It was 10 30 pm when I received the message from the hospital. There was a newly admitted patient. I knew that I needed to be there. Once again.
I walked off to the Jail Road intersection and got on to the train. I was so busy thinking about what I’d be saying to the patient that I forgot to switch off my neural space to outsiders. So, as soon as I entered the cabin, I received a strong buzz of stray neural sounds. All the people of Lahore on the web constantly shouting at each other. Ugh. It is never ever nice to listen to them. The city’s landscape may have transformed but the people never let go of their loudness. I shuddered as I switched off my space. I wanted a quiet moment before I reached the hospital and went about my work, so, I took a seat at the far corner of the cabin where I knew I wouldn’t be bothered. For five years now, I have been assigned the tiring and ultimately annoying job of convincing hopeless patients that getting cybernetic implants on their bodies is their only solution. Yes, it is exactly what it sounds like. I clenched my hands and then released them.
“Huh” A soft voice come from my right. I looked around and saw a mother and child sitting just two seats away from me. The child was staring at me. I smiled at him. He didn’t smile back. Ah, I normally love kids. In my previous life, I enjoyed playing with them. Not any more though. Not since my body changed. Well, all of me changed.
I was deep in that thought when I heard the child speak. “Mama? Mama?” His mother looked towards him. “Yes?”
“Mama, look a Putla!” The child said it aloud and suddenly jerked his finger at me. There was a moment of silence in the cabin before I heard hushed voices and realized that all eyes were turned towards me.
He had called me a Putla. Ouch. I clenched my fingers again, and it was then I realized that in the silence that had followed, my hands had made the whirring sound that disturbs people so much. Ugh. I had gotten so used to my body and the voices it made that I forgot that there were people who still don’t understand the idea of well…me. For them, I am a putla.
“Shhh. Keep quiet.” The mother spoke. And then she shifted the child to her other side and covered him with her arm… as if to protect him from me? I blinked. Again, the whirring noise.
“See? He is a putla!” The child said. Another round of hushed voices and eyes directed at me.
I know I should be used to this by now but it still hurt. How casually they toss the slur at me. Putla aka “Puppet.” As if I were some inhuman creation incapable of feelings. I have been called Putla many times and I have learned to make my peace with it, but a child using that slur for me stung. I couldn’t but help feel bad when my entire existence was misidentified, and due to what? The ignorance of people who do not understand science? The casual disregard for humans like me who had no option but to make this choice for their bodies?
While I had been thinking this, I had remained static and did not so much as blink an eye. That’s my survival tactic. If I am ever in a situation where I know all eyes are on me, I tend to go still. Well, I suppose the passengers in this cabin have a story to tell tonight: they saw a Putla after all. The next few minutes until my stop were awkward, to say the least. Thankfully, it came soon. As I was about to step out of the train, I heard a voice from behind me. It was the mother. She said, “I am so sorry.” I gave her a smile and responded with a simple nod. What else could I do? Get angry at her for not teaching her child about this? As if that helped.
I walked to the hospital quietly. But now that the child had pointed me out, I was suddenly extra aware of the sounds my body made when it walked. It isn’t my fault though. I mean, it is how I have been recalibrated and redesigned. As Doctor Nirmal, my mentor and designer, often says, we’re still not out of the old era. It’s only 2060. There’s still so much more to go. I sighed as I entered the hospital.
Dr. Nirmal’s office is on the 7th floor. I took the lift and got onto the lobby of the floor. I could hear voices coming from inside her office. I took a few deep breathes and focused on the message board right outside the office. It said:
YOU ARE HUMAN. YOU ALWAYS WERE A HUMAN. YOU ALWAYS WILL BE A HUMAN.
For today, this basic message felt reassuring. Maybe it was the incident in the train, but I guess I needed it. I stood there for a moment, just taking in the fact that today, yet again, I would have to convince another person that I was not a Putla’and neither would they be if they agreed to go through this procedure. I knocked on the door.
“Yes, come in”.
I came in, took in my seat next to Doctor Nirmal and found an entire family staring at me. Which is fine, I suppose. People stare. My eyes slowly took in all of them. Two adult women, two men, and one very old man. My eyes remained fixed on him. The lower half of his body was…well. It was gone. Potential patient.
