Make It Worthy

“The Ragpicker Boy”

By: Ankit Sharma(Civil Dept.)

As per my daily routine, I was going through those streets. I always desired to do photography in these streets.

Suddenly, I saw that rag picker, of age about 15-16, checking dustbin, maybe finding something, eatable. He caught my attention, I was staring him, standing there for a moment, and he noticed it. I smiled at him.

He got that I am emotional and generous kind of personality, he came to me and told me his regretful story, and begged me for money. I gave him ₹50, and as he noticed money in my wallet, got that I am rich, and begged for more, I understand the situation, and I said, “I will give you ₹500, what will you do with it?”He was amazed, a few moments later he represent the whole list, that he gonna buy from this money for his family, and I said “What after spending all the money? You would start begging again..!”
He was quiet, I start to walk toward my way, and suddenly he replied, “Sir I am going to use it so I could make more money out of it”, he said confidently.

“How..?” I asked again. He had no answer for that.

A few days later, I was on my way, suddenly he appeared, and said “Sir I have a new Idea, so I could make a profit with that money”. I felt good, “Did you plan what you are going to do, what difficulties you are going to face, how to deal with them, did you do a survey for your idea, any rough plan for how to manage things,” I asked curiously.

He said nothing and went from there, and me again on my way.

Few Month later, he appeared again, “Sir I did all the things you asked, I Checked profile and work of other people too who are working on the same problem., but my idea was better and more compatible for customer”. He said. He is not the boy I saw that day, he was something different and new today.

“Did you launched your idea?, Are you working on it? did you get results? How could I trust that your idea is better?” I asked him.
“Sir I was working day and night for this project, if you can please get through it, you will know sir, that it’s worthy.” He said and requested me.

“Well my son, I already have a lot of projects, why should I use my precious time on your idea, a lot of people get new ideas daily, and 99% of them pull back later on,” I said. He looked quite disappointed, and I add, “work on it, show me results”.

A few years later, I was on my way to my office, suddenly a young man stood in front of me and smiled, it took me a little time to get that he was ragpicker boy. He told me that he was working on his idea, from the last few years, he failed so many times but rose again, and now he was getting good results. I was glad to hear him, and he discussed his project with me and at last, I invest my money in it.

I wrote this story to make you understand what life demands from us, hope you guys liked the story and happy for, “the ragpicker boy”. Now listen carefully,
“we all are similar to rag picker boy, and the Merchant Guy is similar to life, now remember that what did merchant wanted from the boy, same thing life demand from us, and when we will become worthy he is going to invest in us, and going to give us opportunity instead of money. This how life works”.

At last, I want to say if life gives you an opportunity/chance, to prove yourself, pull your socks, be ready and ‘make it worthy’.


A link to Ankit’s blog :


The Mcleo Accident


It was a couple of weeks before final semester’s final exams. Three classmates and good friends were looking for one more person to partner with on a two motor bikes’ ride to Dharamshala and Mcleodganj.  They asked me and I had to say yes, there wasn’t even thinking twice. It was a time when most of the architecture students had already taken off, renting most of the bikes from the only bike renting place in the town. We got the most dilapidated bikes. We were really adamant on going

“We are out of the campus now, we have to go no matter what”

remarked a friend, rather adamantly.

So we were off to Dharamshala on our rickety, really vulnerable bikes. The two riders had helmets, one friend was a Sikh, so he had his turban, only I was without protection (and I never leave wearing a helmet). We reached Dharamshala but went straight to Mcleodganj which is 6kms uphill from there. It’s a beautiful beautiful place. Since we only had one day and had to come back too, we visited the monastery (I don’t remember its name) and ate momos and started back.

It was dark now, I had ridden for an hour and was back as a pillion rider. My friend Jitender was particularly not conscious that he was driving very rash. I did reproof him jokingly but he was in his own peace with the speed. We stopped for the exchange of pillion riders, since our bums wanted a change of seat shapes. Ravinder (the Sikh friend) went to sit back with Jitender, and I with Sandeep.

