by Jeevanjyoti Chakraborty
[box]Nikolai is a graduate student and a willing participant in an experiment for cognitive science. But ‘plugging in’ periodically for the experiment makes him feel a strange kind of happiness and pleasure – and he doesn’t know why. Kicking off Spark’s ‘Story Blocks’ series, Jeevanjyoti Chakraborty writes a multi-part series ‘Brain Back-up,’ with more episodes in upcoming issues.[/box]The keyboard, the laundry bag and the bathroom handle were the only three things which were not covered with a thin layer of recent dust. Beneath that evidence of latest neglect and clasping onto what could pass off as decent furnishings, lay the well-anchored grimy relics of a certain lifestyle – one that had remained effectively unchanged since the days when the phrase “burn the midnight oil” had a literal meaning through the days when operating system kernels were still being hacked together as one-man jobs to the inglorious days of digital Cpt. Jack Sparrows wreaking havoc on the entertainment industry. And, finally, to the days when herds of “citizen scientists” joined the infantry of scientific monarchs and started contributing to the forays of Curiosity more than supercomputers ever had. This … was the graduate student’s lifestyle. Religiously inducted into that lifestyle, with his eyes transfixed on the terminal, Nikolai was swiping his fingers across the keys which all looked alike – their identities dissolved with constant touch – even as his wrist rested lazily.
The terminal:
[gamester666]> u know about reeves party, 2morrow … rt? [NikLies]> man… cant go 2morrow… [gamester666]> ??? [NikLies]> day after … i hv a plug-in session… u know how da prof. goes cranky … [gamester666]> i don’t know y u even do dat… dos plug-in sessions … and wats wrong wid a lil hangover? [NikLies]> the prof. calls booze SIN… synaptic interferrent neurotic … messes with da sessions [gamester666]> haha… suit urslf … btw… ur “honey” will be der 😉 [NikLies]> shes nt ma “honey” or anything … [gamester666]> ah … da “denial” … wud hv been fUN!!! [NikLies]> ya… watever… ciao… [gamester666]> hey wait up… itz nt just the bucks rt? [NikLies]> bucks alright [gamester666]> na na… itz sumthng else… i hv seen u on the m’ning afters… u hang arnd with a strange SATISFIED look… u nt in2 shots or sumthng, man? [NikLies]> hell NO!!! u KNOW i dont do dat… remember sophomore yr? [gamester666]> ya rt.. alrighty den ciao………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Nikolai’s grimy clock – a gift from his Dad when he first left home for the University seven years ago – was responsible for waking him up one hour earlier than usual. As he hurtled himself groggily through the regimen Prof. Jacobs had prescribed, he remembered the chat session two nights ago. Yeah, the money made this break from routine worth it. But there was something more to it. Even more than the thrill of the mechanics of the thing, it was an opportunity to be part of this immense and heaven-forgive-so-exciting breakthrough in cognitive science. Besides, the procedure was not painful. Well, to be honest, far from it. If anything, there was this undeniable surge of strange satisfaction at least for half a day following the plug-in session that his chat-mate was referring to. Even the thought of that blissful feeling made him smile. Nikolai caught himself eagerly looking forward to that feeling, and suddenly a pang of fear made him shrink back in unknown horror. True, there was nothing in the medical tests that indicated anything amiss. The doctors certainly did not suspect anything. But the guilty pleasure itself had started gnawing away at whatever poise he could muster with that earlier than usual brisk walk to the trans-commute station. May be he was just being paranoid…
Prof. Jacobs’ facility was housed within the western block of the under-construction Inter-Disciplinary Center. This block had no imposing facade. Quite ordinary even. Inside however, the gloss of fresh construction, big money and grand plans was unmistakable. This being a pure research facility, it was free from the general clamour of undergraduate bustle. The overly expansive foyer branched up front into the two wings of the front section, while straight behind those gray translucent sliding doors, there was the second section with two wings again. The eastern wing had Prof. Jacobs’ office and the cubicles of his graduate students while within the western wing spreading across the breadth of the entire second section was the facility where Nikolai had his plug-in sessions.
