The World that ceases to be Alive yet craves to Thrive

A speculative look at the not-so-distant future

Before you get started

I’ve spent over fifteen years building the systems that quietly power the digital world—data pipelines, platforms, and the infrastructure that turns information into decisions.

I’ve done this across continents, in cities like Mumbai, Chicago, Munich, and now Sydney. Enough time, and enough distance, to understand not just how these systems work—but what they optimize for.

This essay comes from that vantage point.

Not as an outsider looking in, but as someone who has been part of the machine long enough to recognize its patterns—and to question them.

Most of what I write lives at the intersection of technology and the human experience. The analytical and the intuitive. The world as it is being built, and the world as it feels to live in.

This piece sits squarely in that tension. Click below to stay updated

The world that ceases to be alive yet craves to thrive

The world breathes a smog of burning fuel, the smoke of which can be seen over the small catchment of people living in the small towns. One of these many towns is sandwiched between dry mountains where the smog lasts for fifteen minutes; the town folks survive by wearing masks that are wearing thin as the days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years.

The masks barely manage to hide the faint coughs and hoarse tone of the voice coming across the street, where the people are discussing something in earnest. Is there a respite from this forced atrocity? Probably, there is, but it is in no rush to reach the people.

The alarming red light sans the siren is still glowing on the light poles in the streets. It is labelled with a hazardous sign with a big text of 'Warning' slapped on a plank below the light. No other information is needed or provided on the plank. It seems like a common understanding is already established between those who govern the streets and those who occupy them.

I stand there, beneath the glow of the red lights, horrified and perplexed in equal measure. I belong neither to the governing bodies nor to the streets of this town. A rare visitor in this foggy establishment, forgotten and abandoned.

"The Department of Environmental Caution & Remediation" is carved on my batch pinned across my chest. A surly and old gentleman pulls my shirt to have a good look at it and reads the words in his coarse, damaged voice. He gives me a disgusting look and carries on his route. I can sense a common theme among the folks in the town. They have a curious look at a relatively young man, attempt to notice and understand, read the details on the badge, and move on in disgust. There is very little to argue with them.

I have clear instructions. Not to engage, indulge, or get involved with the affairs of the town. A sweeping job at the core, collect those who perish, advise those who are on the verge, and leave the mystery of the town to the people of the town. A clean-up job for a one-man crew.

It is not my first clean-up job. It might be my last.

The device pinned next to my badge begins to beep with a familiar sound. A faint static fills my ears, and a set of instructions follows it closely. Anora, the environment & climate control agent, instructed me to carry out a three point agenda in the next 12 hours before the supervised and automated service picks me up, away from this town, back to civilization.

It is time to get on with the job, and that means making my way onto the narrow lanes of the town into the homes of the settlers. The term home has lost its meaning quite a long time ago.

The town roughly comprise of eighty seven people. I have tagged and catalogued thirty-three of them, as part of my exercise. One of the three points to highlight the state of those catalogued and tagged. Seventeen of them make their way to the incinerator, ten are administered a respiratory device, and the rest are put into quarantine waiting for the inevitable.

I am the fortunate one to experience the smog and the siren with red light for three more times until the marked 12 hours are coming to an end. The smog tends to carry out its job in silence.

The incineration is smokeless and instant. As I watch the last of the batch is done, I am greeted on my device with a congratulatory message.

The smart device has just one message and three new tokens to my credit. "Congratulations on a successful day at your new job. Please make your way to the tunnel and await the pick up."

The tunnel is a narrow lane for the self driving pick up bus to operate between the boroughs. My employers let me use it for free as part of my employment.

The tokens administered to other Government service men and me, like me, are minted by an organization that controls all the supply of power, water, and food in accordance with the Government. It makes for an easy way to maintain the consumption and supply of the resources.

The tokens that I earn today will be helpful for a week's supply of clean air, food, and online access. The world is smaller than the one described in the ancient scriptures, but I like to think it is more efficient.

The pick-up service drops me off at my capsule, and a regulated eight hours of sleep await.

Before you leave

I don’t write about technology because I am fascinated by it.

I write about it because I’ve seen how quietly it reshapes the world around us—how decisions made in systems and code eventually find their way into the texture of everyday life.

Artificial Intelligence feels like one of those inflection points.

Not because it is unprecedented, but because of how quickly it is being normalized, scaled, and absorbed—often without the same level of reflection that went into building it.

If this essay resonates, it probably means you’ve felt some version of that tension too. You will enjoy more of such AI and technology perspectives here.

I explore these ideas further through essays, speculative fiction, and photography—different media, but the same underlying question:

What does it mean to be human in a world being redesigned faster than we can feel it?

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