I remember ... no, actually I don't. At least not all of it. It's strange how you recall the start of something agonizing and then, just the aftermath.

The two-wheeler machine, the Enfield Bullet, looked mean, and growled meaner. At seventeen, that sight, and sound, rattles every molecule in a young man's anatomy, except perhaps, the brain which, it completely mushes.

"Want a ride?" Ravi asked the small group of friends shooting the breeze at a local cafe.

"Sure!" I jumped up before anyone else could. After all, there was seat for one pillion only.

No sooner than I sat astride the bike than it shot forward like, well, a bullet. The law of inertia is a bitch. My torso snapped back and the head hit the tarmac hard. "Fade to Black" would've looked cool on a screenplay. For me, it was like losing my mind, literally.

For unknown hours, I was in a world of unknowns. I could not recognize any of my friends. I couldn't recognize the neighbourhood, the cafe. All unknown.

I woke up with the head being pounded by a hammer. My best friend, Sunny, looked worried. "Hey buddy, how are you feeling?"

"I... where am I?"

The frown on his face said "Fuck!"

"You are, right now, in my house." He said verbally, "That must've hurt!"

"Yes, but I don't recall anything, and frankly, I don't really recognize you!"

"My name is Sunny," He tried, "We were lazing at that cafe down the road, Uncle's Cafe, when Ravi offered you a ride on his new Bullet."

"Oh. Y'know? I don't think I can go home because I don't know the way anymore-"

"Don't worry about that," Sunny was reassuring, "I'll take you home."

"Thanks."

For the next hour or so, Sunny proceeded to bring me up-to-speed on everything from my home, family, and the last girl I had crush on.

With some effort, I walked to the window of his apartment, three or four floors high, and peered out. "What time is it? More important, what day is it?"

"It's the same day. Just that you were knocked out for several hours."

"No, no, I mean, what's the date today?" I insisted.

"It's the 12th of September... why?"

"Man," I lamented, "I have a Science test tomorrow and I'm sure I've forgotten everything I had crammed!"

Sunny cracked up with relief. "Bugger, at least you remember that!"

On my last day in Geneva I’m visiting the Mecca of Science, CERN. I book the ride via Uber app, from the hotel, and make a quick video call to my family. On the move, I doom scroll the news feed, catch up on email, and then back to doom scrolling.

After admission to the visitor’s centre, I plunge into the exhibits of the Large Hadron Collider, the Antimatter, and the Higgs boson for a couple of enlightened hours.

Then, a small black computer catches my eye. A keyboard leans against it and a mouse hangs at the front. A note, partially obscured at the edges as if someone had tried ripping it off but didn’t succeed, reads: ‘This machine is a server. DO NOT POWER DOWN!!’ Next to it, is a project proposal with a note scrawled in its top margin: ‘Vague but exciting …’

On a reflex, I reach out and touch the glass enclosure expecting an alarm to go off. What happens, instead, like a strong eddy, the room swirls, causing me to grab the exhibit’s pedestal.

Unknown many moments later, the churning stops. There are voices in the room, which itself has turned antiquated. I steady myself and look around to notice two men in conversation, unaware of my presence even as I approach and greet them. Spread on a circular table between them, among coffee cups, is the same document from the exhibit while the computer is on a desk behind one of them who has his back towards me. He is speaking with a British accent. The computer, a perfect cube, is brand new and I recognize it as NeXT, one of Jobs’ creations after he was fired from Apple.

“All I need, Mike” the Brit says, “are four software engineers and a programmer-”

“And fifty thousand dollars!” interrupts the other.

“Well, yes … but this will change everything. You wouldn’t have to ask where the documents for a project are, or chase who wrote this piece of code-”

“So, you do see why I scribbled ‘vague but exciting’ on your proposal, don’t you?”

“I’m glad you found it exciting” the British one jokes, “as for the vague part, let’s imagine every piece of information around the world, linked to each other like a mesh”

He locks his fingers in demonstration. His opponent crosses his arms instead:

“Understood! I hope that shiny new computer will suffice” Mike points to NeXT.

“That will do, thanks!”

“Excellent. Send a requisition for the team you need for my approval. By the way, I hear you’re calling it ‘Enquire Within Upon Everything’? Isn’t that a book?”

The Englishman laughs. “Yes, the title evokes magic. For me, as a child, the book was a portal to a world of information-”

“Not catchy enough!” declares Mike.

“How about WorldWideWeb then?”

“Cheerio mate!”

Gobsmacked, I notice the calendar on the wall. It’s November 12th, 1990 and there’s no mistaking the creation of the internet by its father, Sir Timothy John Berners-Lee.

The guests were having fun when one of them asked for tea. It didn't end up as expected.

