smile or ask who he was. She silently handed him a towel to dry off. Then she led him into a bare living room. Packing up? Not a good sign. A man entered and nodded. Mr. Roshan. They looked united. Another bad sign.

“Please begin,” said Dr. Roshan, dismissing all possibility of small talk and pointing to an uncomfortable looking chair where he could sit. She and Mr. Roshan sat down upright in two similar chairs facing him. He felt as if he was being interrogated.

Raman nodded, and shook his wrist to activate the presentation. His hand trembled. A virtual display shot up. Raman cleared his throat and began his spiel, “You want to maximize your children’s potential. Parents are vital for that, and…”

Raman displayed the latest KNOT data. “Here’s data on child development from the past 30 years.” He pointed to three key numbers. “We can safely reject the notion that any parent unassisted — ANY — can be wholly present, without any trace of trauma, to raise a maximally productive child.”

The Roshans didn’t say a word.

He pushed harder. “Personally, I look no further than my own life. My parents were brilliant people. My mother, a LEBON physicist, my father a leading neuroscientist with The Center. Yet they understood the importance of KNOT. I wouldn’t be here if those two brilliant people had free rein.” He felt a tiny discomfort telling this story about his parents. But it had to be done. What greater cause could there be?

Finally, Dr. Roshan looked directly at him. “We’ll move to snow country.” Final bad sign!

“Do you know the life expectancy there?” Raman barked back.

“We’ll raise our own,” the husband answered.

“No one’s taking your children away!”

“We want a real family.” Dr. Roshan cut Raman off.

Raman stared at her. “Optimized families are REAL families. I was raised in one!”

The Roshans looked at each other. The husband turned back to him. “How much time can you give us?”

Raman shook his wrist. The display shrank back. Raman felt the back of his neck heating up. He spoke slowly, “My parents… it was a real family. I’d never have gotten here without KNOT. I’m on track to make senator some day!”

No one answered. What was it about Dr. Roshan that bothered him? The thought of her pregnant and wandering in snow country? But he’d sent dozens like her out there.

The Roshans remained expressionless, but they were both standing up now, dismissing him. They left him no choice. He’d have to stamp their case file with the dreaded “D” for deportation. He mumbled something and found his way to the door. He turned back to look at them. The doctor was standing right behind him. Pregnant, small and calm. Why, why, why? The Roshans’ fate now hung on their case file, which he was required to submit within twenty-four hours.

Raman staggered to his transporter, sweating. He sat in it and immediately sent Krish an SOS. The enhancers kicked in. As he closed his eyes, calming visions appeared. He breathed deeply for two minutes. Raman looked at his hands. The tremors lessened. But his reaction to the Roshans? What was that all about? He still hadn’t said a word to Krish about how the angsts had arrived soon after the Xarina incident at work.

Raman looked at his reflection in the transporter window. His hair was in disarray. His skin was parched. His eyes gave away that he hadn't slept in days.

Raman leaned back and thought back to when Maya and he married, two people with no families — real or otherwise — to witness.

Three months after they married, Raman had received a message that his mother had passed away. Maya urged Raman to reconnect with his father, who was as good as estranged now. She knew what Raman failed to mention to prospects as he was trying to convert them to KNOT.

His own parents had come to oppose KNOT by the time he turned fourteen. Although unable to do anything about the SereniGuard who was firmly embedded in the family, they resigned from their esteemed positions in the scientific community in protest. They lost everything including the respect they once commanded. Even close friends didn’t dare to ask after them. Teenager Raman had to work extra hard to maintain his upward trajectory. Thankfully, the SereniGuard was instrumental in making sure Raman made it. Raman never forgave his parents.

When Raman watched the message from his father about his mother’s death, he was shocked to see how much his father had aged. His father spoke resignedly to the camera, wiping his cheeks, “Her spirit died when you were three. She was freed from her cancer yesterday.” Raman knew what that meant. The SereniGuard had moved in when Raman was three. Ramblings of a bitter old man who unfairly blamed The Center. Raman was not sure he even wanted to see him.

