A Cocktail of Threads

 Darshan got up late today, but he did not mind. Today was not a workday so leisurely haste is what he approached the morning with. He grilled the sandwiches and made his coffee. He noticed a new bottle had magically appeared, so he thanked his pari. By then mavshi was here and was surprised to see him awake and up and about. Normally on a hasty day, he slept late and then began working frantically to meet the deadline. Today that was not the case. Darshan looked bemusedly at her in amusement. Then he finally had his bath since the day before yesterday and prepared to go to where his work was supposed to be. I am going to experience this Fucktown today finally! The hours he had put in yesterday finally bore fruit when his God-boss told him that the scope of a certain sub-task of his project would be reduced further. That means I only have to put in about six more hours of work tonight. That is good and manageable. If I die, pari will resurrect me. As long as I do not die on the way to work. The locals were notorious for bomb blasts. He had just downloaded a few new apps since using some leftover bandwith he had earned since the last time he went to work. Now he did not have to wait in line at the ticket counter and knew in advance at which platform his local would come. On the way there – no controlled speeding today – he noticed a bonus. Finally! A newspaper. This was definitely a good score and would add to his total. He bought an Express. On the way, he used his UTI app to book a ticket. Crossed over to the Western line and waited for his local. So far so good. He rushed in and was carried forward by the surge.

Now to wait. He breathed. He crossed the Jogeshwari pushtrap. Ram Mandir. He got up to the passageway. Malad? Malad? Goregaon came and went. Then suddenly – heat, light, black, metal. He died.

Fuck. He looked at his interface. Two more paris left. Sigh. He called upon her.

Darshan had been stuck at this level in his life for a while now. He just did not know how to progress ahead. He had almost used up his cheat codes: DADSPATIENCE, HOMEFUNDS, all. His plans to go to Russia had fallen away thanks to the latest software update in Feb. His one redeeming aspect was this new project that had come up where he thought a few extra credits and scores will help him tide over any expenses. But he was also supposed to remake his applications and work on his codes to go abroad. He had not yet found time for that despite not having to go to work. He only imagined what would happen if he had to. At his base, the TV with its Netflix and Disney features were sapping away at his time stores. And this is despite there being three mavshis to handle his housework and supplies.

He was resurrected again.

Fucking bomb blasts. That bug was offing too many users lately. The poor and destitute who could not afford Safety Nets or paris or had no Inherited Credits would be kicked out of the simulation. And here he was wasting his time and money.

Darshan got up again. He chose a different mission today. Goregaon. That would ensure that he escapes the Malad blasts. The newspapers were full of it today. Since he had discovered the newspaper guy bonus, he would be able to remain better informed about the Bombay going-ons now. He expected everything to be the same, however, Darshan was surprised when the first mavshi did not turn up. Hmm. Strange.

He grilled his sandwiches and got out. There was no one around. Strange. The roads and streets and trains and buildings and houses and shops were all empty. What new bug is this? He grimaced. The local did arrive, but this time he took it to Karjat, and then another one to Lonavala, and then the Lonavala local to Pune. Pune was still working. He went home, met his surprised parents, who remained shocked that he was here. That was not supposed to happen. The bug must have been a severe one.

They switched on the TV. Yup, they called the bug Co-opted Variable Interface Deployed Virus. Apparently, it had killed everybody in Bombay. But then, how are you here? His parents looked at Darshan as they slowly disappeared.

Darshan’s blood began curling and his mouth gasped and gaped wide in horror. Was he the carrier? Did he just off his parents? He rushed out and looked around. He noticed the faint glow of a glitch on the surroundings as if Pune was trying to fight back. But the people? Urvee disappeared in front of him, so did Sagarika. Vinayak and its workers. Darshan panicked. He opened his inventory and took out a gun. Should I? Should I shoot myself to reset this entire life? He had only one pari left. Should he give it up to save the game? Should he want to play this game? He was forced into it by the powers that be. He never asked for it, and now suddenly this burden was upon him. He screamed, but no voice came out of his mouth. He shot himself.

Rebooting…

His last life. He woke up at seven. He looked around. He could hear the traffic. He heard the latch being fiddled with. “Darshaaaan!” Ah. Mavshi is here. Everything seems normal. He happily and hastily made his sandwich and rushed out. He had to catch the earliest local. He skipped getting the newspaper. He enjoyed it, but there was no time. He pushed his way through the local. Fuck buying the ticket. Nobody does it in Bombay, Hustle. Hustle. Hustle. He reached Malad and stepped down. Scrambled onto the auto and reached the Chincholi Bandar station. Half-ran, half-walked to his office. Before time.

“Well done!” his Lord-Boss said. “You have finally converted. No more leisurely haste. Rush, hurry, hustle, don’t live. Survive.”

“Salaam Bombay!” Darshan replied the usual way he greeted his boss.