Jitender and Ravi were ahead of us by 300-400 m. 5 mins later, a car was taking a U turn at perhaps 4 – 5 kmph. Since Jitender and Ravi were going around 60-70 kmph, Jitender naturally assumed that since the car was turning around slowly, it would wait for them to pass. It didn’t. It was too late when Jitender realised this and they smacked right into the right side of car and flew over the car’s bonnet to reach the ground in a frightening fashion. Sandy and I threw our bike aside and ran for them. Jitender had a few minor bruises to his name, Ravi had his turban save him but it had almost completely untangled from its formation. Both of ’em were safe. Sandeep was angry and went over the car’s driver to give him some verbal blows when a guy from the crowd, which had gathered to help us / watch us, took him by the arm and advised him not to engage with him.

He brought all of us aside into his mechanics shop on the roadside and brought to our attention that the guy in the car was drunk, and that he was from a politically strong family, and that his house was just at the opposite side of the road where accident happened, pointing towards the house that we could see in front of us, a big bungalow in a seemingly non existent, small village.

Our bike was significantly broken, in no condition to be ridden. The guy who had advised up against a brawl seemed decent enough to be asked for help. So we did. Amidst what had happened, we had failed to notice that he was a mechanic. When we realised, we took an insignificant and silent sigh of relief. Sandeep as jugaadi as always asked him if he could fix it for us and in minimum price since we didn’t have much money. He assented, but we were still skeptical. Having no other option available, we gave him our bike, checked into a Dharamshala (not to be confused with the place by the same name, from which we were returning). Dharamshala, is a big motel but of the villages, a big building with a large verandah and rooms which have no beds but jute mats.

The Dharamshala that we found had ₹ 100 / room / night charges. It was run by a very old couple, probably both in their 80s. They made us food, we ate to our fullest capacity, thanked them for it and resigned to our room. As soon as everybody had settled, everybody looked at each other baffled about a possibility. Then when we knew without even speaking out loud what everyone was thinking, everybody turned their eyes to meet mine. Having no possible answers to this quizzical question, we laid down on our mats and tried to sleep.

Ravi and I had switched places just 5 minutes before the accident. The perturbing question of the possibility of what might have happened, had we not, played with our minds all night, but we didn’t really talk about it. It was sort of a revelatory moment for all of us. This question didn’t have an answer, there were too many variables to look for, to make a prediction of an event that didn’t happen: from body weight, wind speeds, casual bikers talking to each other to decide upon a place to drink chai (tea), to the biggest of all: uncertainty, chance.

Next morning we had our bike fixed as much as was possible in one night. We thanked the mechanic, gave him his bucks and headed back to college silently. When we reached the bike renting place, he immediately recognized that we had had an accident. He laughed about it, and let us go without any additional charges.

I don’t know about the others, but that unanswered question has changed something in me. It has made me more accepting and resilient of anything and anybody.

From left to right: Me, Ravi, Jitender, Sandeep

Prompt: Descend

Facets of Jakhu Temple

That Was Weird #Entry2

By: Jishnu Choudhury (3rd year, Civil)

As I with my aunt’s and my family strolled along the very busy wintry night of Mall Road Shimla, our eyes roved along the splendid night view from the Ridge Skyline, Christ Church, Old Gaiety Theatre of Victorian Gothic Architecture, The Viceroy Lodge and many more all decked up in colorful lights to welcome the new year. Our ears rocked to the Shimla Carnival 2015 and to the buzz of festivity in bars and restaurants. For the first time our taste buds relished the Cone Pizzas and Paw Bhaji of Cones and Curries.

What attracted us the most was the magnificent orange coloured statue of Lord Hanuman, the Monkey god, that loomed above the Deodar treetops in the Jakhu Hills. Its highness stood tall in its majesty if blessings and protecting everyone below.

