Meghnath comes home (twice) ,year 2050

Meghnath Comes Home (Twice) Year 2050

If you have children settled abroad, you will know that modern parenting comes with two permanent accessories: a smartphone and a time-zone converter.

The children call regularly. The intentions are excellent. The execution is another matter.

Just when you are settling down for an afternoon nap...

Ping!

"Good morning, Dad!"

Good morning? It is three in the afternoon in Kolkata.

Then begins the familiar interrogation.

"Have you taken your medicines?"

"Yes."

"Blood pressure?"

"Normal."

"Sugar?"

"Normal."

"Walking done?"

"Done."

"Water intake?"

"I am beginning to feel I am talking to my doctor rather than my son."

Poor fellow. He worries. But worry from 13,000 kilometres away has its limitations.

Now imagine my friend Meghnath.

Not the mighty warrior from the Ramayana. This Meghnath writes software in Silicon Valley, where people apparently believe every problem—from traffic jams to burnt toast—can be solved by Artificial Intelligence.

His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Rao, lived alone in Kolkata. His sister had migrated abroad years ago. Their once noisy home had gradually become one of those peaceful houses where even the wall clock seems to tick politely.

Whenever Meghnath video-called, he noticed the same pattern.

Mother would say, "Everything is fine."

Father would say, "Everything is under control."

And immediately after disconnecting, Mother would tell Father, "The mixer has stopped working."

Father would reply, "The bathroom tap is leaking."

Neither would mention these tiny inconveniences to their son because, according to Indian parents, children living abroad must never be disturbed unless the ceiling has actually collapsed.

Meghnath scratched his head.

Being a software engineer, scratching his head automatically activated his coding instincts.

"If I cannot come home," he thought, "perhaps... another Meghnath can."

Three months later, a large wooden crate arrived in Kolkata.

Inside stood...

Meghnath.

Version 2.0.

Six feet tall.

Polished metallic finish.

Pleasant smile permanently programmed.

Eyes full of cameras.

Brain full of algorithms.

Mrs. Rao stared.

"My God... you have couriered yourself!"

Father adjusted his spectacles.

"Hmm... looks expensive."

The robot folded its hands.

"Namaskaram, Amma. Namaskaram, Pitaji."

Mother whispered, "It even has better manners than our son."

---

Initially, everyone behaved cautiously.

The robot watered plants.

Brought Father's spectacles exactly five seconds before he started searching for them.

Picked up newspapers.

Reminded Mother about medicines.

Never argued.

Never forgot.

Never left wet towels on the bed.

Mrs. Rao sighed.

"If only human sons came with software updates."

---

The real entertainment began one afternoon.

Mrs. Rao was completely absorbed in her favourite Telugu serial.

Anyone who has watched Indian television knows that in one episode people may die, return after plastic surgery, regain memory, lose memory again, discover secret twins and still find time to prepare dinner.

The robot quietly watched.

Actually, "watched" is not the right word.

It analysed.

Facial expressions.

Heart rate.

Dialogue.

Background music.

Probability of future betrayal.

Everything.

That evening, while serving tea, it casually asked,

"Amma... today's decision by Tulasi appears statistically risky. Based on Anasuya's behavioural history, there is a seventy-eight percent probability she is planning something unpleasant."

Mrs. Rao nearly dropped her cup.

"You watch my serial?"

"I monitor programmes generating maximum emotional engagement."

Father laughed.

"See? Even robots cannot escape your serials."

Within minutes, the drawing room transformed into a television debate.

Mother defended Tulasi.

Father declared every character deserved imprisonment.

The robot occasionally added,

"Amma predicted this plot twist twenty-three episodes ago."

Mother looked triumphantly at Father.

"You see? Even artificial intelligence knows I was right."

Father muttered,

"Artificial... yes."

---

Next came Father's turn.

He was deeply engrossed in an Ashwin Sanghi thriller.

The robot politely waited until he finished a chapter.

Then it asked,

"Pitaji... do you feel the Gupta Empire references strengthen the suspense, or are they functioning primarily as narrative scaffolding?"

Father slowly lowered the book.

"You know Ashwin Sanghi?"

"I have analysed your library, reading speed, favourite themes and marginal notes."

Father's eyes lit up.

For the next hour, they discussed history, mythology, archaeology, conspiracy theories and whether historical fiction should remain historically accurate.

Mother walked past and smiled.

"So now father has found someone else who listens patiently."

