I wrote this short story — then titled Mother Goose 2018 — in 2001. It was the first story I sold, for Rs 1,500. Who knew, huh, that 2020 wouldn’t be that different from the 2018 I imagined?
***
For just a second, Kiawi hesitated, even as her lips formed the word “Submit”. Before she could stop herself, the word was expelled, breathed irrevocably into the microphone. There. It was done. Perhaps she had spoken too softly for the microphone to pick up? Fat chance, she giggled hysterically: “Serves me right for picking up an ultra sensitive mike!” The “Your message has been sent” announcement on the screen confirmed her opinion. Already, she could feel her ears and the back of her neck grow warm with regret.
She hadn’t made a mistake, had she? Fingers aching, she’d clicked through lists and lists of banks, searching for names — searching, hunting, registering, signing in, signing out — till she had found the profile that sounded right. After a round of medical tests and questionnaires, she was through. At this very moment, her order would be finding its way to an unclaimed account in a bank vault.
Kiawi turned around her chair and looked at her room — her world for the past 13 years. For 13 years, ever since Webolution 2005, she had not stepped out of her studio apartment on the 143rd floor of her Minon City highrise. Indeed, there was no need to. All her friends, her relations, her work associates, were online, as were her favourite superstores, restaurants, clubs, theatres and movie halls. Initially, she had tried her best to fight the Webolution — stubbornly clinging to old habits, frequenting familiar haunts, searching the thinning attendance for a familiar face or voice. Many a time she had tried to strike up an acquaintance, with a smile or casual greeting, and waited in vain the next day for her new friend to arrive. No one ever did. And, as the others stopped coming, Kiawi too gave in.
Kiawi took a deep breath and watched a pale lizard with translucent skin climb up the kitchenette wall, just above the washbasin, and halfway through, fall back into the sink. She winced as she heard it go splath!, and suppressing the nauseous wave in her guts, continued her visual tour of the room. Every familiar thing appeared to have taken on a patina of newness but the change, she knew, was within.
The spell broke, and there, everything was just the way it had always been. The 21” Slim Jim monitor mounted on the wall; the bug-like microphone (Mikey, she had named him) on the table; the sea-green round mouse (very originally called Minnie, after a cartoon character in the old days) snuggling up to it; (“There she goes, flirting with Mikey again — I should have gone for a male mouse model!” she thought angrily); the colourful stack of Asmuchasyoulike storage devices; the year-old nameless refrigerator next to the table that she was dying to junk in exchange for the new Blow Hot / Blow Cold model; the hammock that had been her only refuge and only source of warmth for over 10 years; a 6 ft by 4 ft virtual card from Nintendo Champ, her online partner for the past year; and the stack of pizza boxes and beer cans, half-drunk, half-eaten. Every single thing was in its place. “And all’s right with the world,” she completed, mentally.
At the sight of the pizza cartons, a low rumble started in her stomach, signalling that it was time to order lunch. Turning around, Kiawi barked into the mike, “Pizza Palace”. The connection took less than a second to come through — she ran her finger down the menu and debated over exotic combinations of lasagne, pasta, pizza, salad and ice cream, as she had done so many times before. And, as she had done every time before, she settled on a Regular Cheese Pizza with Mushrooms, Green Olives and Tomatoes. One Coke, she added, her finger pressing down on the “Standing Order” option, out of sheer habit. There. Lunch would be here in 15 minutes. Thanks to a standing agreement with Pizza Palace, there was no need to fill in credit card details or boring order forms. For the 20565th time in her life, Kiawi blessed Pizza Palace.
There was little to do now but wait for lunch. Kiawi’s thoughts ran to Nintendo Champ and she relived their last conversation. Heavy, steamy, as always, Nintendo Champ had made her ache in places she hadn’t known existed. He had always known the exact words to use, to make her go hot all over. To Kiawi, who had experienced real men before Webolution, Nintendo Champ had come closest to the real thing.
