VORTAL – Excerpt#2

2
IN WHICH VIVEKA DOES FLAPJACKS WHILE VHY DOES WHACKO, MIKEY PUTS ON A NEW PERSONALITY FOR BREAKFAST, VHY AND RUCHI ‘RESEARCH’ SNATCHER FILMS, & VIVEKA ENCOUNTERS THE VORTAL.

2.1 Viveka
I heard Vhy coming in to the kitchen, and saw him looking around hesitantly. I was making pancakes—flapjacks as Steve used to call them back in NYC—and the place was full of the smell of roasting dough and maple syrup.
The maid was at the far end, rolling more atta with a belan.
I glanced around. “Hey.�
“Hey,� he said, not very enthu.
I turned a flapjack over. Nice and golden brown, just the way I liked them. I waited for Vhy to get his nerve up.
“Viv,â€? he said. “About last evening…â€?
“Say no more,� I said without turning around. “It’s our secret.�
He heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s great. I was worried that, you know, you’d get all high and mighty and moralistic like you always do. And last night, you weren’t really in a mood to talk.�
He was right. After I caught him and Ruchi making out in the passage—in the passageway of all places!–I was sort of curt with him, told him I had something urgent to see to, and we’d talk about it tomorrow. This was tomorrow.
I finished the flapjack, dumped it on a plate, and turned to look at him. A strand of hair had slipped out of my hair-band and it fell down over my face. I pulled it behind my ear and waved the dripping spatula at him. He backed off a step.
“Don’t get me started, okay?� I said, waving the spatula for emphasis. “You’re seventeen. Too young to be bringing girls into the house when Dad and Mom are out. Definitely too young to be getting upto adult-like mischief in your bedroom!�
“Come on,� he said, embarrassed to be discussing this with me in front of the maid. Not that Shanti-bai, our Marathi maid, ever understood anything we said, she barely spoke Hindi let alone Angrezi. “You make it sound like I sneak a different girl into the house every day of the week! Ruchi’s my steady gf. And we were just watching a movie, that’s all.�
I looked at him with with squinty eyes, trying to give him the Arnold. “Yeah, sure, and Eyes Wide Shut is a Disney animated film.�
He grinned. “Can I help it if she has a thing for Tom Cruise’s buns?�
I started to smile at that. Then smelled my next batch of flapjacks starting to get over done and flipped them over quickly.
“Okay,� I said over my shoulder. “So I won’t be running to Dad or Mom to deliver a full confession about your extra-curricular activities. But the next time you want to bring your gf over and make like Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, do us all a favor, ask them for permission, okay?�
Vaibhav pretended to look confused. “Ask Tom and Nicole for permission?�
I swatted him lightly on the shoulder with the spatula. “Ask Mom and Dad, you nut. Now, get the hell out of here before you make me set the place on fire.�
He didn’t leave. He waited a moment while I finished the batch and put them onto the plate the maid held out.
“Sab ko bolna ke naashta tayaar hai,� I said to the maid, speaking slowly and carefully to make sure she understood. I think she followed the general gist at least.
Vhy said, “You know, it’s great your Hindi sounds so desi even now, after seven years in the US of A. Not like those pseuds who go to New Jersey for a week and come back sounding like third-generation ABCDs.�
I glanced at him again. “What’s on your mind?�
He shrugged. “Nothing, really.�
“Come on. I know you, little bro. Something’s bothering you. If it’s about the grope-fest last night…relax.â€? I made a gesture like I was zipping my lips. “My lips are sealed with Sellotape—no, with Fevicol!â€?
When that didn’t even get a teensy smile out of him, I knew something was wrong. He shook his head. “It’s something else…It’s about Mikey.â€?
I frowned. “What about Mikey?�
While I was talking, I opened the fridge and took out the butter dish. “Isko bhi rakhna table pe,� I said to the maid. Vhy waited until the maid had left the kitchen before going on.
“Ruchi and I,� he said. “We saw something last night in his room. Something really weird going on.�
I shrugged. “Like what?�
He hesitated. “This is going to sound wierd.�
“Try me.�
He was silent for a minute or two. That told me more than anything else. Vhy had always been able to tell me anything. Well, almost anything. But somehow, I didn’t think this was some girl-boy thing he was talking about.