The following morning, thrill and excitement increased as the uphill winds and turns through the every green beauty of Deodars, Rhododendrons took us to the Jakhu Hills. At the top of the Hill is an old temple of Hanuman and what makes the place really magical is the perpetual presence of the denizens of the Hill. As we purchased the Puja items, the Vendor warned us that visitors are bullied by the mischievous monkeys, who brazenly snatch away spectacles in lieu of Prasad and edibles . He gave us walking sticks to evade them and get our specs opened to be kept secured in the bags. I was the sole hero not following any of their orders, swaggering around and exploring my new D3200 as 3 years in Monkey Zoned NITH gave me the intuition that monkeys are weak in tea. Religious sentiments now have been accompanied by fear and excitement. As we walked upstairs towards the temple the calm and sedated animal watched every move we made, sometimes following along behind as tourists have always been there only on suffrage.

A few long flight of steps and we were into the temple courtyard to the very feet of the 108 foot statue of the God that the mountain is sacred to and whose people reside there – Lord Hanuman, the Monkey God. The scenic view made us forget the monkey mischief (about which I was least concerned right from the beginning), and started posing selfies, groupfies to preserve the great memory. But suddenly one of Lord Hanuman’s servants mugged me. To be more precise this shifty looking brute (IMAGE OF THE MONKEY) on the roof waited until I turned around, pounced on my back, and ripped my spectacles from my face (luckily the little scratches like the fingers of a miniature Freddy Kruger, were not deep). So there I was, blind, peering at a large group of monkeys trying to figure out which of them had my specs. Rhesus macaque do not like being peered at. Nope, not one bit. So they all yelled their arses off which attracted the attention of every other monkey on the mountain. It was all a little creepy, just like this monkey’s unsettling stare.

After a long negotiation with the troop which included half-eaten packets of chips, one packet of little hearts and some amount of Prasad, finally it was mom who finalized the deal with a packet of bourbon. It jumped from the roof top, threw the specs and mother was fast enough to recover the vision aids before it became the target of other Rhesus macaques. Just as we offered our prayers to the Lord, we could hear a co-visitor shout, “Mera chasma! Mera chasma!”. Monkey menace has always been a common scenario in Jakhu temple and most other religious places of India. Though monkey pranks are fun to watch, they are dangerous too as there are incidents of scratches and injuries of tourists who require Medical attention. Monkey menace is increasing day by day as they are deprived of their natural habitat and of course their favorite bunch of bananas.

Advisory for people traveling to Jakhu Temple –If some monkeys take away your valuable items like mobile phone, shoes, or spectacles, do not try to throw stones at them. Instead be calm, get packets of edibles or bananas for them, and they will themselves give back your stuff.


The Police and The Hostel Trolls by Arihant Verma

That Was Weird #Entry1 (Arihant Verma, Alumnus NITH)

The Police Troll

This is a story of 2nd year ECE batch, class of 2015. Like every other batch, we were academically divided (mainly for the labs and tuts, I think it is done?) into three groups: D1, D2 and D3. I was 11401 : D1. We had this thing, that whenever 3-4 people’s birthdays would be accumulated over a certain period of time, we’d go to DT or something and have a dinner together, us boys. Girls could never join, because the plan would always be of the nights.

So this was one of those nights, we were in DT. The alcohol people were having it, other people were having dinner and talking and laughing – the usual. One of the persons who was drinking, won a bottle of rum, after successfully completing the metric of a scheme DT was the host of: to drink 60ml, 8 pegs of something(I’m not an alcohol guy, pardon me), without soda or water, back to back in a limited amount of time. So with us 24 something boys, we had a new family member, which we had to stealthily sneak into the college without being caught.

The alcohol people had drunk more than they could carry without letting their legs roll weirdly, each one of them. So we had to assign a couple of people or three, the humongous but funny task, to take care of them and make them enter the college, by the walking paths.

We, the sober people, had one trip of the car which sent 10 people first, and then the DT car came back to pick the other 10. I was in the last 10. Obviously everybody couldn’t possibly fit and sit on the seats, so three of us sat in the trunk. One of us asked the driver to volume up the speakers. Windows were open, the trunk was open, mountain wind was coming in on us and swaying our hair like it was the love of our life. Until, something unexpected happened.