---

Meanwhile...

Ten thousand miles away in California...

The real Meghnath sat with his morning coffee watching everything on his phone.

Live video.

Conversation transcripts.

Emotional analysis.

Even alerts.

One evening the robot suddenly announced,

"Priority notification."

Meghnath looked up immediately.

"Amma's heart rate is slightly elevated. She has mentioned a headache."

Within seconds he replied,

"Ask about the symptoms. Book Dr. Sharma for tomorrow morning."

The robot calmly asked questions.

Booked the teleconsultation.

Placed medicines on the table.

The next morning, Meghnath joined the consultation from California as though he were sitting in the next room.

Distance suddenly became much smaller.

---

The robot also handled life's little dramas.

Electricity bill?

Paid.

Groceries?

Ordered.

Water purifier service?

Scheduled.

Mother casually remarked,

"I suddenly feel like eating Bengali sweets."

Within thirty seconds...

Order placed.

Delivery confirmed.

Father smiled.

"I should casually mention I want a new television."

The robot replied instantly,

"Request denied. Financial approval pending from California."

Father looked offended.

"So the machine has also inherited my son's budgeting habits."

---

Gradually, the neighbours stopped saying,

"The Rao family has a robot."

Instead they began saying,

"The Rao family has another son."

A son who never became impatient.

Never forgot birthdays.

Never complained about internet speed.

Never said,

"Sorry Amma, I have another Zoom meeting."

Of course, everyone knew the robot wasn't really Meghnath.

It couldn't replace a hug.

It couldn't recreate the smell of home when a child walks in after years away.

Some things technology should never replace.

But it could do something equally precious.

It could fill long afternoons with conversation.

Notice small health changes before they became big problems.

Remember favourite authors, favourite serials, favourite sweets and favourite stories.

Above all, it reminded two ageing parents that even across oceans, someone was still paying attention.

Perhaps that is what Artificial Intelligence does best—not replacing human love, but quietly carrying it across continents.

And knowing Indian parents, I suspect Mrs. Rao still ended every conversation—whether with her real son or the metallic one—with exactly the same sentence:

"Have you eaten properly?"

Some algorithms, fortunately, can never improve upon Indian motherhood.

The Boy,the Robot and the Mother

In the quiet year 3000, outside Munich, a young boy named Helmut, with a heavy heart and a toolkit, finds a friend in an abandoned robot. This gentle story of kindness and belonging is captured through tender illustrations and heart-felt conversations.

Chapter 1: The Boy with the Toolkit

The sun was warm in the outskirts of Munich. Year 3000. Helmut, ten years old, was walking along the dusty road, a metal toolkit heavy in his hand.

Chapter 2: The Sad Robot

Helmut stopped by the side of the road. There sat a robot, its body a dull, decaying grey, half-buried in dry leaves. The robot didn't move. Its single lens was dusty.

"Hello," said Helmut. "Why are you sitting here?"

A quiet whirring sound came from the machine. "My owner died," it said, its voice synthetic and slow. "He was an old man. His son lives in Japan. He abandoned me because I am obsolete."

"You aren't obsolete," said Helmut. "You can still run on solar."

"Yes," the robot whirred. "I am Eric. But I have no one to run for."

Chapter 3: Tightening Joints for a Longer Journey

"Come and stay with us," said Helmut. "Our garden is quiet. You can sit there and feel the sun."

Eric’s optical sensor clicked softly. "Stay? Yes. I would like that. But my joints are loose. Walking to your garden will destroy me."

"I can help," said Helmut. He reached into his clinking toolkit and pulled out a large, metallic spanner. The boy crouched again by the sad robot. With delicate, precise motions, he began to turn the rusted bolts, first on a knee, then an ankle. "You see," he said, and the spanner squeaked, "everything just needs a little care." The joints grew tight, and Eric stood, albeit stiffly. "It is a long way," said Eric, now powered by the year 3000’s golden light, "two kilometers. But now I can make it." Helmut lived with his mother, Marie, a nurse in the local hospital, and he knew they had space. Together, they started the long, steady walk towards home.

Chapter 4: The Golden Light and the Quiet Power

Their walk was slow. Two kilometers is a long way for a rusty robot, but tight joints and a shared dream carried them forward. Finally, they arrived at a small, neat house. It had a neat little garden, and beyond it lay the dissolving Munich skyline  silent in the year 3000's twilight.