After a long pause, he launched into an explanation of what he and Ruchi had seen. I got the impression he was leaving out some stuff—probably the shenanigans he and she were upto just before she went out of his room—but soon I was caught up in his narration and trying to understand what he was saying.
“So let me get this straight,� I said when he’d finished. “Ruchi saw Mikey sitting at his comp. Then he disappeared in front of her eyes. And then you saw the empty chair, and then saw him come back. Out of thin air. Right?�
He nodded unhappily. “I’m telling you, Viv, it sounds weird, I know. But something happened there.�
I sighed and wiped my hands down the front of my Italian-style red-and-white checked apron, leaning back against the granite platform. It was warm from the heat of the stove. “What happened? He was kidnapped by aliens and then they dumped him back because he was too expensive to feed?�
“I don’t know. But Ruchi and I both saw something else. First there was this thing happening with his computer monitor, like darkness coming out and enveloping him. Deleting him out of existence. That’s what she saw. All I saw was just something black throbbing like a trance-rhythm light sequencer. And the word ‘Vortal’.�
“Vortal,� I repeated.
“Yeah, that’s like a—.” He stopped. “What is a Vortal anyway?”
“A vertically integrated portal…” I saw him looking at me with that ‘huh?’ expression. “It’s a bunch of websites all linked together. Like a family of websites.”
“Oh,” he said. “Like a webring.”
“Not really but close enough. Look it up, will you?” I paused. “What I do know is this, it isn’t something out of Harry Potter!”
He sighed. I could see from the way he was looking at me, that he thought that I thought that he was pulling some kind of elaborate prank on me.
“I’m not joking, Viv. I’m serious. Mikey disappeared for five whole minutes last night.�
“Vhy, will you listen to yourself? How crazy this sounds?�
He sighed again, pinching the skin between his eyes, an old habit he had when he was tense about something. “I know, sis. Ruchi called me and we talked this morning. Neither of us got much sleep last night. And we both agreed that we hadn’t just imagined it or anything. It really happened.�
I shook my head, unable to decide whether Vhy was pulling my leg or suffering from some kind of delusion. Somehow, despite how crazy his story sounded, I didn’t think either applied in this case. “Look, bro, I know you’re a good kid. But you’re making me wonder if maybe the two of you were doing more than just watching a movie last night in your room.�
Vaibhav looked confused—and slightly guilty too. “What do you mean?�
“You know. Maybe sharing a toke, or a joint, or something?� I almost regretted the words when I said them, but they were out before I knew it.
Vaibhav looked offended now. “Drugs? You think we were stoned?�
I shrugged. “Come on, Vhy. Indian kids these days…â€?
Vaibhav looked like he was about to deliver a little speech on Indian kids versus American kids. But he visibly controlled himself.
“No drugs,� he said stiffly. “And no alcohol. Or pills. Or intravenous shots or anything. Ruchi and I are 100 percent clean, okay? For God’s sake, you’re my big sister, you should know I hate that crap.�
“Okay, okay,� I said, backing off. “Don’t get all upset. I was just asking.�
“And I answered. No drugs. I saw what I saw. And so did Ruchi.�
I chewed my lip. “I don’t know what to say then, Vhy. I guess you saw something, but maybe you made a mistake or something. I mean, people don’t just vanish into thin air.�
Vhy shook his head. “Come on, Viv. If you don’t believe me, say so. But we saw it. It happened. I don’t know how or why. I just know it did.�
We were both silent again for another long moment, then a voice called from the living room. It was Mom, calling us for breakfast. The maid returned, carrying the empty platter. “Memsaab kehti hai bahut achcha banaya hai. Amriki roti aur chahiye,â€? she said. Either she had picked up a smattering of Bambaiya Hindi, or we had changed our bai since my last sojourn in the US and I hadn’t noticed.
I turned back to the stove. “Vhy, I have to do breakfast, okay? We’ll talk about this later.�
I didn’t turn back to look at him, but I sensed after a moment that he had left. I felt relieved as well as ashamed. Relieved because I really hadn’t known how to react to such a story. Ashamed, because obviously Vhy believed that story, and I didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a worse thing.
