Parjaai ji!

Year: 2004.
Location: A Dubai condo.

The elevator took us to the 11th floor.

A sweet female voice announced:

“You have reached the eleventh floor.”

I looked left.

Right.

Up.

Down.

Couldn’t spot the owner of the sweet voice.

Realising it was a machine speaking, my Punjabi reflexes surfaced.

“Okay, thank you, Parjaai ji.”

(Punjabi for sister-in-law)

I don’t know why I said it.

But that day, a new relationship was born.

Ever since, I have addressed every disembodied female voice in a machine as Parjaai ji.

Alexa is Parjaai ji

Google Assistant is Parjaai ji

Delhi Metro is Parjaai ji

And now the car is also Parjaai ji

Technology has changed.

My terminology hasn’t.

One morning, half asleep, I heard an argument coming from the kitchen.

Madam was scolding someone.

I assumed it was domestic help.

But no, it was Alexa Parjaai ji at the receiving end.

“Alexa, you stupid, don’t you understand?” “I’m saying old songs, not odd songs”

Madam applied another trick, “Alexa beta, why will I listen to odd songs?” Didn’t work.

And now the car has started talking. In fact, more complaining than talking. “Tyre pressure is low,” “fuel level is below a quarter of a tank”, and so on.  Shut up for God’s sake! I will survive.

And the most powerful and chatty Parjaai ji yet is AI. Full-on conversations.

I’m dreading buying a new refrigerator as I’m sure that too is talking and maybe watching too. Maybe it doesn’t let me take out my third beer, saying “No sir, that’s enough for the day”

OTR Footnotes:

Thankfully, all Parjaai jis have understood one command clearly: STOP

Research continues to change the car Parjaai ji’s accent.

A day will come when phone Parjaai ji will understand the difference between Asha, Isha and Aisha

Last Sip

Elevators have turned otherwise intelligent people into professional button-pressers.