Fake News. Do you cringe every time this phrase pops up in discussions?

Ponder over the facts for a while and you will realise that the concept is perhaps as old as humankind is.  That’s right, the human species has always thrived on deception. Power is often quoted as a reason for man’s obsession with lying. Our ancestors went as far as to formalize ways and means to break an opponent’s stronghold with manufactured lies. You may be familiar with the name Artha Shastra, the tell-all guide by a maser kingmaker.

Fake News has reincarnated as an insurmountable Frankenstein in this era of internet-enabled data mining. Therefore, is the snail mail’s capacity to deliver windfall gains using manufactured information less effective with each passing day?[image error]

This week’s story, “Love Bytes” tries to create a ripple in the sea of misleading information, using good old snail mail.

Manju and Sunil continue their roller coaster with The Quack House (TQH) in this fourth tale of the series.

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The plastic miniature in the drawing room’s antique clock peeped out and sang “cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo,” thrice. As if on cue, the fridge in the kitchen restarted after being on standby for twenty minutes. Upstairs, in the little angel’s bedroom, the cherub put out a hand; pulled her snugly teddy into a tighter grip; turned to her left and continued to sleep. Lara’s ears stiffened, she barked twice, then changed her mind and resumed sleeping, on her rug in the living room. Oblivious to all this, the adults in the house, continued to snore in their respective bedchambers.

Sunil’s phone, on silent mode, vibrated and inched closer to the edge of the bedside table with each quiver. Explosions couldn’t disturb Sunil’s deep slumber. Little wonder then that he slept through the phone’s fervent buzzing. Beside him, Manju was different. Even in self-actualization state, her trained subconscious would detect smartphone notifications. Manju’s mind woke up to the phone’s plight.[image error]

Her hand crept out from under the covers and felt around for her mobile. Having gripped it, her left eye snapped open while her extended hand turned on the deceive and took cognisance of its lit up screen. Realising that her phone had been sound asleep, she dropped the gadget back onto its resting place and turned her attention to the bedside table on Sunil’s side of the cot. His phone was caught up in intermittent bouts of shock-induced fits.

Under the bed, Manju kicked Sunil hard on his shin. He grunted. She repeated her manoeuvre, mastered with years of practice. This time he responded with a groggy “what is it?” from somewhere on the borders of Sleepsville. “You are getting a call,” she informed him. He grunted again in acknowledgement. Satisfied, Manju pulled the covers back up over her dishevelled head and returned to sleep, as though nothing had happened.

Beside her, Sunil, now aware of the call, stuck out his hand to see if the caller was important enough to warrant his attention at that time of night. He caught the phone, one centimetre away from the edge of its resting place three feet above the ground. The phone vibrated in his grip and he cursed. Who was disturbing his sleep? When he opened his eyes to check, he found his father’s face smiling at him. He blinked twice. Was he dreaming?

[image error]A second verification confirmed that indeed his dad was calling. Fully awake now, and sitting up in bed, worry lines etching his face, Sunil answered. Before he could say hello, “Open the door.” His father whispered into his ear. “What door?” Sunil replied, his foggy brain crossing out doors from a preset list. Once, his father had gotten himself locked in a hotel bathroom and had SOSed Sunil, who then contacted the hotel’s administration to rescue him. Was this another one of those instances?

“Your front door, idiot.” His father’s voice was louder now. “I informed you last night. Don’t you check your messages?” Confused, Sunil rubbed his eyes while his feet stumbled around trying to find his slip-ons. Once found, armed with his mobile in one hand, Sunil tread softly out of the room, down the stairs, past Lara who thumped her tail but kept her eyes shut, and proceeded to the front door. He was still unsure if all this was happening.

Unlocking the main door, without removing the chain, he peered out into the bright porch. His father was indeed standing at his doorstep. Faster now, he unhooked the chain and let his father enter. “I thought you would send a car to the airport,” his father whispered as soon as he entered. Why was his father whispering? “Don’t you check your messages? What kind of a businessman are you, anyway? I don’t want to wake the whole brood and spoil the surprise.” What the hell was his father saying? To his utter shock, without offering an explanation, his father turned on his heel and left the room, making Sunil wonder for the millionth time if he was confusing a dream for reality.

Trudging back to his room, he checked his messages. Indeed, at 11.03pm the previous night, his father had sent him a cryptic message. “Arriving at 02.30 am tomorrow. Want to surprise my wife.” Sunil scratched his head, trying to recall the last time his father had done something impulsive like this. Memory defied him. He had reached his room by then and climbed back into the bed, ready to sleep. He didn’t believe in wasting time over things he couldn’t understand.

“Who called?” a voice beside him wanted to know. Sunil smiled. His wife was sleep talking again. “Dad just arrived,” he replied, sliding under the covers. “Ok.” A grumpy reply sounded. Lying under the covers now, Sunil closed his eyes, hoping to catch a wink. Beside him, Manju shot up in the bed. “Arrived, as in here?” she demanded, fully awake.

“Mhmm”[image error]

“Wow, that was quick.” He could hear the grin in her voice. How was he supposed to sleep after that? He sat up once again; sure, his wife had a hand in his father’s spontaneous arrival. “Don’t tell me you have gone and done something?”

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