So I did the only thing I could under the circumstances: I made more flapjacks. And then I joined my family for breakfast.

2.2 Vir
Halfway through breakfast, I realized that something was wrong with my family.
On the surface, things seemed fine.
Viveka was in and out of the kitchen, trying to show the new maid how to make American-style flapjacks. She had developed this urge to cook since she’d come back from New York. It was part of the whole rediscovery of her ethnic roots she was going through, along with dressing Indian and wearing a nose ring and talking in Hindi a lot.
I had to admit I quite liked the cooking part at least. Viveka was a natural born chef, able to turn out a masterpiece the first time she tried out a recipe. If I didn’t praise her openly, it was because I had learned the hard way that in these post-millennial times, some women considered it an insult to be called a great cook. As in “just a great cook, is that all you think I am?â€? Which wasn’t entirely wrong, after all, Indian men can be chauvinistic as animals. It didn’t make any difference that I was actually the best cook in our house–although I didn’t get many chances to cook anymore since the business took off bigtime.
So when Viveka offered me another Amriki chapatti—I mean, pancake!–I pretended to think for a moment, then said, “Why not.â€?
She served me the flapjack, watched me smear a knifeful of butter over it, then add maple syrup too—I liked the combination of sweet and salty. I cut a piece with my knife, speared it with my fork and was about to raise it to my mouth, when I noticed her still standing there, watching.
“What?� I said, frowning. That was when I realized that Sarla, my wife, was also watching me. Both women had similar expressions on their faces. Like mother, like daughter.
I put the fork down on the plate. “Whose birthday did I forget?�
Vaibhav rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Dad, tube-light!�
I couldn’t think of anything I’d done to warrant the Garuda-eye stares. “I give up,� I said at last. “What’s my crime, m’lord?� I corrected myself: “M’ladies?�
Viveka and Sarla exchanged a glance. It was one of those typical women’s looks that openly express disdain for the male of the species—these guys!
“Vir,� Sarla said softly. “At least for politeness sake, say something about the flapjacks.�
“It’s okay, mum,� Viveka said with extra-sweetness. “If he doesn’t like them, I can understand.�
I raised my eyebrows. “Is that what this is about? My not praising her flapjacks to the skies? God, you women! I’ll never understand you. The last time I praised your cooking, Sarla, you gave me a half-hour lecture about how demeaning it was to a women to be called a great cook.�
Sarla’s eyes flashed angrily. “You made a statement to the effect that I belonged in the kitchen! Did you expect me to touch your feet for that, patidev?�
“Sarla, all I said was that if you chose to become a cookbook author, you’d beat Martha Stewart hands down!”
“Sure, and the fact that you chose Martha Stewart as some kind of epitome says a lot about–”
I made a time-out gesture. “Bas! Full stop. Let’s not get into that all over again.� I looked up at Viveka, taking her hand in mine. “Bete, Viv. These are the best goddamn flapjacks I’ve ever had in my entire life!�
Viveka smiled. It was a giant, ear-to-ear banana smile, the way she used to smile when she was a toddler and I used to pick her up and throw her up to the skies, eliciting gasps and giggles. Even after all these years, it made my heart glow.
“He called them goddamn flapjacks,� Vhy said teasingly from the other end of the table. “So don’t mistake it for a compliment, Viv.�
Viv ignored her brother. “Have some more, dad!� She started to shovel two more jacks onto my plate.
“Viveka,� her mother admonished. “You’ll make your father fat! Bad enough I have to fight to keep Mikey’s intake down.�
“But he loves them, Ma!� Still, Viveka put the jacks back on the platter. I grinned with mock frustration.
“Women,� I remarked deliberately. “Can’t figure them out, can’t do without their figures!�
This time, both Viveka and Sarla rolled their eyes in despair. “Men!” Viveka looked at the remaining flapjacks as if wondering whether to throw them at me. I prepared to duck.
“Relax, Viv,� Vhy said as he put his fork down. “Mikey’ll be here in a sec. And he’ll polish off the lot. In fact, make sure you have another truckload ready for him! You know how he loves breakfast.�
“And lunch. And dinner. And snack-times. And midnight snacks. Etc, etc, etc.�
She glanced at Vhy, and I saw a look pass between them. Something odd. I also noticed that Vaibhav hadn’t finished his pancake, and that even his attempts at breakfast-table banter seemed a little forced today, almost as if he was trying hard to cover up the fact that he didn’t feel like bantering.