Given that we all want to unwind after five days of nine-to-fiving (or longer), nobody wants to know about mundane stuff on the weekend. So didn't my guest.

"What tea would you like?" I asked opening a tea chest full of every flavour from peppermint to lemongrass.

"Chamomile, please" The guest replied politely.

As they ripped open the sachet and pulled out the tea bag, little did they know it came with strings attached.

It was on the third dip of the bag in the hot water that I said:

"Do you know the science behind the humble tea bag?"

"Uh-huh"

"There's osmosis, of course" It was obvious to me so I of-coursed my statement, "But also diffusion."

The guest smiled and plunged the tea bag in the hot water for the thirteenth time. It made a small splash.

"Hmm." They said.

"See, there are more water molecules outside the bag than inside," I gestured, using one hand as tea bag and the other indicating the water around it, "So the water permeates through the membrane... er the tea bag until an equilibrium is reached. That is osmosis!"

"Wow." Dip number nineteen.

"Then, molecules from the tea leaves start moving out and reach every part of the hot water, basically from an area of high concentration to a lower one. That is diffusion. Who would've thought there's so much science going on, right?"

"True. Who would've thought!" My guest held a dripping tea bag over their cup and I offered a saucer to place it on.

"Thanks," They continued, "For an enlightening cup of tea."

I smiled but didn't miss the look on their face that clearly warned:

'Be glad I didn't fling the hot water at you...'

Minnie yawned and Max sneered at her.

"You're so lazy, Min!" He said, "Once I'm allowed to, I'll go running across the yard, past the front gate, and probably straight to the park. What fun!"

"Cool it, Maxie." Minnie said in a slow drawl, "You know we're not allowed to go yet"

"True," Max sighed, "When will this end? I don't enjoy lounging around like you!"

"You should try it sometimes," Minnie suggested, "It’s pure bliss."

***

Covid restrictions ended and eventually the postman appeared too. At the window, Minnie meowed:

“Your arch nemesis is here. Now, go mad, Max!”

"It's our only way out," I urged but my companion seemed unimpressed.

"There's no way out. We've tried it so many times, now haven't we?"

"But if we give up then we've lost. We cannot give up ... or give in!"

"Tell me," he was belligerent, "What good came the last time we tried?"

"Well, we got a different result," I argued, "Isn't that progress?"

"Progress? Bah!"

"I know, I know ... I mean I'm growing sceptical myself, pal. But we cannot not try. Just once more. Please!"

"Trust me, the result will be the same. As a great man once said-"

"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results" I completed his sentence and then added, "That great man was Einstein"

"Fine I'll do it for you."

"No. Don't do it for me. Don't do it for any God. Don't do it for anyone or anything other than yourself!" I was losing my patience with him.

"Why? Why is this box so important?"

"Because ..." I had to pause and take a deep breath, "It is the only box capable of transformation, of radical change, of hope. Yes, this is the box of hope!"

A smirk and then a nod. I sighed.

I had managed to convince just one fellow citizen to trust the box, the ballot box. I think that was a good start.

Grandma kind of sprung it on us, and we laughed so hard, it should be tagged #ROFL.

We had returned after laying Grandpa to rest among the bush and the earth he so loved to commune with, and Grandma was reminiscing about their five decades worth of journey with moist eyes.

We got a glimpse into the man; the husband, the father, the soldier, and friend. A life lived with gusto, and zero regrets.

“So what now, Grandma?” someone asked.

She replied like a catapult snap:

“I am getting a bloody electric blanket first! He never let me buy one.”

The song from the late 1900's was still playing in my head. How very apt "One way or another, I'm gonna find ya' I'm gonna get ya'". It takes me back to the cafe where I heard it. The coffee had tasted worse than the bile reflux from previous night's dinner. Actually, it could very well have been the travel. Who knew. I could feel, even now, the cafe blasting around me like a chainsaw; the incessant chatter hammering on every synapse of my brain. The silhouette that had filled the cafe entrance as I had jammed a tenner under the cup was still vivid. The timing had been perfect. The guy had mumbled some apology as our shoulders collided. The pain had made me regret my outburst and probably embarrassed more than one patron. Funny then, I now realise, that the bloke kept walking uninhibited. Had he pretended he hadn't heard me? Surely he couldn't know, could he? I have no way of telling now ... so, pointless to dwell on it. The caffeine, the headache and the nausea had been such a heady mix that I wasn't going to allow some punk to push me around. I had followed him right into the sweat and blood of the cafe kitchen. Well, the sweat was evident but the blood was yet to be spilled.