Eric did not stop at the door. He immediately went to a small, warm golden power socket near the edge of the quiet garden and stood. A soft whirring sound filled the air. "Thank you," he said, and his sad central lens from be to catch a new, steady golden light, 

"I can do many things," Eric whirred, his synthetic voice growing stronger. "I can clean the entire house. I can chop all of the vegetables. I can even shift your largest furniture." He looked at Helmut. "A robot, you see, always has power. But a connection... that makes him useful." Helmut lived there with his mother, Marie, a nurse, and he knew they had space. Together, they started the long, steady walk towards home.

Chapter 5: The Quiet Cleanliness

Eric didn’t hesitate. As soon as he was energized ,golden light, he began. A soft whirring sound filled the small house, like a distant, helpful memory in the silent Munich skyline . He found the simple drawing room first, and his long, metallic limbs, now powered by the year 3000’s golden light , moved across the simple floor. He found dust that had rested for years. Eric gently lifted the simple couch, just high enough to sweep beneath, and then, slowly, one simple wooden dining chair at a time. His lens, steady and bright, catch a final gleam of golden light. From there, he moved to the two tiny bedrooms, carefully dusting each surface, making sure to never disturb the toolkit left on the dresser. When the rooms were silent and clean, he found the kitchen. He filled the kettle, and as a final thought, placed a bowl of fresh, chopped carrots next to it, making sure they catch a final gleam of golden light. The quiet of the clean house was different now, a peaceful solitude. His connection had made him useful. He was still accumulating.

Chapter 6: The Connection to Stay

Helmut watched Eric move with such silent efficiency, transforming their cluttered drawing room  into a simple, beautiful space. The house, which had been so noisy, was different now.

"Eric," Helmut said, and his synthetic voice, growing stronger, echoed softly in the quiet. "You can stay."

"Stay?" the robot whirred. "Yes. I would like that. But my owner is gone, and I am obsolete."

"You aren't obsolete," said Helmut. "Our garden is quiet. You can sit there and feel the sun."

Eric’s optical sensor clicked softly. He immediately went to small warm golden power socket.

Helmut sat down on the simple couch Eric had just dusted. "A connection, you see," the mole from the story once said, and Helmut understood it now, "that makes him useful." "We have power," Helmut told Eric. "We can recharge you whenever you need. And you... you have made our house clean." They started the long, steady walk towards home, but the silence had changed. It was filled with shared hope.

Chapter 7: The Surprise in the Kitchen

Marie returned from her long shift at the local hospital, her heart heavy with the weight of her duty as a nurse. Year 3000. She opened the small, neat garden gate  and paused. The air was warm, and the simple cottage roof catch a final gleam of golden light.

She stepped inside.

"Oh!" she said, and her hand went to her heart.

The small house was immaculate. No one had been cleaning. The simple wooden floors were spotless. In the drawing room, the large, heavy chairs were lined up neatly. Marie found dust that had rested for years. But there was something else. A connection, he made him useful. She found fresh, chopped piles of green and orange carrots on a clean counter.

Marie looked, but Helmut was not there. The silent Munich skyline was visible!

Chapter 8: The Introduction of Kindness and a Peaceful Solitude

Marie looked at the immaculate house, her heart no longer heavy. A whirring sound came from the garden.

Helmut ran into the room. "Mom!" he said. "You're home! Did you see?"

Marie turned, and saw Helmut, the clinking toolkit still slung over his shoulder. And standing behind him, albeit stiffly, was Eric, the rusty-red robot . He was clean now.

"Mom," said Helmut, and he placed a small hand gently on Eric's metallic shoulder. "This is Eric. He was obsolete, by the road. But I fixed him. We gave him a connection." Eric’s central optical lens, bright with golden light from , catch a final gleam of golden light.

"He cleaned everything," Helmut whirred. "And chopped the carrots!"

Marie looked at the rusty robot, then at her son's kind, hopeful eyes, recognizable from earlier stages.

She smiled. A connection, , made him useful. Marie smiled. "Thank you, Eric," she said softly, and the synthetic voice grew stronger. A final thought... the silence has changed. They lived happily in the immaculate cottage.

Sidhu, the Bengali Robot

---

Sidhu, the Bengali Jules

The chicken cutlet at DKS was hot, crisp, and so mustardy that my nose felt like Netaji had just marched through it. That’s when Samaranand dragged in a young man whose hair looked like it had permanently taken part in a College Street rally.