We had the bottle of rum with us, so we obviously took the gate 2 route. But 200 meters before it, we heard the sound of sirens. It was very unlikely that they were of an ambulance’s, since it wasn’t Bangalore. So in those 15 secs (that’s all what we had to act, and act fast), we determined through hit and trial that it had to be the night patrol, and we were to be stopped very soon. Driver stopped the car in those 15 secs, he was smart of a chap to understand it. In the next 5 seconds, one of us was quick enough to grab the bottle of rum, run and hide in the bushes across the road. This was the luckiest thing that happened to us that night.

We were stopped by the patrol, some 4 odd man with their long latthis and the guy who later would we get to know as DSP. We were ordered to come out and answer their loud yelling voiced questions :

“Daaru Peeke Masti karte ho?!”, “Bole! Bolte kyun nahi ab?!”.

We were crap scared. We tried telling them we were not drunk, but they wouldn’t take any answer. We stood in a perfect line on the mudded, secluded, side portion of the road and were constantly fired questions and occasionally their so thick latthis, when we failed to answer any of their questions (by the virtue of the fact that they wouldn’t let us speak, which was mad!). Then all of a sudden, and out of nowhere they started punishing us, right in the middle of the night. They ordered us again with threats unbounded:

“Sab ke sab Murga bano jaldi se”.

We didn’t even have any time to search for clues by looking at each other and were forced by their hands on our shoulders to get down and do what was being directed. So we complied tacitly.

15 minutes down this classroom like punishment, when we were all consoling ourselves in our minds :

“We aren’t drunk, we eventually would be let go of”,

their latthis started charging our bums hard, and harder when we weren’t able to maintain the correct Kukdoo Koo posture, and were being dragged by gravity to the ground. Our fear went to a whole new level. We weren’t able to think straight. After 20 minutes of this disguised classroom like punishment : which turned out to be a chicken latthi charge, we were asked to hold each other’s ears and do sit ups on the count, and oh! I forgot to mention, driver was doing everything with us😀. After around 200-300 sit ups we were allowed to stand after long. They started scolding us again :

“Kya karte rete hain aaj ke ye launde, dikki khuli hui, itna loud music, upar se tez car chala re hain, kuch dimaag hai bhi ya nahi?”.

That was the peak of the loudness of DSP’s pitch, when our CR (class representative) broke. He started crying, and that is when we all felt somewhat at ease, in the hope that something good might happen now. That was the first time, I was assured to look for something good to happen by someone’s crying. That was the most service oriented crying ever. God bless that timely cry.

We were checked for signs of Daaru manually (Hawaldaars closing in on our mouths and sniffing for alcohol). When none of us were found even slightly drunk, they had no other option but to leave us at gate 2 themselves. Of course they had to hold on to something, to ensure we weren’t mad enough to file a case on them for false charging and beating without reason.

“Take care, that you don’t sit in the trunk of a car, play such loud music in the middle of the night again!”.

And while parting, DSP said apologetically :

“I’m really sorry for what happened, if you ever happen to be near the police station, come by for some tea and snacks”.

We were like : “Yeah, right!”. We were stopped at 10 pm. By the end of this drama it was 12:15 am or something. There was another scene at the NBH’s gate, when we weren’t being allowed in. Finally after that was over, we were let in, we swore not to tell this to anyone. But eventually we did, didn’t we😉 The only thing that we kept making cases of over and over was, what if we had been caught with that bottle of rum.

Midnight Hostel Chachu Troll

This too is 2nd year’s story. New Chachu recruits had been given NBH’s night watch duty after 3rd sem. Ravinder came to my room and asked everybody, if anyone was hungry. Everybody was either busy playing FIFA or surfing the internet. I said I was. The moment I covered the steps that led to ground floor, I immediately turned towards more stairs that led to basement floor, but Ravi stopped me and said :

“Ari bhai, saamne waale gate se chalte hain, chachu ko pta lenge”.

