Decidedly Undecided

Somewhere in the vast expanse of the universe is a planet that is home to a very singular race of beings. What makes them radically different from other beings of this universe is the fact that they lead highly interesting lives. For example, Trafiakar a minor shoe salesman, one afternoon went to get himself some tea, and, along the way won a lottery, met a princess and was instated as the crown prince of the realm. Of course, the next day the realm went completely broke and a lot of people’s interesting lives were abruptly ended by war, but, who among us has ever won the lottery?

However, this is not their story.

Shiva Singh of the planet Earth like many other beings of the universe lived a drab and dingy existence. He was by coincidence, a shoe salesman. But alas there were no princesses in store for him. He was a kind, unassuming man. A throwback to the times of old when such things were valued and prized. He was a thinker this one, and in his free time indulged in writing romantic poetry. Of course, no one had the heart to tell him that his poetry was dull and boring. He liked to think of himself as a present-day Byron or Shelly and continually posted his poetry on social media.

In this, the latter half of the 21th century literature had died out with most people preferring to spend their odd moments of leisure on social media and experiencing reality senso-television. There were cameras everywhere and with the right hardware any amateur could stream his own channel of senso-tv. With almost everything automated, unemployment was at a record high.

Shiva was a believer in the controlling influence of the universe and thought it left him signs. For instance, the breaking of a lighter turned into a week of not smoking. In the end however habit won and Shiva resumed his love affair with Mary Jane. He used it for inspiration. He said it made him think deep thoughts that he would then turn into poetry. His poetry was the ultimate sign from the universe and the days he could write what he considered good poetry were bound to be good days. He also hoped to meet his soulmate one day. Someone who recognized his true potential and of course, loved his poetry.

Unfortunately all trace of Shiva Singh and his poetry was lost when the planet was destroyed to make way for an intergalactic bypass. As luck would have it though one parchment (yes they still used dead trees) found its way into the satchel of an alien reporter posing as an actor as he hitch-hiked his way off planet. It then somehow appeared on the desk of a famous politician from a planet with a very ancient democracy. The physics of how it got there are not very complicated but most people still have trouble understanding how a bicyle maintains its balance.

The politician, who shall remain unnamed for legal reasons was just about to admonish his secretary for leaving trash on the table when he happened to read the words. The words had a deep impact on him and he read them again more carefully. They seemed deep and thoughtful to his brain. This could be explained by the rogue cosmic ray bouncing in his brain similar to how pink tennis balls bounce over radio telescopes.

Through flawed logic and supreme overconfidence – two essential qualities for a politician, he decided he was going to use this piece to show his voters his sensitive side. They would lap it up and his ratings would go higher. The verse would have to be modified for reptilian anatomy and he knew just the program for the job.

“Cancel my afternoon appointments.” he informed his secretary and sat in front of the terminal. A tiny rational part of his brain screamed in agony but mistaking it for his conscience, he ignored it.

He fired up the latest propaganda software from S.C.C. which was called Lies 2.0™. This was a coincidence as the language used on the planet was not English. He hooked up the scanners to his brain which would help the program convert the written material into the output the user desired. After a lengthy process of scanning and converting which took approximately the rest of the working hours the program sent a final copy to his personal device.

‘Nicely. This will do very nicely.’ he thought to himself and headed home. In a pocket dimension which most beings are unaware of Shiva Singh howled in rage and despair. A press conference was scheduled after filling the usual forms and paying the journalists the usual propaganda fees.

A single camera sat at the centre of the room transmitting to whoever paid the access fees. Our venerable politician cleared his throat and began his performance.

“I have thought considerably and deeply about the divide that exists between us reptilians and humanoids on our planet. As many of you have deduced I am a stable genius and have come up with a most elegant solution. It came to me while watching my secretary go about his normal humanoid business. I realized that we are not so different you and us. I can explain it better with this verse I have penned.” saying so he started his recital.

As I gazed into your two human eyes,

I was mesmerized.

My three chambered hearts pumped in unison.

The blood flowed straight to my hemipenis .

How I wished to taste your slender lips,

with my cold hard snout.

I wished to scream and make a lot of noise suddenly,

as my kind does during romance.

But the fear of scaring you away has kept me silent.

I wish you would look beyond this rough exterior,

to the cold heart beating within.

To have you locked in my embrace forever,

I’d commit a thousand sins.

He then bowed and made his way off the podium.

That day was a significant moment in that planet’s history. Those watching him wept tears of joy at having a leader who understood the common man. His ratings soared and he was suddenly in line for presidency. The lizards ruled and the people kept electing them again and again. The universe continued its slow dance towards heat death.

Meanwhile in that pocket dimension Shiva Singh, catatonic with despair kept repeating the same thing over and over again.

“My grocery list. My only legacy to survive was my God damn grocery list.”

I am hesitant to associate the name of the writer who inspired me to this amatuerish piece but as twitter keeps telling me again and again (even though I don’t have an account) YOLO. If he is turning in his grave atleast it might give him momentary respite because lying on you back for extended periods is bad. Thnak you for writing the most amazing book I have ever read. RIP Douglas Adams.