Viveka broke the eye-lock between herself and her younger brother, and called to Shanti-bai to bring the last stack out.
Mikey appeared just then. Whistling. That wasn’t unusual in itself. But he was also neatly dressed in a shirt and trousers—an actual pair of trousers. I put down his knife and fork and stared at my youngest child. I hadn’t even known that Mikey possessed anything but jeans and Tee shirts with pictures of hard rock bands!
“Hi, everyone,� Mikey said cheerfully. He took a seat and looked around the breakfast table. “So how’s everyone this morning? I mean, is it a great day or what?�
Pin drop silence followed. Sarla Vatsal was in the act of pouring tea for herself and Viv. Viveka had sat down to sample her own cooking. Vhy had been trying to get a coffee stain out of Page 314 of the Harry Potter novel he had been pretending to reread while making his forced banter. He was staring at Mikey like he had seen a ghost.
Mikey rubbed his hands together, smiling as if he hadn’t noticed anything amiss. “Flapjacks for breakfast? Smells great, Viv.�
Viveka managed to stutter out a response: “Help yourself, Mikey.�
He nodded and reached for the platter. At that point, I started to relax. Very well, so perhaps Mikey wasn’t his usual grouchy self. So he was dressed unusually neat for a change. Perhaps he had actually discovered how to use a hairbrush at last. And perhaps he had misplaced his trademark Sony Discman and the latest hard-rock CD.
But he was about to eat like a ‘healthy baby’. And that was normal for Mikey.
We all watched as Mikey took a knife and cut himself a slice of a flapjack from the platter. He slid the piece onto his own plate, picked it up with his fork, and ate it.
“Hey,� he said to Viveka. “This is great stuff. You really are a woman of diverse talents, sis!�
Viveka blinked and stopped chewing her mouthful of flapjack. I saw her cast a glance at Vaibhav. She looked almost scared, but that couldn’t be. I must have misread her look. Why would she be scared of Mikey?
Mikey put down his fork, picked up his glass of milk and drank it down without a pause. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and smiled at everyone again.
“Okay, that’s it for me,� he said. “Busy day. Going over to the library to check out some new books. See you guys later, okay? Bysie-bye, family. Love y’all.�
And as all of us watched with silent stupefaction, he picked up his tote bag and was out of the door.
I was the first to find my voice.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,� I said, addressing myself in the general direction of my wife. “But did that young person bear a passing resemblance to our son, Mahesh Vatsal, aka Mikey?�
Then, before anyone could respond, I shook my head and answered my own rhetorical question. “Nahi, bhai, I must be mistaken. He hardly ate breakfast. He finished a full glass of milk. He’s washed, groomed, and dressed like a normal 12-year old boy. He was friendly and cheerful and polite to everyone. And he said he was going to the library, to borrow books!�
I looked around at my family. “That’s not our son Mikey. It’s just somebody who happens to look like him!�
I grinned as I said it, meaning it as a joke of course. But the look of utter horror that came over Vaibhav and Viveka’s faces looked real. As if they took what I said dead seriously.

2.3 Vhy
After breakfast, I had to rush to college. We were having a meeting of the Class Reps for our annual inter-college festival. I was Drama and Literature CR for my class, and I had to be there. I caught Viv’s eye as I left the house, and she looked away. I knew she was as confused as I was, but hopefully she was starting to take me seriously.
Let’s face it. That guy at the breakfast table this morning? He wasn’t Mikey. Not my brother, Mahesh Virendra Vatsal. He was someone else. Have you seen that old sci-fi horror film, Invasion of the Body Snatchers? Go check it out. Better still; check out the remake, it’s pretty neat. And there’s a sequel to the remake, called Body Snatchers, starring that really cute babe who co-starred with Michael J. Fox in For Love or Money. Which, by the way, was the film that was cogged by apna desi filmwallahs and remade as Yes Boss starring Shah Rukh Khan and Juhi Chawla…
As usual, I’m totally off the point. Films have that effect on me.