I agreed. But when I saw there were new Chachus in the house, I’d already left all hope. 10 p.m. restriction was quite something those days. And on the advent of new Chachus, it was going to be ruthless. But Ravi as patau as he always is, tried to pamper chachus, but they denied. So, the only way we were to not remain hungry was to go by the back gate, as I’d originally wanted. We were coming around from there, but as soon as we were about to reach the front gate of NBH, we saw two silhouettes. But we kept closing in, since we were unsure of if they were people or something else. As soon as we were close enough to realize that they were Chachus waiting for us, so that they could catch us red handed, we were being chased by them in the opposite direction. I jumped off the 7-7.5 feet wall that runs along the boundary of NBH on the way towards Mega Hostel (What’s its official name? Himgiri or something?). Ravi did too, but twisted his ankle given to an unstable landing. But we continued running. Now let me tell you that Ravi is the kind of person who’s so jolly good a person, one can’t remain in an un-laughed state while being with him, even for a while. So when we barged in Shivak Sir’s room, Ravi got so paranoid by the chase that he helped himself into Shivak Sir’s quilt and hid like he was a criminal on the run. It was was surprising that I was seeing Ravi do this. I was in a state of surprise for a while. Shivak Sir and I laughed so hard, he eventually got out of the quilt, completely blushing of embarrassment.

Helping Oneself Down From The Balcony

This too is a 2nd year’s incident (God! did everything happen in 2nd year only? 😀 ). This one I got to know about only when I woke up next wintry day. My roommate, as sloppy as he could get in the winters had his blabber bursting in the middle of night, but was too lazy to come out of the quilt, let alone room. He took the middle path, he went in the balcony of our 4th floor room (B 408, NBH), and relieved himself without hesitation. This cartoon that I made Adeeba make, was published in SRIJAN 2015 and was inspired by him.



An Awesome Answer from CSE Final Year Filmaker Binny Arora

How does the hostel room of AGH and PGH look like? Also who has the most cleanest room of all the girls?

I was asked to answer this.

I once entered Ambika Girls hostel in my second year at around 3 am on a Monday.  It was a plan I had been upto since 2 months. I analysed the entire hostel in those 2 months

  • The number of guards
  • The duty schedule of each guard
  • Acquired a blue print of the entire hostel from our architecture departement with the help of Sanchit Mehta
  • Room numbers of my female classmates

But what was I going to do there and why was I going ?
Because some men aren’t looking for anything logical. They can’t be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. You see, ‘chutzpah’ is the word.

So, I was all set for that night. I ate my dinner at 7:30 and went to sleep since I was tired of the sleepless nights I spent planning this entire adventure.I woke up at 2 am. My roommates were sleeping. I took out the following things hidden in my cupboard.

( Oh, I made the smoke bomb by stealing Potassium Nitrate from our chemistry lab.That explains the 2 months I took. A lot of things were to be worried about you see. Every situation was to be thought upon)

So, I set out wearing black clothes and went my usual way towards the hostel from the OAT forest ( which I had already explored ). I located the fence I felt safe to cut and go through but it was on a 10 feet wall.

Now, How do I climb this wall ?

A month back when I reached the wall. I had to find a way to climb it.

  1. Arrange a ladder. Difficult.
  2. Try throwing a rope on the other side of the wall and somehow get it fixed.Being a less talented guy in these kind of things, I knew it would take       time. I had time. But it would be unusual for a guard on duty to see a rope fixed somewhere around a wall.
  3. Find an elevated area in the forest just behind the wall. Less chances.Found one. Relatively elevated than the rest. Had to take a long run to make a jump to just reach the fence.

I took the third option and made a run towards the wall but ended up hurting myself. After, 4 failed attempts, I  made it to the fence. Took out my swiss knife and started cutting the fence until I could slip myself through it to the other side. I also made sure to fix a rope here and climbed down using the rope. As soon as I  put my feet on the ground, I felt a sense of accomplishment which did not last long as I heard a whistle blown by a guard. But It was the usual one. ( Yes, I had kept this in mind while planning all this while).

Ambika Girls Hostel comprises of a Basement, Ground floor and 4 additional floors. There is no elevator service.
My classmates Sakshi Aggarwal Pratibha Verma lived in D-501 which meant I had to go up 4 more floors.

There I was, facing the D block of Ambika Girls Hostel at 3 am. According to my plan, I had to accomplish the following objectives:

  1. Surprise my female classmates mentioned above.
  2. Click a selfie inside a classmate’s room.
  3. Record a video of me walking through corridors.

