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Journalism of Courage
Sometimes I am sober. At least, when I am not drunk. Then the truth usually dawns on me. A couple of months back, I had a few lucid moments. I realised that my handwriting is bad. Totally illegible. Sometimes, even I cannot read what I have written. The graphologist would opine that I should be clumsy.
Also muddle-headed. The neurologist would diagnose it as a case of bad memory. I take my bad handwriting as an asset. It has always stood me in good stead. It hides my spelling mistakes and ensures confidentiality.
And if I get the latest software, it would write as I speak. Automatically. Just after a few hours of accent familiarisation. How can a machine do a man8217;s job? I had my doubts. But I set out on a search.
There was a puddle on every path. Too many brands. Too many technicalities. Too much talk of hard and soft things. Different grades of Pentiums.8217;
Speed. Memory. Each dealer was praising his ware. But I managed to make up my mind. Without much fuss. Bought a box. Got it installed. I am picking up its working. Though slowly.
After a few days, I suspected that there is a man inside it. He cannot go on strike. Ever. And yet he does almost everything. As asked. Types. Whenever I make a spelling mistake, gives a red alert. It is an accountant. Keeps all my accounts. It is an artist. Produces greeting cards. Different varieties.
For all occasions. It is an efficient secretary. Writes all my letters. Even documents. Now, with the available software, it even takes dictation. Pretty fast. Fairly accurately. It is a good postman and telegraphist. Transmits whatever I may want. To the farthest corner of the world. Even pictures. By electronic mail. Fast. At virtually no cost. It is also a fax machine. It is my record keeper. Preserves all the files. In good shape. It takes care of my office. Completely. It is so many in one.
Not only that. Through the Internet it provides me access to every nook and corner of the world. To all kinds of information. Sitting in my office, I can peep into a store. Browse through books. Libraries. Expert opinions. The latest in different fields. Science, medicine, engineering and all else. It can provide all the entertainment. Music. I understand one can even download it. The latest. Then shop. Buy anything from anywhere. Makes life so easy.
Everything just a click away. One can do almost anything. With the little mouse under your finger. Marvelous feat of human achievement. Isn8217;t it?That is a tall claim. Can it help me to fulfill my childhood fantasies? Like be able to kiss Marilyn Monroe? Or hit and hate Hitler? It is like an Old Testament God, with a lot of rules and no mercy.8217; It forgives no fault. The labour of hours can vanish in a moment. Just with the tripping of power supply. With one wrong click of the mouse. With a hacker sending some virus.
The possibility of retrieval of the data is normally remote.Then it makes a slave of a good and intelligent man. One virtually loses the habit of using the normal faculties. The ability to orally add or subtract.
Divide or multiply. Or to remember birthdays. Anniversaries. Of even family members and friends. Or daily appointments. The independent man becomes wholly dependent. It is also a health hazard. Emits X-rays. Bad for the body. Gives a glare. Affects the eyesight. One has to wear glasses. I am.
Science is a good servant. But a bad master. Shall a machine replace the man? Ever? No. The machine cannot feel. It has no sensitivity. It can hurt.
Without feeling any pain. It can never be as good as a man. Man is still the best machine.