Dr Nirmal chimed in “This is Mr. Idrees Isfahani. I thought he should meet you.” She pointed towards the old man. “And Mr. Idrees, this is Adan Jaleel. He is one of our first participants. I think he will be able to answer most of your questions.”
I nodded and smiled at the family. Mr. Idrees looked at me with what I thought was a hint of anticipation. On the other hand, the older of the two women—presumably his wife—gave me an apprehensive look. The three young adults simply stared at me. My body that is.
“Let me give you a brief introduction. Adan here has a full cybernetic body, built from scratch.” Dr. Nirmal spoke and then softly placed her hand on my shoulder. “He had an accident when he was young. His entire natural body-system was damaged. But luckily, we had developed our system here, so we were able to save him. And look at him now, all set. He works with us from time to time in helping others heal.” I have heard this speech so many times that, at this point, I find myself dozing off when she starts. Anyway, their reactions did not change. Dr. Nirmal then spoke again. “Adan, Mr. Idrees had an unfortunate accident just like you. The general surgery department referred him to us. I have been telling him about our process. I thought you were best suited to inform him. I’ll leave you people alone for some time. Does anyone want the elaichi chai from our café? It’s really good. I can send it.” She got up and waited for any response. I don’t think anyone in that room was looking for chai while they discussed this. Understandable. The doctor thought so too and went out.
For a few moments, there was silence. I knew I had to break it. But damn it. I did not like this part at all. You know, the part where I convince people that I am a human being and that by attaching technology to their bodies they will not suddenly become a Putl…. God, I hate that word so much. The memory from the train ride earlier tonight came to my mind.
“So, how can I help you sir?” I spoke in the most pleasant voice I could manage.
Mr. Idrees’ wife was the first to speak. “How old are you, beta?”
“I am 25, Ma’am”.
“And how old were you when you, you know…” She lowered her face. I could see her anxiety.
I have had this conversation multiple times. “I was 20.” I responded and waited for their next question. I’ve found that letting them ask questions instead of blabbering on about myself works. That way they know that we’re not forcing this process on them. So, I usually wait.
But then she looked at me and asked a question I simply did not expect. “How do you pray?”
Well, I have no answer to that. I really don’t. I have not prayed in a decade now. But after a moment of surprise, I was able to register her concern. Obviously, there are people would be worried about praying.
“I do not pray, Ma’am.” I chose the truth. “But some of the other patients who have undergone this process do pray regularly. I can connect them to you if you ever need guidance on that.”
“Oh. I see. Thank you.” She leaned back on the chair. Her daughter was the next to ask.
“So, Mr. Adan, what do you do?” she asked.
“I am a researcher. And I volunteer here at the hospital, as you can see”.
“Is this what you wanted to become?”
Wow. Pretty direct, I figured. “Become what?”
“Researcher, you know”
“Ah, yes. I did. I’ve always wanted to be a researcher. I usually work on urban policies and stuff.”
The daughter nodded and then turned to (presumably) one of her brothers. He cleared his throat and looked at me dead-on. I braced myself. I could guess he was that family member—the one who asked the difficult questions.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, how is the experience?”
“Of this new body?” I asked, to make it clear what we were discussing.
“Umm, yes. Sorry if I am too bold”. He said in an apologetic tone.
“No, it’s alright.” I took a deep breathe. I decided it was time to tell them what they wanted to hear. “I am doing great. Back when my accident happened, I was completely immobilized and unable to do anything. All my dreams seemed unachievable. I was at the mercy of others.” The memories came flooding back to my mind. I continued, “My own family could not help me. I was a vegetable for all purposes. It was a terrible situation. My entire life was brought to a standstill simply because I had the misfortune of being the victim of an accident. So, when Doctor Nirmal and her staff offered me this opportunity, I knew it was my way out. This is a medical procedure, and now I can at least do things I want to do. I mean, sure there are challenges, which procedure doesn’t have those? But my body, this new body, has given me a second chance in life. And I am grateful for that.”
I stopped speaking to let them absorb what I had just said. They looked at each other. And then Mr. Idrees himself spoke. “I am happy to hear you say that it has been good. If I am being honest, beta, there is one thing that scares me which I am sure you’ll understand”.
“Yes, please do share your concern.” I replied. I was there to assure them after all.