I thought about Mikey all day. Ruchi and I kept looking at each other in Psycho that morning, and in English Lit, and even in History. Well, actually, I dozed off in History. Making up for the restless night I had after seeing that weird crap last evening. Besides, Babur and Humayun had waited three hundred years for Vaibhav Vatsal to learn all about them, so they could wait a while longer.
Anyways.
After classes, Ruchi and I met in the canteen. Because of the transport strike, there was only Marie biscuits and those really awful teacakes with the tutti-frutti—I hate tutti-frutti, don’t you—but we didn’t mind, because we weren’t that hungry. There was a song playing from the new Hrithik Roshan movie, Fiza, on the canteenwalah’s music system, and I spent a moment trying to figure out the chorus line. What in blue hell were ‘maahivey’ and why would anyone want to call them? Sometimes, I just can’t understand Bollywood films.
After Sampat the canteenwalah had made his usual caustic comment about an unpaid bill and I had done my usual ignoring, and we were sitting at a table with steaming cups of chai and a plateful of Marie Biscuits in front of us, Ruchi looked at me and said,
“Snatched.�
I blinked at her. “Kya?�
“Snatched,� she said again. “Like in the movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers.�
I grinned. “That’s what I love about you. The fact that you’re as much a movie buff as I am. I was thinking about that exact same movie all morning. The part where the alien plants grab the humans when they’re sleeping, and duplicate them in these kind of vegetable pods.�
She was nodding enthusiastically. “And as the pods develop, the humans are sucked dry of life. Until finally the pods become exact replicas of the people and take their places.�
We grinned. I put my hand over her hand. Actually, I wanted to do more than just that, but the last time I got caught doing more, when the supervisor asked me what we were doing, I wisecracked, “Practicals!� and it got me a two-week suspension, which was killing, because it meant two weeks without seeing Ruch every morning, so I’ve learned to curb it a bit.
She frowned and pulled her hand away. She did it real smooth-like, but I knew it was her way of telling me to back off, this was not the time or place to get cosy. I sighed and put my hand on a Marie biscuit instead. She did the same.
“But that can’t be what happened to your brother,� she said, dipping a Marie in tea and bringing it out soppy and steaming. “He couldn’t have been ‘snatched’.�
“Why not?� I asked, biting the bait—and the Marie.
“Because there’s no pod.�
I thought about that. She had a point.
“Okay, so what about The Puppet Master? Remember that one, with Donald Sutherland? Maybe he got this alien parasite attached to the nexus of his spinal cord and brain?�
She grimaced. “That was yucky. Actually. But yuckier than that was the rip off with the slug-like thing that takes over a cop who goes on a killing spree. What was that called?�
“Maniac Cop,� I said at once.
She slapped my hand. “Come on! That was another series, about a cop who dies and then becomes a crazy zombie who goes on a killing spree. I’m talking about the one with the alien slug that attaches itself to the back of the cop and then makes him go on a killing spree.�
“Same difference,� I said, dipping my Marie again into my chai. When I pulled the biscuit out again, it was gone, like it had been dissolved by the spraying blood of the aliens in the Alien quadrology.
“You dipped three times,� she said smugly. “I told you a thousand times, never dip more than two times.�
“This is important,� I said, getting up. “We should go research this.� I gestured to her, mouthing the lyrics of the song playing in the background: “Aaja maahivey.�
“Research what?� she asked, puzzled. “How many times you can dip Marie biscuits in chai before they dissolve?�
“No, Michelle-Pfeifer-with-brown-eyes-and-an-attitude. I mean, this alien movie stuff. We should go do some serious research, to help us figure out what’s happening to Mikey.� I added after a moment, hopefully, “If anything’s happening to Mikey. Come on, let’s go.�
Getting up, she stuffed another Marie biscuit in her mouth, and around the crumbling flakes, said, “Where? To the college library?�
I gave her a withering look. “No, yaar. To our library.�
She frowned. Then understanding dawned on her. I always like it when understanding dawns on Ruch. Her face sort of blushes just the way the eastern sky blushes with the coming dawn in a George Romero horror film at the end, while the end credits roll. Really romantic like. It makes me wonder if the blush stops at her neck or continues all over.
Note to self: Check if Ruchi’s blushes continue below the neck, and if so, then, how far exactly are we talking about here.