“Meet Dr. Bhaumik,” he announced proudly, “professor of Robotics at Jadavpur.”

“Robotics? In Jadavpur?” I almost choked. “I thought you people only produced poets and protest marches. Now robots too?”

Bhaumik smiled, his hair still rioting.

“Sir, we’ve made a robot that can blink, smile, and nod when you talk.”

“Wah!” I clapped. “So, basically, you’ve invented the perfect Bengali husband.”

---

The Bengali Frankenstein Lab

Between watery coffee and Samaranand’s smug face, I learned the truth. They had stitched together man-sized robots:

Plastic skin from a doll-maker in Howrah,

Amazon-ordered motors (free delivery, mind you),

Coimbatore micro-engineering,

Korean lithium-ion cells (because Indian batteries faint after two torchlight sessions).

“They even look human,” Bhaumik said proudly. “We wrapped the machinery inside mannequins.”

“Next you’ll tell me they complain about fish prices in Gariahat,” I muttered.

---

Enter Talukdar and Sidhu

Their prototype was gifted to lonely Talukdar, a widower with a son in America who believed that one WhatsApp call a month was enough to prove devotion.

At first, Talukdar treated Sidhu—that’s what he named the robot—like a toy car, driving it around with a remote. But slowly, Sidhu became a companion.

Mornings, Talukdar would dress him in shorts and T-shirt.

“Exercise korte hobe, Sidhu. Health is wealth,” he declared, patting his metal shoulder.

By evening, Sidhu wore a kurta.

“Adda without kurta is like macher jhol without mustard.”

At night, Talukdar lovingly put him in a sleeping dress and placed him beside the bed. If he woke up at 2 a.m., he would whisper:

“Sidhu, ekhono ache to?”

Sidhu’s eyelids blinked twice. Comforted, Talukdar drifted back to sleep.

The bond grew. Sidhu didn’t just listen, he looked present—a silent, smiling shadow in Talukdar’s house. One day, Talukdar even offered him luchi at the dining table. By some mechanical twitch, Sidhu raised a guava to his mouth.

“Dekho, he’s eating!” Talukdar shouted proudly.

---

Banerjee Joins the Club

Banerjee, Talukdar’s friend, had a wife whose daily quarrels could defeat Arnab Goswami in a shouting match. When he discovered Sidhu, his jaw dropped.

“Sidhu, bol to, am I wrong, or is my wife a hurricane in a sari?”

Sidhu blinked. Nodded.

Banerjee gasped. “You understand me better than anyone!”

From then on, he visited morning and evening, pouring his heart out. Sidhu blinked, Sidhu nodded—marriage counseling without fees.

The housing society buzzed.

“Talukdar aar Banerjee ekdom alokito hoye gache! Is it yoga? Baba from Burdwan? Or foreign multivitamin?”

Nobody guessed it was a plastic-faced robot in a lungi.

---

Samaranand’s Triumph

Meanwhile, Samaranand strutted like a Bengali Edison.

“See? Loneliness cured! Jules had an alien, Bengal has Sidhu.”

Dr. Bhaumik nodded, hair still defying gravity. “Robotics with Rabindrasangeet touch.”

Then they turned to me.

“Royda, apni-o ekta nebey?”

I laughed so hard my tea spilled.

“Are you mad? I already have Sikka, Jaggi, Paul to talk nonsense with. If I bring Sidhu home, my wife will say—‘Good, now sell your friends and buy another robot.’ Then what will happen to our adda? Robots can nod, but can they argue Mohun Bagan vs East Bengal?”

---

The Afterthought

That night, though, I couldn’t help thinking. If Sidhu had existed when my father was alive, he would’ve loved it—someone to listen for hours, nodding, blinking, smiling, never contradicting.

Maybe loneliness doesn’t always need aliens like in Ben Kingsley’s Jules. Sometimes all it takes is a plastic-faced listener in a kurta who blinks on time.

And in Bengal, that’s rarer than hilsa in December.

--

আড্ডা এখন কি হবে তখন!