“You talk of this as just a medical procedure. But that is not how people see this. At least not in our society. And I’ve seen the world to know enough. Other people see someone with artificial parts embedded in their body and mind connected to God knows what machine, they stop thinking of that person as a human being. They think that person has become someone else. Something else. That’s a lonely fate to have. Isn’t it?”
I found myself wincing. He was speaking the truth. And there was no way I could deny it. I was just about forming a response when Mr. Idrees’ son spoke up. “You know, Mr. Adan. We are not from here. We are originally from Multan.” He looked at his parents and they nodded back in response.
“Abba is not the only member of our family who is looking to receive this treatment. There is another. My younger sister. She’s right now in the general ward of your hospital. Abba just lost his legs, but she has been burned inside out. She has been in constant pain for the last 6 months. Back in Multan, this technology is officially banned. In fact, Lahore is only one of the four city-states where it is allowed. That is why we came here. At this point, we’re looking for hope. A hope that our abba and our sister will be able to live a good life again, without pain. All of us were willing to leave our city-state, our home, our jobs, our entire lives just so that we can come to a place where our family members can find hope. So, we’re sorry if we seem so disjointed. We’re looking for some light, but we do not want to be blinded by lights that lead nowhere. Please tell me that this works. Please tell us this will help them. You seem like an experienced person. We are willing to make our family go through this procedure but we’re also afraid of the troubles they’ll face. The isolation. The loneliness. The unwelcoming arms of this world. Please give us the reassurance we’re seeking.”
I had no response. What could I say? I looked at my hands as I gripped and ungripped them. The whirring sound of machine followed. I did it again. I looked up at them while doing it. They were waiting for the answer.
“You know when I first became like this, I used to be constantly aware of the noise of my body moving.” They sat quietly, listening to my words. I continued. “It was the most bizarre experience of my life. Where once I could feel my human body, there was instead the whirring, grating noise of a machine. I could feel that machine inside me. Not just my body, but my brain too. For this to work, they must create an artificial receiver in your brain which can process the commands. That receiver means I can be connected to my body. But more strangely, I can access the virtual world without ever touching a device.”
I think I heard Mr. Idrees’ wife gasp. Of course, I can understand. “But do I regret doing it? No. It was only a faint hope. But I grabbed it and never let go. I do not regret even one bit of it. Because though I may no longer have all the parts of a human, though I may be a living being artificially supported by technology, I would still choose this. Because I knew deep down that if I wanted to live, this was the only solution for me. And those machines do not make me any less of a human.” I stood up. “I am glad I did it. And I know that it may seem worrisome to you, but your family members will, one day in the future, look back and feel satisfied at having made this choice. They will be human. And the world is changing fast enough that even those who do not approve of this, can do nothing about it. That is the only reassurance I can give you. The choice is yours.”
They didn’t stay long after that and left. I just sat in the room deep in my thoughts. It was not a nice feeling. After seeing them out, Dr. Nirmal came into my room and took the seat next to me. “How did it go?”
“Same as always.” I responded.
“You seem sulky today.”
I looked at her. “You know why.”
“Yes, I do. And I am sorry.”
“I am tired of being invited to meet strangers and lay bare my whole existence just so that your hospital can nab another patient.” I spoke as firmly as I could manage.
She gave a sigh and then reached out to place her hand on mine. “I know how difficult it is. But please understand, Adan. You are a living, breathing success. Through you, we can show the rest of them how important this technology is.”
“I wish I was unsuccessful so that you couldn’t parade me around like a show piece.”
There was a smile on Dr. Nirmal’s face. “But then how would I be able to enjoy your company?” She pressed my hand. I was too tired to respond, so I simply took my leave.
—-
Twelve days later I was browsing in a bookshop when I received another call from the hospital. Apparently, Mr. Idrees and his family had agreed to the procedure. But they were asking for me again. I sighed. I suppose I would have to go because, in the end, it was my word they trusted.
At that moment, I was busy listening in on a buzz of stray neural sounds. An annoying thing about having a machine body is the central processing unit fitted in my brain. While this unit allows me to functions, it also attracts stray signals from others on the net. For all their technological advancement, Dr. Nirmal and her team have never been able to fully deal with this. At first I was really fascinated by it. I thought I had superpowers of sorts. Now I feel like kind of a creep. I am relieved that most people do not know much about this, or else being called Putla would be the least of my concerns.