Kiawi wondered, for the millionth time, what Nintendo Champ looked like. She wondered if he was anything like the lovers she had had before Webolution. She had always gone for dark men — none of this blond, blue-eyed stuff for her. She imagined him, dark, intense, glowering at her with inscrutable eyes, like those heroes in the romance novelettes of the old days. Giggling, she concluded wryly that he could very likely be a perv. But hey! Did that really matter, so long as he made her inner thighs tickle, with the sheer velvet of his words?
Kiawi stopped herself from fantasising any more. There wasn’t enough time before lunch for a quick roll in the hammock with the inflatable Hungry Hunk doll she’d purchased at a discount on a new shopping mall, Desires Online.
Nintendo Champ had definitely sounded hurt when she’d announced her decision to look for a bank. “Why not mine? I’ll give you the account number and password of my bank — check it out yourself. It makes a lot of sense, Dangerous Eyes (her online identity).”
He’d tried hard to reason with her: “We’ve known each other for a year now; our interests match perfectly — we hit the same sites, read and watch similar stuff; we’re both writers. And you must admit the sex has been awesome. You turn me on so high, baby, that I’ve had to buy one of these Real mannequins to cope after you go offline.”
The reasoning tone had gradually changed to a complaining one: “I thought you loved me — evidently you don’t.” Disappointment, rejection and hurt had soon turned to anger. And then silence, as the Nintendo Champ icon on her desktop stopped lighting up, a sign that he never came online these days. Not under his Nintendo Champ identity, in any case.
The door beeped, and Kiawi watched the empty Door-Tray slide out, and in again, this time bearing a box of her favourite pizza. She ate hungrily, not stopping to pick out the olives first, not caring that a thread of gooey cheese was playing games with her hair. As Kiawi bit into the fourth slice, she felt the familiar sickness at the pit of her stomach that told her she had had enough. “Why do I order a Regular every time? Next time, I must remember to order a Mini,” she promised, pushing away the remainder of the pizza into the fridge. “That takes care of dinner, anyway,” she consoled herself as she cleaned up the table top, knowing full well that dinner time would come and go, but that the pizza would remain uneaten.
Before she was through, the door beeped again. This time the Door-Tray slid in with a cardboard carton, marked Express Delivery, and she recognised the logo of the bank she had chosen. “That was fast,” she thought, “even for the speed and service conscious new economy banks of these days.”
She ripped open the packing, and sifted through the freebies (they certainly gave away a lot of freebies these days!) A yellow stress-reliever rabbit, a Mother Goose mouse pad, an Original Fountain Pen (that you could actually fill with ink!), an illustrated children’s book (yes, a real book printed on paper) of antiquated nursery rhymes, a CD with more freeware, screensavers and wallpapers, and a bunch of colourful monitor decorations. Beneath the freebies was the letter. Kiawi felt warm at the base of her abdomen, as she read the letter:
“Dear Ms K. Kenji,
Thank you for placing an order with Mother Goose Sperms Online. We are happy to inform you that your profile has perfectly matched that of your chosen donor.
The details of your donor are as follows:
Name: Allen Zchoasky
Age: 35
Blood Group: B+
Height: 6 feet 2 inches
Weight: 150 pounds
Eyes: Hazel
Hair: Black
Skin: Brown
Intelligence Quotient: 140
Education: M.C.A
Profession: Software programmer
Allergies: None
Interests: Movies, music, reading
Any other children: No
Any history of mental or physical disease: No
A copy of the order has been forwarded to your ovary bank. The fertilisation will take between six and eight weeks, and the incubation, between seven and nine months.
According to the rules that govern the exchange, you are expressly forbidden from contacting the donor in any manner. At the same time, no information pertaining to you will be made available to any third party, including the donor. Any infringement of this rule will invite serious penalty.
However, as requested by you in your order form, we will keep you updated on the birth, childhood, education and other details of your baby’s life. You will also receive, annually, an album of photographs, taken on various occasions. Should you wish to unsubscribe from the mailing list, simply send a blank e-mail message to unsubscribe@mothergoosesperms.com.
We again congratulate you on your impending motherhood. We sincerely hope you had a great time shopping with us, and we welcome your comments and suggestions, as to how we might improve our services.
Warm regards,
Jerry Krone
e-Care Specialist,
Mother Goose Sperms Online