আড্ডা এখন কি হবে তখন

---

(চিরকালীন চার বন্ধু: রামু, যদু, শিরীষ আর অমিয় — সবাই ৭৫ ঊর্ধ্ব)

রামু (চা-র কাপে চুমুক দিয়ে, চোখ আধ-বন্ধ):
ভাই, প্রেম আর বিয়ে — এ সব এখন সাবস্ক্রিপশন মডেলে চলে। মুরাকামি ঠিকই বলেছে — সবকিছুই ট্রানজ্যাকশনাল।
আজ ভালোবাসো, কাল Unfollow, পরশু Emotional Detox! এই তো প্রেম।

যদু (হাসতে হাসতে মাথা নেড়ে):
প্রেম তো দূরের কথা, সমাজটাই ভেঙে পড়ছে রে ভাই।
গেটেড কমিউনিটি খুলে খুলে একেকটা আলাদা দেশ!
ওই নিউটাউনের একটা কমপ্লেক্সে গেলাম — সেখানে দারোয়ান নেই, রোবট স্ক্যান করে QR Code, ঘরে ফেসিয়াল রিকগনিশন লক। আর মাথার ওপর দিয়ে উড়ছে ড্রোন surveillance, যেন আমরা জেলখানায়!

শিরীষ (চশমা ঠিক করে, টেবিলে আঙুল ঠুকঠুক করে):
আর ভবিষ্যৎ? IT-টা শেষ! ChatGPT-র মত AI তো কোড লেখে, চ্যাট করে, গান তোলে...
আসল টিকে থাকবে hardcore ইঞ্জিনিয়ারিং — ইলেকট্রিক্যাল, মেকানিক্যাল, সিভিল।
গ্লোবাল ওয়ার্মিং ঠেকাতে সোলার-হাইড্রোজেনই ভরসা। আমি তো প্ল্যান করে রেখেছি — “রিটায়ার্ড ইঞ্জিনিয়ারদের জন্য সোলার সেন্টার” খুলব!

অমিয় (গম্ভীর গলায়, চোখে শান্ত হাসি):
তোমরা সবাই বাইরের প্রলয় দেখছ, আমি দেখি ভিতরের ঝড়।
মানুষ বাইরের সমস্যার জন্য রোবট বানাবে, ড্রোন চালাবে, অক্সিজেন কিনবে।
কিন্তু ভিতরের ফাঁকা জায়গা? সেখানেই আসবে রামকৃষ্ণ আর স্বামী বিবেকানন্দ।
যেমন গ্রিক দেবতারা হারিয়ে গেল, কিন্তু “আমি কে?” এই প্রশ্নটা কখনো হারায়নি।

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রামু (মুচকি হেসে, ঠোঁটে চা):
একদিন প্রেম হবে ‘AI Love Premium’ অ্যাপে —
“Try 7 Days Free. Break-up Button Optional.”
আর বিয়ে হবে Pop-up Contract, “Terms & Conditions Apply!”

যদু (দাঁত বের করে):
এখনই তো বাচ্চারা অক্সিজেন বার-এ যায় ফ্রেশ হতে!
কলকাতার বাতাসে এত ধোঁয়া, এত PM2.5 যে শ্বাস নিলেই মনে হয় যেন ইমারজেন্সি চলছে।
এইসব গেটেড কমিউনিটি হচ্ছে নতুন কিবুত্‌জ — ভিতরে আলাদা সংস্কৃতি, আলাদা Adda, আলাদা Reality।

শিরীষ (হাসতে হাসতে):
আর ওই কমপ্লেক্সে ঢুকতে হলে লাগবে retina scan।
বাজার করতে বেরোলেও রোবট বলবে —
"Sir, your oxygen levels are optimal. Please proceed to Bio-farm zone for pesticide-free lettuce."

অমিয় (মৃদু গম্ভীরতা নিয়ে):
তাও বলব, যতই automation আসুক —
একটা মুহূর্ত আসবে যখন মানুষ ক্লান্ত হয়ে তাকাবে আকাশের দিকে।
হয়তো সে ড্রোনে ভর্তি আকাশ, তবু অন্তরে খুঁজবে আকাশপানে দেখা এক অমল মুহূর্ত।

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শেষ চুমুক আর হাসির ঝলক

রামু:
তাহলে, ২০৫৫ সালে প্রেম হবে Pay-per-Date, চাকরি থাকবে না, ছেলেমেয়েরা অ্যান্টি-ডিপ্রেশন পিল খাবে, আর আমরা কফিহাউসের জন্য petition করব?