But Maya insisted, “He’s old and our only family. My parents are gone. And my sister, Sameera, I don’t even know where she is.”

To Raman life with Maya felt complete. But he agreed reluctantly. That night he woke up gasping from a nightmare. He dreamt he’s young, maybe five years old, playing outdoors with his father. He throws a ball. His father catches it, laughing out loud. Then his father sits down on his haunches, stretches out his arms, beckoning to Raman. Raman runs towards him. Just then a dark figure scoops Raman up and starts walking away. Little Raman can’t see the face of this figure. But he knows it’s the SereniGuard. Raman looks back at his father and is shocked to see his father has aged to his current years. The dream ends.

The next day Raman and Maya arrived at his parents’ home. Maya immediately hugged his father. His father held her, then looked at her and nodded. He looked at Raman. “Help me sort through your mother’s things.”

“I’ll help,” Maya piped up reassuringly.

Disposal of the deceased's belongings simply meant having to donate everything to the lower colonies. Raman was grateful Maya took charge. His own brief exchange with his father didn’t go so well. His father shook his head when Raman told him about his progress with KNOT. “Poison! We believed in it, everything The Center pushed in the name of science.”

Raman couldn’t hold back. “I’m proud to serve. Can’t you see what KNOT did for me?”

“You’ve forgotten what happened to you when the SereniGuard left. Moved on, to another family. Nothing about that was real!”

Raman paled. “I came out stronger. The program works.”

Raman’s father turned away. Maya brought over warm tulsi tea for them. But it was too late for this bond. Soon they bid goodbye. Maya hugged Raman’s father tightly and was quiet on the way back.

A few months later on his mother’s birthday, Maya gave Raman a small present — his mother’s necklace. She’d kept it, not surrendering it to the death donation. It was simple, eighteen inches long, made with dark, carved rudraksha beads. It had a little locket that opened to a tiny Ganesha painting. Raman held the necklace gently then pulled Maya close. Grief? Love? Fear? How did she know what he needed before he did, or even when he didn’t?

Now staring at his reflection in the transporter outside the Roshans’ home, Raman wondered how he could doubt such a beautiful creature? Has to be the angsts. Malfunction in the body. Just coincidence that it all started when it did.

But in the next six months after the Roshans’ encounter, Raman’s suspicions got worse, raging from a spark into an inferno. And every evidence of Maya’s goodness became the vehicle that transported her from perfect to…? No! He didn’t dare utter the words.

Raman started staying late at work trying to find out more about the CF program. But no luck. He continued waking up gasping at night and looked and felt like he’d aged a decade. Maya assumed the quotas were getting to him. She brought him her remedies — massaging his back, bringing him her haldi drink when he couldn’t sleep and urged him to use the meditation pod.

Why could he not simply love this creature whatever she was? So what if she’s a CF? Why did he suddenly care about “real” — whatever that was? Doesn’t The Center know best?

Besides, Krish had assured him that these were just the angsts. Raman realized he could hardly function without enhancers anymore. He had to find a way!

Before he could do anything, Raman’s birthday arrived. Maya prepared a special dinner for him. As they sat down, Maya put a small object on the table before him. It was a present wrapped in a faded green silk fabric, probably from old Khyber. He felt himself tensing but he picked it up and unwrapped it.

It was an old “pen”, a thick, old style turquoise stylus with gold edging. Near the end of the cap was etched a tiny figure. Looking closely, he saw it was Ganesha. Ganesha’s trunk was holding a flower stem. A tendril from the stem spiraled into words, Love is illusion. The stylus nib shone with an aged gold tinge that made him want to write freehand again. The last time he’d done that was at the academy in KNOT training — to learn how to read and write the old Khyber script in preparation for this assignment. He’d fallen in love with the act of free writing. Everything about this gift left him speechless.

He stared at the pen, caressing its smooth surface. Then he felt his head getting hot. He put the pen down on the table roughly.

“Aren’t you spending too much time in old town Khyber?”

“No. I had it delivered.” Maya looked surprised.

“Ganesha again?”

“I thought you’d love it!”

Raman stood up. “Are you trying to get me fired?”