“Oh,� she said. “That library.� We were walking through the quadrangle now, the shouts and yells of the college basketball team echoing off the ancient stone walls.
“Yup. This is important stuff. Got to research it thoroughly.�
She cocked an eyebrow at me, linking her arm in mine as we exitted the college. “Yeah, right. And I bet I know which direction your research would like to go.�
I tried to look innocent. “Which way do you mean?�
She gestured at her open collar. “Down this way.�
I flapped my hands at her. “Lawksadaisy, woman! You have a doity mind. Kinna you think of anything but that allatime? Yousa be obsessed with it!�
She giggled. I was imitating five different actors in five different Oscar-winning performances, and it thrilled me that she could probably name each and every one of them. Ah, but that was why I adored Ruch so much. That, and her ‘plus points’, of course.
Note to self: Figure out if I adore Ruchi more for her knowledge of movie trivia, or for her ‘plus points’. Addendum to note: Research thoroughly before reaching conclusion.
“So where are are we heading actually?� she said as we came out on Mahapalika Marg. There was a morcha passing by, heading towards the Esplanade Court down the road—it was only a small one, the traffic jam was barely a kilometre long. Luckily for us, it was on the other side of the road. Sometimes, I thought, what Mumbai really needed was one giant morcha to protest against morchas.
I shrugged. “Sterling? Regal? New Empire?�
She thought for a moment. “Liberty. The box seats in the back of the dress circle…â€?
“…have the most privacy. Okay. Liberty it is.â€? I opened the door of a black-and-yellow taxi waiting on the curb, and gestured with a flourish. “Enter the dragon.â€?
She paused before getting in, placing a hand on my shoulder. For a moment, the mischief left her pretty face and she looked into my eyes with a genuinely anxious look.
“Vhy,� she said. “Something weird is going on with your bro, isn’t it?�
I sighed, then nodded. “Yeah. And I haven’t a clue what to do about it.�
She frowned. “Then why are we going to see a movie? Shouldn’t we go talk to your mom or something?�
“That’s why we’re going to do research.�
She smiled weakly. “As if.�
I looked at her squarely. “You have a better idea?�
She shook her head, then suddenly pecked me on the cheek.
“No kissing until researchers are in the library, lady,� I said mock-sternly. “First rule of research.�
Then I got in the taxi with her and we departed for the hallowed halls of researchdom. Yeah, yeah, I know, I should have been trying to figure out what was wrong with Mikey—if anything was wrong. Instead, I was copping out and going to a movie hall, to spend the afternoon making out—ahem, researching—with my gf.
But the truth was, I didn’t know what else to do at the time, yaar. I was a little creeped out, and I didn’t want to admit it, and so I was doing the only thing possible—‘avoidance avoidance mechanism’ as we say in Psycho class.
It worked pretty well too.
Until later that day, when something else happened, and things got really scary.

2.4 Viveka
I didn’t really think much of the breakfast show. Or whatever you call Mikey’s behavior that morning. True, it seemed very odd that he should suddenly turn over a new leaf. But stranger things have been known to happen.
After I mulled over it, I felt that Vhy was just over-reacting. I know how tough it can be with same-sex siblings. I’d just read a Ph.D. thesis about it by a friend at New York State. Susan Ing, a Vietnamese student I’d met while doing my post-grad diploma course in Film Production at Columbia, NY. Of all the places possible, we’d met at an all-night showing of Miyazake films. She was the closest thing to a best friend I had besides Steve.
But then Steve was much more than just a best friend.
Speaking of which. Steve had e-mailed his animated short film to me the previous night. I got his sms telling me he’d sent it, just before the interval of M:i-2 during that big shootout in the research lab. The minute I got it, I apologized to my movie companions—two old school friends I hadn’t seen in ages—ducked out of M:i-2 and came home early, just in time to catch Vhy making out with his well-endowed gf in the passage of our house.
But when I tried to run the file on my comp, it wouldn’t open. I thought the file might have got corrupted or something, so I’d MSNed Steve telling him I was online and to resend it to me via MSN Messenger right now. But by then, he was neck deep in some rush job animating a sugarfree chocobits cereal logo for an ad agency—literally while the creative director of the agency sat beside him, chewing his nails anxiously because the presentation was the next morning—and wasn’t even logged on, which of course I didn’t know until the next day, because after 2 a.m. I crashed out.