You see, my quarry had reached a dead-end at the far wall and spun around while my eyes had darted around the kitchen even as my head had all but exploded. Then I had seen the sushi knife! In a past (no another) life, when Airi was still alive and beautiful, I had got one-on-one intimate sushi classes for at least two years. The loud crashing mayhem of pots had brought me back to the present. The kitchen staff had screamed all the way out to the front of the cafe. As the smoke had crept around us, I had felt his fear through the haze. His eyes had been following the blade twirling menacingly in my outstretched arm. I had sneered at him, just like in the movies: "Its tiiiime!"

All he could do was whisper but the fear was loud in his voice. I had savoured his confusion but couldn't hold back: "I'm here to save her, you bastard! You took your revenge when she tried to escape your abusing ways. YOU LEFT HER TO DIE!!" I'd never seen anyone stammer in fear before, "You're fuckin' crazy! I don't even know you, man!!" He had pleaded, the poor bugger!

"This one's for Airi!!" I had boomed in that small kitchen and it was then that he had sprung at me. I was too quick for him, wasn't I? The knife had sliced his neck with a precision that would have made any Itamae proud. In minutes, my breathing was the loudest thing in that kitchen – not counting the banging in my head. But they weren't going to find the weapon or the killer. The device in my pocket would do the trick long before the cops would burst through the door behind me.

Honestly, it hadn't been too hard tracking Airi's ex-lover. A wastrel who spent too many hours on socials, and none doing useful work. I really wonder what his status would say on social media right now!

Anyway, here I am, waiting at her front door and the song seems more apt than ever. The bottle of red and matching roses in my hand reflect my hope ... and yet I hesitate. Is this the present she would want? I ring the bell thrice, just as she likes, cross my fingers and suck in my breath. It is time. Time to see if we can go back to the past and change the future.

Do not be afraid

Of any review made

To Sound like it's bad

Even malicious a tad

Not everyone is clear

Of prejudice, of fear

And envy for what you write;

They review out of spite

Maybe the weather was crap

Or they had had a bad rap

And wanted just to vent

As their day was spent.

For me, such reviews are fine

That one star? it's all mine.

It warms me too, all said and done

Like the one star, our glorious Sun.

"What's in a name?" I asked Sagar, the most mischievous student in my class. He had an annoying habit of doing everything but pay attention to the topic at hand,

After a brief pause, he stood up to amused murmurs:

"Shakespeare, Sir!"

"What's in a name?" I quipped triumphantly and the class exploded.

Sagar sat down with an embarrassed smirk.

Just for the record. I teach Mathematics, not Literature or Philosophy. Purist may argue abstract math comes close to the latter. Also, for the record, Sagar had interrupted me by complaining:

"Sir, yesterday you had used x as the variable but today you use y! Why?"

This had prompted my witty reaction.

Another ten minutes or so and I had just about finished finding the limit of a function where x < 0, followed by a neat line of chalk drawn down the middle of the blackboard. The portion on the right said "otherwise" at the top, followed by another set of steps calculating the limit when x >= 0.

I had barely turned around when Sagar, as was his wont, asked:

"Sir, I don't understand the otherwise part-"

I had fair bit to cover in the balance 15 minutes so I interrupted him and said:

"It's really simple Sagar! I'm wise and you're otherwise." and regretted it as soon as I finished even as the rest of the class enjoyed this banter.

Sagar remained standing, arms crossed. I ignored him and continued with the lecture.

At the end of the period, I reminded my wards of an assignment, due early next week.

"I know the concepts may be tough," I saged, "But remember: Nothing is Impossible!"

I then began gathering my books and bag when Sagar called out:

"Hold on, Sir! I believe nothing is possible."

Intrigued, I stopped and faced him:

"Okay. You're in a math class. Can you prove it?"

"Sure," he replied with a wide grin, "I've attended each of your lectures diligently this year but trust me, Sir, I learnt nothing!"

As I bent forward to blow the only candle on my birthday cake, my mate Dave quipped:

"Shouldn't we have moved on to LEDs with a switch? Imagine the possibilities: colours, even blinking in sequence!"

I know Dave's a funny bloke just taking the piss but after the party, over yet another beer, I reminded him:

"Hey mate, about those LEDs--"

"Sorry man! I was being silly."

"I know," I continued, "But I had a think about it--"

"What? Such an awesome party and you were thinking?"

I laughed. "Yeah, I am like that. Anyway, we could move to LEDs and all the bling but a candle is a constant. It is a reminder that legacy systems don't fail. It helps us stay grounded, connected to the past. Electricity has enjoyed, what, 100-plus years? The candle has been around for ages!"

"Bravo! Must be the VB talking" Dave lifted his bottle of beer flashing the brand.

I made my last comeback.

"Mate, I'll be sure to light an LED on your grave!"

The sudden expulsion of beer spray from Dave's mouth was pure joy.