Sixteen years ago, at the stroke of midnight, when the clocks rolled over into the year 2000, computers worldwide were affected by an unexpected bug. Y2K, readers might recall, became a popular name overnight. This bug occurred partly due to the practice of representing a year with its last two digits — the year 1998 as x98, 1999 as x99, and so on. When we entered the new millennium, the computers got confused — is x00, the next year, 2000 or 1900? Is the year a leap year or not (2000 is, but 1900 is not)? Moving forward, what would x01, x02, etc, mean?
In effect, the machines did not anticipate, or understand, what it meant to move into the next century. I think their lack of comprehension was similar to that of my generation. Our transition into the next millennium wasn’t smooth. Instead of taking just another assured step, where all that changed was the date in the homework and classwork columns, it was like being swept away by powerful winds and hurled[hurl(throw,फेकना)] into alien territory.
The internet, of course, was the most powerful of these winds of sudden change. Not only did it herald an age of information, an age of too much information, but it also mapped a new world where physical distances had little significance. Before we knew it, we were in Yahoo chatrooms and Orkut communities, debating with like-minded people from around the country, if not the world, stalking the other sex, connecting with estranged[e'streynjd(unloved,विरक्त)] friends and befriending strangers. In schools, we made friends based on accidents — who sat next to us, who used the same bus or auto rickshaw. Not anymore. We were no longer restricted to forming acquaintances[u'kweyn-t(u)n(t)s(relationship,जान पहचान)] based on geographical limitations. Age, sex, location were conversations starters, not enders.
The second of these forces was that of globalisation — the earth becoming a flatland, as a renowned economist put it. Suddenly, we were looking and were compelled[kum'pe(force,बाध्य)] to look at ourselves from new vantage points(viewpoint,नजरिया). From the outside in. We realised we were part of a larger world, a living, thriving[thrI-ving(growing,पनपना)] world — unlike the dead ones on the pages of an atlas — where many kinds of people and cultures existed. The amoral Manhattan lifestyle of How I Met Your Mother and Friends, for instance, fascinated us, and the cute, adventurous and uninhibitedly[ún-in'hi-bi-tid(unrestrained,उन्मुक्त ढंग से)] fantastical life of children in Japanese manga gave flight to our imaginations. Some of us were intrigued[in'treeg(fascinate,कुतूहल)] by war movies and through them deliberated on the lasting impacts of the Holocaust, imperialism and the quest for democracy in the Middle East. And others like me came to terms with the fact that Nagraj, Super Commando Dhruv and their nemeses weren’t wholly original conceptions, nor were some of our favourite Bollywood flicks.
In the light of this new knowledge, this exposure, we found ourselves questioning our identity and discovered, as a result, the power to redefine ourselves. The power to constantly unlearn and relearn. Once we were away from home — in the hostels of our colleges, in metros for jobs, on the road while travelling — we didn’t have to carry on the narratives that were handed to us. We didn’t have to behave strictly as a Baniya or Brahmin, as a “north Indian” or “south Indian” or “Bong”, a native or non-native to a city, as “upper middle class” or “lower middle class”, or even as a “decent girl” or a “suitable boy”. We could be anything. For good or bad, we became, and aspired to be, rootless. A branch cut off from the vine.
The third, and an often overlooked factor, is our physical coming of age. I was 13 years old when the famous Y2K bug made headlines. I was smart enough to know that the naked pictures of celebrity actors on a certain popular Indian site were fake, but I was naive and still fixated with them. I had three email IDs — on AOL, USA.net and netfundu.com (for which I also received personalised visiting cards) — and I had no clue what to do with them. Kids my age were driven by curiosity. Unconcerned about potential harm and unmindful of benefits, we explored this other world and escaped the one in which we were restricted by default. In which everyone is restricted by default.
And look where we are now. As a result of our rootlessness, we have become a generation of wanderers. We switch companies, cities, partners. We become atheist one year, practising Buddhist the next, never taking our religious identities too seriously (in the last few months there has been evidence to the contrary, but I would like to continue to hold this belief). Our cricket icons retired one by one — and we looked for new heroes, new franchises, new sports.
We have been in constant flux. But reason has found its way with us and we understand — the preparation for MBA, IAS, bank entrance exams has made us understand — what it means to read, write and think critically. So that we score well in general knowledge and awareness sections, we have read editorials of newspapers and award-winning contemporary literature. The practice has enriched us without our knowledge. We have also spent hours on Wikipedia, and are well aware of all the isms and logies, from Marxism to Scientology, from Taoism to Freudian psychology. We have been sufficiently enchanted[en'chãn-tid(influenced,मंत्रमुग्ध)] and disillusioned with them in turns.
Our rootlessness has, eventually, become the fountainhead of our liberation.
The year-end is a time to look back and reflect. And as I do that, I wonder if the ripples of the effect of that turbulent[tur-byu-lunt(unquiet,अशांत)] hurling into this century can still be felt. I am an electronics engineer who left a well-paying (and “prestigious”) PSU job to embrace writing and poverty. I am still unmarried. I have still not bought an apartment or a car, not rooted myself to a new place. But I am cognizant[kóg-ni-zunt(aware,जागरूक)] of the power of redefining myself, and the efficacy of this power. That’s where, I suppose, I find solace[só-lis(comfort,सांत्वना)] .
Written by mohit parikh
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