“What?” Maya looked completely baffled. Her blue vein deepened in color before his very eyes.

“Your obsession with this… this shit can jeopardize my career!”

Maya tried to reach for his hand. He pulled it away. He looked at the pen. All he wanted to do was write with this exquisite object.

“What is wrong?”

A rage possessed him. He stepped away, gesturing wildly at everything. “Is all this, anything, any of this… even fucking real?”

“What?!” Maya’s mouth was open.

Raman seethed, left the room and offered Maya nothing for the rest of the evening.

The next day Maya demanded they talk. He said nothing. Then after two days of his silent rage, she walked out of the house. She’d always known when to be angry. But this was the first time she’d walked out, leaving a note that said: “We’ll talk once you’re calm.”

He paced most of that night. He couldn’t meditate or eat or sleep without her. He called her.

When she came back the next day, he tried to kiss her. She pushed him back. The vein on her jaw looked bright and angry. “Talk!”

He confessed, recounting what he’d overheard. And how he’d fallen for a stupid doubt. “Don’t you see, it’s precisely because you’re perfect!”

She listened, her jade pools flooding with bewilderment. Then she told him he could ask her any question he wanted. But she’d only do this once.

Raman gulped. Telling himself he was going to cleanse this festering wound once and for all, he subjected Maya to every question about her origins, her parents, siblings, upbringing, her most painful memories, her happiest times, her deepest insecurities, and then some. She answered. When he was exhausted, she offered more. Her story was complete in its humanity, its credibility, its rigor.

“My parents went from being madly in love to barely being able to talk to each other. The SereniGuard came in and divided them within a few years. My mother, more progressive, remained committed to KNOT, to the sacrifice The Center demanded. My father couldn’t embrace it. At some point my sister and I were forced to take sides. Maybe KNOT was too new then? I don’t know. Anyway, they divorced. Eventually the heartache of it all killed them both within six months of each other. I lost everyone…” Maya stopped.

She continued, “Even my sister. A woman of science. So much progress in her own field of life extension, yet she worked against The Center’s plans for Khyber. My father’s influence. The final straw was at our mother’s cremation. She tried to persuade me that life in snow country is preferable to all this. I told her I didn’t want to hear it. Now I don’t even know where she is.”

Maya looked up at him. “My deepest insecurity? Losing you, us! Maybe it’s too late already.” She stopped. Her mood vein was throbbing hard. She looked so small.

Raman sat down next to her and held her close. Maya didn’t respond.

The next day Raman decided to tell Krish all of it, including the real source of his angst. Krish listened, not expressing any surprise. At the end he shrugged and nodded. “Same diagnosis. Bad case of angsts.”

Raman felt better, lighter after this series of confessions — his to Maya, Maya’s that he’d forced, and his own to Krish.

Six months of peace followed. He’d catch Maya gazing at him from time to time with that same bewildered look. He’d reach over. She’d let him love her, even loving him back. Her perfection grew every day, if such a thing were possible. She stopped frequenting old Khyber. But the doubts continued to fester.

Then one day it occurred to Raman that Krish had to know the truth about Maya. He asked for an in person appointment. But… even if Krish knows, he can’t tell me, can he?

Still, Raman couldn’t help it. “She's real, right? All human? You must know!”

“You bored, Rams? Looking for action elsewhere?”

Krish shook his head. “Of course not!”

“Then?”

“I need to know.”

“Let’s think this through. Why would a CF be the kind of sentimental creature you’ve fallen in love with? And should I insult you by explaining how overrated ‘real’ is?”

Raman nodded.

“Go home, Rams!” Krish wasn’t smiling anymore.

Raman tried to live with that. Six more months went by. He knew what he had to do next; try Xarina — one of the stupidest ideas he ever had. But this saga had erupted because of her carelessness. And it was affecting his performance, his quotas, Khyber’s transformation itself. He requested an urgent contact.

When Xarina came up, he spilled the beans in an uncharacteristic rush, “Is Maya one of your CF's?” He blustered on, “You left your call open. That could cost you.”

Xarina's face hardened but she let him go on.

“No one else will know. I’ll go away,” Raman said.