Nikolai had made up his mind that he would tuck in the question to Prof. Jacobs that day.
Prof. Jacobs’ graduate student Richard poked up his head from behind the console: “Hi, Nikolai! Ready?”
“Yeah. The others are here, already?”
“Ya, man! You are late… Prof. Jacobs had started fidgeting. He is talking with Susan. Just go in.”
“Alright.” Nikolai knew Prof. Jacobs indulged his laziness more than he did so with his own graduate students. Nikolai had been the first to sign up with Prof. Jacobs. He walked in a little embarrassed nonetheless. “Good Morning, Sir!”
“Ah, Nikolai. Let’s start. Susan, let’s go.”
Before the actual sessions began, the “pluggers” – there were five of them: Nikolai, Susan, and three of Prof. Jacobs own graduate students, Richard, Alex and Huang, had to undergo a ritual of mental exercises designed by Prof. Jacobs and two of his collaborators. All throughout those exercises, basically formulated to calm the mind, Nikolai had that question nagging at the back of his head.
Finally, when Prof. Jacobs came forward with the patches, Nikolai could not resist any longer. “Sir, those patches, they are not … I mean I know one of them is the masker plus transmitter and the other is the beta inhibitor… well … you see…”
Prof. Jacobs was only rude because he was perennially impatient: “Yeah, well what?”
“Sir, after the sessions I have this immense … sort of happy… pleasurable feeling that lasts quite some time … is that normal?”
“Thought you’d never ask…”
“Huh… so it is normal?”
“Of course. You do understand that we are not breaking any of nature’s rules here. We are simply trying to bypass her constraints.”
“So, what is it?”
“Relax, kiddo… it’s just serotonin. And mind you none of that is in these patches. That is entirely your body’s doing.”
Nikolai didn’t have the nerve to reply with a “Are you sure?” Instead he sheepishly said: “That’s interesting. Promise me you will tell me more of that Sir.”
“Sure… now let’s get on with the patches. You know the routine. First put on the blue patch that contains the masker with the transmitter and then, five minutes later, the beta blocker, the red patch.”
Five minutes later. “Alright sleepy heads… see you in an hour.”
As Nikolai drifted away… half-convinced with Prof. Jacobs good-natured and confident assurance, he realized that he might not have anything to worry after all for there was nothing in that sweet sleep that was coming on now that had anything of that almost addictive pleasurable sensation of the aftermath. If the patches did indeed have any of the “shots”, there would invariably have been an immediate “high” – that happiness which was terrorizing him since the morning would have been highest now. Or was it that “high” itself that was making him experience these soothing thoughts about the innocence of the patches? The beta blocker had kicked in now and Nikolai’s apprehensions and assurances, the memory of the calming exercises and the tingling excitement all melted together into a delicious nothingness.
And then, the colours started pouring in. Instead of a palette of splashes all mixing together into a pristine white it was always the other way round. There was a flooding white from which threads of smooth colours blended forth. These threads would entwine and braid but never mix. Suddenly the white would fold upon itself so that the braid would blend together again into a white. Then all over again. Only each time, the braid would be different. More colours, more threads more intricate wrappings. Then the smell of warm chocolate, of summer rains would come, followed by a cosy, snugly feeling of a strange familiarity like being safe in a womb. Then the braids would disappear, the smells would vanish and slowly the feeling of a familiar sleep. Finally…
“Welcome back! So, how are you feeling?”
“Nice.”
Huang said: “You’re right. It’s nice. Nice, not fine, like I say every time.”
Richard: “Hmm… you’re right guys.”
Susan and Alex just sat there, smiling, and stroking their hair.
“Good.”
Nikolai, no longer tensed as before but still curious, chipped in: “Prof. Jacobs, you promised me you will explain what this strange happy feeling is all about… more than just the serotonin part.”
“Sure. I will be delivering a special lecture in the Old Lecture Auditorium. Be there. I will explain.”
“When is it?”
“Next month. On the 5th … there will be a notice in your department too.”
“Alright.”
— to be continued in the next issue
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