It was with these not-so-good thoughts that I reached the hospital. The patients had been prepped for their procedure. I found Mr. Idrees’ family waiting outside the Cybernetic Unit. His wife was the one who returned my greeting. I took my seat on one of the benches in the gallery outside the operation theatre. I could sense the family’s eyes on me. I wondered what exactly they wanted to say this time.
After a while, Mrs. Idrees came to sit next to me. “Mr. Adan?” She said in a low voice.
I chose kindness. “Yes, ma’am. Do you have any questions? I can understand this is a tense moment.”
“Mr. Adan. I have been wondering. You know this is…” She stopped for a moment to look at me. “This is quite permanent, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“So, I’ve heard that those who get this technology, live longer?”
I didn’t know how to respond to that.
She shifted closer to me. “I want my daughter to live long. I want her to have a good life. But sometimes, I wonder. What would happen to her after we are gone?”
I didn’t say anything. I felt she wanted to just share her fears. She continued. “But then I am also glad my husband will be there with her after us. They both have suffered a lot. Back in Multan, they were considered invalids with no life. My daughter was an artist. She painted. The accident left her incapable of pursuing that. It broke my heart. But here, when they finally have a functioning body, maybe they will thrive.”
“Yes, they will Ma’am.”
“Are you…are you thriving Mr. Adan?”
I turned to look at her. She was looking at me earnestly. “How do you define ‘thriving’?”
What she said next put me in deep thought. “Are you able to achieve things that you always wanted to do?”
I had no idea how to react to that. What was I supposed to say? Being able to achieve your goals was not solely dependent on having a functioning body. Even if you were completely healthy, there was still the world and all its constraints to face. The world doesn’t just let you achieve your goals. I knew that better than most. But could I tell that to a woman who was looking for reassurance? She was assuming that this one procedure would solve many of her family’s problems. I mean sure, they’ll be able to function properly. But cybernetics do not suddenly make you capable of achieving your dreams. They are not superpowers. I wish more people realized that. Having technology embedded in your body doesn’t make you less of a human, and yet, at the same time, it doesn’t make your more than a human either. You remain as you always are. A flawed being, restricted by the bounds of the society you live in.
I don’t know for how long I was in my thoughts when Mrs. Idrees finally put her hand on my shoulder to call my attention. “Mr. Adan?”
I knew I could never tell her what I was thinking. Or what I believed. In the end, this was a family looking for solace and comfort. And they expected me, a person they mistook as experienced, to give them that. So, I decided to do exactly that. I spent the next few hours answering her questions. After a while, her sons joined me with their queries. I answered all of them with as much as truth as I could. I told them about what happens immediately after the procedure, the exercises they’d have to do with the patients to help them get accustomed them to their new bodies, the official registration process which the government requires, among other things.
—–
The procedure for both Mr. Idrees and his daughter went fine. I didn’t hear much from them afterwards. So, I went about my life in the coming months. Occasionally, I went to the hospital to counsel other potential patients. I felt that times were changing. Previously, it used to be just a select few people who would even think about it, but those numbers were burgeoning. Five years ago, I was but one of the few people in this entire city of 20 million who had it. Now, as I walked the cities, rode on its trains, visited its shops, I could sense others. The new law about cybernetics by Lahore’s City Council had done much good in that regard.
It was with these thoughts that I got out of my favorite bookshop and took the train at the Jail Road intersection. I had avoided taking this train ever since the child had called me a Putla on it—it had been a couple of months. I am not one to take things personally but this one, as I said, had really stung, and I hadn’t wanted to rehash those memories. But now I felt that enough time had passed for me to let it go. I couldn’t opt out of taking public transport at specific places just because of the ignorance of some people. I took my seat in the train. It was mostly empty, so I could sit in peace.
At the other end of the cabin were a group of children on their way back from school. I switched off my neural space and closed my eyes to enjoy a moment of solace when someone called out my name. At first, I thought this was just my mind playing a trick on me, so I ignored it. But then an oddly familiar voice spoke. “Mr. Adan?”
An elderly man to my left was looking at me. “How are you Mr. Adan? This is Idrees. We met a few months ago at Dr. Nirmal’s office.”