He cringed under Xarina’s glare. His own foolhardiness in attempting this subtle blackmail was astounding to him.

Xarina ended the communication. “This conversation never happened.”

That evening when Raman got home Maya was waiting. She told him she was leaving. “I can’t live with a man who thinks he’s in love with a ghost!”

Raman fumbled, claiming he didn’t get the connection.

Maya looked straight at him. “You never learned to trust. Ask yourself why, Raman! Better yet, call your Dad. Ask him.”

Raman felt his temper rising. “Careful Maya!”

Maya shook her head and retreated to the meditation pod. The next morning she was gone.

Raman pinged Krish for an emergency session. As soon as Krish came up on screen, Raman barked, “Is there a way to find out without a neural scan?”

Krish put up both his hands before Raman could finish, “Whoa! Neural scan?! I can’t even entertain this.”

“Then tell me, dammit!”

Krish covered his mouth with his hand and stared quietly at Raman for a few seconds. He leaned forward. “She’s real. Pure human.”

“You can tell me that?”

“Let. It. Go.”

Raman stared dumbfounded. He felt a surge of hope. Krish couldn’t lie about things like this. That was a requirement. Or was this some new program allowance?

“You’re bound to tell me the truth, right?” Raman asked.

“And I’m going out on a limb here. I’ll make a case for why I’ve entertained you on this. I’ve never seen angsts like yours, Raman. But for the last time, she’s as real as any unoptimized Khyber female. Think! Why would a CF be a sentimental fool like your Maya?”

Raman ran his fingers through his hair. He felt an irritation at Krish’s characterization, but he had to focus. He paced up and down. “I’m not stupid Krish. Maybe the perfect CF partner for me is a sentimental creature. When my mother went, I got past it quickly. When our SereniGuard left, I was lost for over a year. But I recovered. The program worked! My productivity metrics never dipped below the top 0.5%. But when Maya and I married, my numbers accelerated to the top 0.1%. She even reconnected me with my father. It didn’t go anywhere but it closed off that one loose end. Unprecedented — all of it!” Raman put his head between his hands.

“Excellent! You're a lucky bastard! And a very stupid man. Go live your life. And nail your damn quotas.”

Krish stood up, dismissing Raman. “These angsts aren’t any kind of signal. Just noise of generations past. I’ll boost your enhancers. Although we’re getting dangerously high now.”

Raman left. He called Maya as soon as he sat in his transporter. He told her all of it and begged her to come back. A few minutes after he reached home, she walked in. Her eyes were red and her vein an angry blue. He hugged her to his heart. They made furious love. Finally this madness was behind them. He plunged into work like a maniac to make up for lost time. With Maya in his corner, he’d recover. It lasted longer this time…

{To be continued…}

reena | 2024

Glossary of Hindi/Urdu terms

Zari - Thread traditionally made of fine gold or silver used in traditional Indian-subcontinent garments, especially as brocade in saris etc. This thread is woven into fabrics, primarily silk, to make intricate patterns and elaborate designs of embroidery called zardozi.

Nani - Maternal grandmother in Hindi

Khyber - No relation to current day Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa region or its residents; except perhaps being considered “ungovernable” even if for entirely different reasons.

Haldi - Turmeric.

Chameli - Jasmine flower or plant.

Tulsi - Basil, is considered holy, a sacred plant in Hinduism and is widely used in traditional medicine systems like Ayurveda.

Rudraksha - A seed traditionally used as a prayer bead in Hinduism, Buddhism, and other spiritual practices. The seed comes from the fruit of the Rudraksha tree (Elaeocarpus ganitrus), which is found mainly in the Himalayan region.

Ganesha - Ganesha is a Hindu god with the head of an elephant. He is one of the most popular deities in Hinduism.

Murgh Musallam - A traditional dish of the Indian subcontinent that consists of a whole chicken marinated in a mixture of yogurt and spices.

Kashmiri - from Kashmir, a northern state in India with a part of the Himalayas.

Kaju - Cashew.

Haveli - Refers to a traditional mansion or large house, typically found in the Indian subcontinent.

“The End” comes in a week!