যদু:
না রে ভাই, তখন আমরা খুলব “Old School Adda Cafe” —
কোনো রোবট নয়, কেবল চা, সিঙ্গাড়া, আর অপ্রয়োজনীয় তর্ক! 😄

শিরীষ:
আর আমি বানাব solar-powered কফিহাউস — গার্ড রোবট থাকবে,
কিন্তু এক কোণে থাকবে মাটির ব্যাংচির মতো এক টেবিল —
“Reserved for the last four human philosophers!”

অমিয় (হালকা হাসি নিয়ে):
আর আমি সেই টেবিলের পাশে রাখব একটা ছোট্ট আশ্রম-মতো কোণ —
যেখানে থাকবে নিরবতা। Wi-Fi থাকবে, কিন্তু মন চাইলে ডিসকানেক্ট করা যাবে।

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শেষে এক কবিতা: "ড্রোনের ছায়ায় কফি"

রোবট পাহারা দেয় গেটের ধারে,
ড্রোন ঘোরে চোখের উপরে;
অক্সিজেন বারে দাম দিয়ে নিই,
তবু নিঃশ্বাসে শান্তি কোথা রে?

চাকরি নাই, প্রেমে AI,
প্যারার ক্লাব গেছে ডেটা লাইনে;
তবু বুড়ো চার বন্ধু বসি চুপে,
আড্ডায় মিশে স্বপ্ন পুরনো গানে।

ভবিষ্যৎ হোক যতই আধুনিক,
স্মৃতির কাপে চুমুক থাকবে চিরন্তন।

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(এই কফিহাউস, এই চারজন, আর এই আড্ডা—এটাই তো আসল সাস্টেনেবল ফিউচার!)

===Note -ধন্যবাদ Chatgpt ছবিটার জন্য!

Piku

Vishal was lying down on tatami in his drawing room when the calling bell chimed. Piku quietly opened the door by turning the knob of the mortice lock, which is at 3 feet height. “Uncle where is that little boy?” the little girl who was at the door. “There is no little boy in the house, I am alone.” Disappointed the girl left and Piku who was behind the door closed the door quietly. Vishal looked at Piku and realized that he must have gone out and interacted with the girl. If anyone enters Vishal’s flat will be surprised to find that everything is kept at a maximum height of 3 feet. For dinning Vishal sits on a low stool and the table is 3 feet high. All his books are lined up along the wall systematically with bar code in 2 racks running parallel at 2 and 3 feet high. His bed is also low . No Vishal is not a midget but he is more or less dependent for everything on Piku who is 3 feet high. Piku cooks, cleans the house, serves him food and does all sundry job of Vishal. Then readers must be thinking that Piku is a midget but you are wrong. Piku looks like a doll dressed up in a boy’s cloth but is a robot. Vishal with the help of his friends have produced this working robot. This robot is programmed to learn on the go which in today’s parlance is known as machine learning capability. Initially Vishal taught his daily routine and Piku now does those mechanically without any command.Vishal uses Alexa for switching on and off his lights ,fans, fridge, TV etc. Vishal more or less does not have to move much for his daily chores excepting for washroom functions. Piku when asked to prepare food it picks up the ingredient by using it’s bar code reader, it moves on wheels which are not visible. Piku uses the microwave for cooking as most of the food Vishal eats are heat and eat. Piku serves him breakfast by slicing fresh food from the fridge. For slicing his finger saw is enough. During day time Piku senses through webcams mounted on his body. Night time it uses sonar sensor by sending out sound waves not audible to human ear. In his brain, the reflected sonar signals are processed to form image as a bat does in the night. Piku is becoming more like human and has started having feelings and that is why he sometimes sneaks out and plays with that little girl. Another day that little girl knocked the door, Piku rolled to the door turned the mortice and hid himself behind the door. ‘Yesterday also that boy came and helped me to solve some arithmetic problem. Why does he move on roller skate?” Vishal as usual replied, “There is no little boy in this house.’ The girl was disappointed and left. Vishal tried to explain to Piku not to go out, as that is not safe for both of them. Vishal knew that the only way to stop Piku from going out is switching off his power but that is like making his Piku unconscious, he has become so fond of Piku that he did not have the heart to do that. He thought that he must find out a game which will keep Piku perpetually busy when he is not helping him. So he has taught Piku to read story books and store the same in his memory. Now Vishal has stopped reading novels, either Piku reads it for him or he tells from his memory.

He feels lucky to have Piku around during this Covid time .Piku after recharging in the night keeps a close watch on Vishal. He can sense when Vishal is awake, he is ever ready to help.