There was no chance a guard would see me since the usual patrolling during that time covered A, B blocks ( as per my classmates). I took out my digicam and fixed it near my neck and pressed the record button. My senses were at their highest level of functionality and every step that I took was taken care of as I started moving towards the stairs. After climbing two floors, I saw a girl talking on the phone on the third floor. It was almost impossible for me to go to fourth floor without her noticing me. All I could do was wait for the call to end. It took her half an hour to end the call ( short as compared to usual couple talks) after which I continued to the fourth floor. The passage light on this floor was flickering which gave a little creepy feeling to the whole situation. I found D-501 and knocked. After 5 minutes, Pratibha opened the door and then I heard the most high pitched sound I had ever heard in my life. Within, 2-3 minutes the sounds of doors opening filled the corridor and this was the moment my heart said to my brain ‘ Mission Failed ‘. The brain calculated some parameters :

  • Time taken by guards to reach here assuming they were patrolling near the next block =  5-6 minutes
  • Time taken to reach the stairs from D-501 given I would encounter some girls and they might want catch hold of this thief  = 1-2 minutes.
  • Time taken by me to reach my exit point from the stairs
    = 3-4 minutes  without traffic ( girls)
    = 5-10 minutes with traffic

I calculated I had around 5 minutes to reach my exit point with a chance of encountering the guards on my way. In a few seconds, I pulled out my lighter, ignited a smoke bomb and thew it on the passage floor and pushed myself into the smoke guessing the stairs were 5 steps away. I heard a lot  of confused voices and shrieks when I reached the stairs. It took me 1-2 minutes to reach the ground floor only to see the two guards running towards me under the bright moonlight. I pulled out the second bomb, ignited it and  thew it towards them before making my way to the exit point.

When I reached there, I saw the rope lying on the yard.. I guess I hadn’t tied it properly. So, there I was standing in front of a 10 feet wall with a damaged fence above it and  two guards who could reach here anytime.

It was over. Mission failed. Everything was over. Those two months spent on this plan seemed useless now. Just a shriek by Pratibha and my whole plan went into dust. I was angry. I was hopeless. I was conquered by fear of getting myself suspended. So, I ran for my life alongside the empty yard but where ? I didnt know. I was just running. I could  see room lights being turned on, hear footsteps of girls coming out of their block. But I kept on running until I reached the front side and to my amazement, There was no one at the gate. No one ? It seemed all guards went to D block or must have reached my exit point. So I ran and did not stop until I crossed the bridge near shop number 4.

This was the moment I said to myself “Chutzpah Accomplished” and went back to hostel. While changing my clothes, I realized the camera was missing. I still don’t know where dropped my camera. Who got hold of it ?  It’s a mystery till date.

So, To answer your question about how are the rooms inside AGH all I can say is they are pretty normal based on what I could see beyond Pratibha when she opened the door.


P.S. I don’t know shit about any girls hostel. This incident never happened. I am a loner who sits in his room all day spending time on the internet or sometimes code.

The Egg – An amazing trippy thought.

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.

And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”

“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.

“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”

“Yup,” I said.

“I… I died?”

“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”

“More or less,” I said.

“Are you god?” You asked.

“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”

“My kids… my wife,” you said.

“What about them?”

“Will they be all right?”

“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”

“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”

“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”

“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”

You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”

“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”

“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.

“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”

“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”

“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”

“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”

“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”

“Where you come from?” You said.

“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”

“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”

“So what’s the point of it all?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”

“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.

I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”

“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”

“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”

“Just me? What about everyone else?”

“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”

You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”

“All you. Different incarnations of you.”

“Wait. I’m everyone!?”

“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

“I’m every human being who ever lived?”

“Or who will ever live, yes.”

“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”

“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.

“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.

“And you’re the millions he killed.”

“I’m Jesus?”

“And you’re everyone who followed him.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”

You thought for a long time.

“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”

“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”

“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”

“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”

“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”

“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”

And I sent you on your way…

The Egg
By Andy Weir