Today, when I got to my comp after finishing some chores that couldn’t wait, it was late afternoon. I found his emails saying he was resending it in a different format, just in case. But there was something wrong again. Try as I might, I just couldn’t get the file attachment to open.
It was frustrating as hell. Steve had been working for ages on this short film, and had talked my ear off about it, both while I was in New York and after I came back to Bombay/Mumbai, and I knew the final result just had to be way cool. But I’m no comp whiz like Mikey, I can just about use the dumb machine to get my work done, is all.
I would have asked Dad for help. As the head of a software firm, he knows everything there is to know about comps. But he had left for office eons ago. Mom was working on her weekly opinion column when I knocked and then peeped in her room.
From the tapes she was forwarding and rewinding and watching, I figured it was something to do with cola advertising. Mom gets all worked up about social issues, and I can’t say I blame her. I was still trying to come to terms with how much India had changed in the seven years I’d been abroad, studying. Going by all the McDonald’s and Coke ads and Domino’s Pizza, it was almost like being in NY, NY again. Except for the state of the roads.
Mom was sweet enough not to mind my intrusion into her work-time. “Try Mikey’s comp,� she suggested. “Your father said he keeps upgrading it so much that it’s probably equivalent to some sort of a supercomputer by now. I’m sure his PC would be able to open your problem file. Besides, from what you’re saying, it’s probably a patch you don’t have—and Mikey will have every patch ever invented, I’d think.�
Why hadn’t I thought of that. “Great idea! Thanks, mom,� I said. And went into Mikey’s bedroom. His computer was already on—I doubt he ever puts it off—and in a few seconds, I was accessing my mail again. It was almost scary how fast and smooth his machine was, even when compared to my P-III. I felt a delicious thrill when I saw the icon of Steve’s file.
Crossing my fingers and sending up a silent prayer to Goddess Saraswati as I waited. I double-clicked the file icon when it appeared and…
Bingo!
The animated short began to play almost instantly. The sound was so loud it blew me away at first. Mikey and his hard rock. I turned it down frantically, then relaxed and turned it up a bit again. Only Mom was home, and in her bedroom with the door closed and her TV on, she probably couldn’t hear a thing. Still, I took a second to shut Mikey’s bedroom door.
For the next four minutes and twenty-three seconds, I was mesmerized. The instant the film finished, I replayed it. And then again. And again. I must have gone through it a dozen times before I finally forced myself to quit the program and get up from Mikey’s chair.
I paced up and down for several minutes, excited out of my skull. I decided to call Steve right away and tell him how much I loved the film, how much I loved him, and what a great talent he had. I mean, this was what he and I had spent hours talking about back at Columbia: Animation film that was like the Brothers Quay on ganja but with the solid plotting, cyberpunk craziness and adultness of the best shonen anime. I can’t even begin to describe it actually. You would just have to see it to know how totally brilliant it was.
It was one thing to talk about it; but he’d actually done it! Let the folks at Disney, Pixar or DreamWorks see this and eat their hearts out: Even Dinosaur with its $80 million budget looked like an assembly line product compared to some of the techniques Steve had innovated here. And he’d done it alone—taking two and a half years and a shoestring budget. I was certain if he took this to someone like Steve Jobs or David Geffen or John Lasseter, he’d instantly be offered a multi-million dollar contract—and he’d probably refuse it, preferring to work on spec rather than ‘sell out’ to mainstream Hollywood. That was Steve, the maverick genius. And my guy. I felt proud and happy for him.
I sat down at Mikey’s comp again, closing down the movie program and clicking on the SeeMail icon. That would connect me directly to Steve’s laptop and WAP phone. Wherever he was, he’d get the message, open up his laptop and be able to video-talk with me. It was the next best thing to catching the next flight out, which was what I really wanted to do.
Something odd happened with Mikey’s monitor at that point.
It went completely blank for a second.
Not just blank, black.
Like someone had put the lights out inside.
And then these words appeared on the screen, glowing like monster eyes in a horror movie:
Do you wish to enter the Vortal?