Ah yes, Mr. Idrees. The patient I met on the same night someone called me a Putla. He looked a changed man altogether. He was standing straight on his two legs and seemed sturdy. Next to him was a young girl who I recognized as his injured daughter. Or formerly injured, because right now, she appeared to be just as healthy as Mr. Idrees. I could also sense the connection to the neural network at the back of their necks.They had finally succeeded with the procedure. I felt a sense of reassurance. I greeted them.
“How are you doing sir?”
They took the seat next to me. “We’ve been doing well. This is my daughter Maria.”
“How are you managing?”
It was his daughter who replied, “It’s been tough. My father told me that you had warned us of the early days. I’ve adjusted well but I think Abba will take some time.”
I gave her a solemn nod. Of course, the younger you are, the easier it is making peace with a new kind of body. Younger children usually come to terms with this much more smoothly than adults.
We spent the next few minutes talking and catching up. They told me about the strange neural voices they sometimes hear. I informed them of the ways to switch it off, which in my experience is the only way to avoid it. We were deep in conversation when I felt eyes on us. Someone was watching us on the train. More than one person.
I took my sight away from them to look around at the cabin. At the far corner of the cabin, the group of young school children were staring at us. One of the children turned towards his teacher and pointed a finger at us.
No matter how much I tried to ignore, I was able to make out the words coming from his mouth. “Putla” the child said. Then another child pointed towards Mr. Idrees and his daughter and spoke out loudly “There are so many putlas on the train, teacher”.
Not that I am ever ready for it, but I like to think I have made my peace with that slur. I was worried for the two people sitting next to me. What did they make of this slur thrown at them?
Mr. Idrees’ eyes were cast down. I could see the red on his face. His legs were moving. I thought that was a bad move at this moment because they made the whirring noise, which only further reinforces the sense of dehumanization a person feels at being called a putla. His daughter was looking the other way, but I thought I could see a hint of a tear in her eye. It took me back to my first few months (well actually years) of having a cybernetic body. All the slurs, the looks, the embarrassment. I remembered that all too well. And now I was witnessing someone else go through it. The children were staring at us constantly. I cast around for something reassuring to say, and was struggling to find it, when Maria broke the tense silence.
“Will it…will it always be that way?”
I took a moment to consider that. I knew whatever I said next would weigh heavily on them. “No, things are changing. And it does get easier.” I lied.
Who was I kidding? It had been more than a decade of cybernetics being a thing in this city and people had still not fully accepted it. But I couldn’t say that to two people who had made the choice of earning this new body so they would not have to live in pain anymore.
Then a thought struck me.
I got up out of my seat. Mr. Idrees and Maria were startled. “Where are you going?”
I walked towards the children, who stopped gawking as soon as they saw me coming. Their teacher got out of their seat, presumably to stop me. When I reached close to their seats in the cabin, I raised my fist and spoke.
“Did you call us ‘Putla’?” I spoke in as much of an authoritative voice as I could manage.
They kids went silent. It was their teacher who spoke “Sir, I apologize for this behavior. They are fifth graders, after all.”
I motioned him to stop speaking. “It’s okay. They’re right. I am a Putla. Kids, do you know what a Putla can do?”
There were muffled voices as the kids shook their head.
I had no idea why I was doing this, but I wanted at least once to have responded to these kinds of assaults. I closed my fist, raised my arm, and twisted it on the hinges at my elbow so that it turned a complete 180 degree.
There were gasps from everyone.
“This is what a Putla can do. Pretty cool, isn’t it?”
My question was met with silence. The kids looked at each other. Their teacher was too flabbergasted to even move. I could also feel the stares of Mr. Idrees and Maria at my back.
“Well, do you want me to do more?” I inquired in a firm tone.
Silence again. I had clearly caught them in surprise. The tension only broke when there was an announcement on the train about the next stop. My stop.
I readjusted my arm into a straight position. My arm produced a strong whirring sound which was extra audible over the continuing shocked silence of all the passengers on the train. I slowly went back to my seat, took my bag, said farewell to Mr. Idrees and Maria and stepped out of the train as it stopped.
I was out of the train and into the city lights before the realization hit me: why did I have to make ‘peace’ with being a ‘Putla’? What if I just took it for myself? I was standing on the platform, deep in this thought, when I received another call from the patient. Someone needed my guidance and help again. I waited for the next train.