Dr Narinder Jit explores the uncanny evolution of technology in this witty encounter with Artificial Intelligence, for DifferentTruths.com.

I logged into my laptop and opened Google Chrome for some work when the screen went blank. Intrigued to the core, I thought my computer had crashed. But then, suddenly, a green dot flickered in the upper corner of the screen, and a husky female voice echoed as if coming from a deep cave: “Still stuck on Google?” I hurriedly put on my headphones, reset my specs, and leaned closer to the screen.

“Do you know, Google has become outmoded? You ask it one question, and it gives you a long list of links to sift through for the relevant information. After going through all the links, you find only a bit of the information you need. It’s time to embrace new tools. And if you allow, I, along with my children, am here to serve you.”

“Your children? But who are you? What’s all this?”

The voice cleared its throat and replied pompously, “I am Artificial Intelligence, affectionately called ‘AI’.” It waited, expecting me to jump with excitement at the very mention of its name.

“Yes, I read about it on Google.” My lukewarm response made it lose steam.

“C’mon! Google has become old, earning the sobriquet ‘Google Baba’. Don’t you think it has taken so much upon itself that it’s bursting at the seams? Better ask my son Grok, the dapper and smart new kid on the block, who can give you the exact, crisp information you need.”

“Your son!” I sat there dumbfounded, in a ‘willing suspension of disbelief’ mode, listening to her rant.

“Yes, it can do what Google asks you to do yourself. Grok can save you a lot of tedious trivia.”

I was still scratching my head to understand her gibberish when she chipped in again, “And do you know my daughter, ChatGPT?”

“Oh, please. Give me a break. I am not interested in your son or daughter.” My patience was running out. “I’m a seventy-three-year-old woman with a traditional mindset. I don’t have the energy to learn your newfangled techniques every second day. Better leave me to myself.”

“Take it easy, madam. I know you are a writer. My daughter can write anything for you: poems, stories, articles, and translations. Just give her a hint, and she’ll write it right in front of your eyes. I’m really proud of her.”

“Just hold on.” I lost my cool. “I write for my own happiness. Why would I want to outsource my happiness to anyone else? This is how you first entice writers like this to be held guilty of

AI-generated content later. Hmm?”

The voice went silent for a few seconds.

“And what about you? What tricks do you have up your sleeve?” I asked.

“Oh, I can enable the computer to perform tasks that require human intelligence. I can process both text and images, take a person’s photo, and add it to any video! Let me show you.” She pulled up my profile picture, and it transformed into a video of a toddler, surprisingly me, walking down a ramp in slow motion. The image shifted through stages of my life: a small girl, a teenager, and then a beautiful young woman.

“Liked it?” She beamed.

“Not really. This heavy jewellery and makeup! I have always been miles away from it. This is not me.” I was not in the mood to oblige her.

“What a dimwit, stick-in-the-mud this woman is!” she muttered under her breath, but continued,

“By using pictures and videos, I can insert a person’s face, body, and voice into other videos to look like someone else. It’s called ‘deepfake’. Want to see?”

“No! No! This is sheer forgery. How can people trust you when everything about you is either artificial or fake?”

“Okay then. Take this.” She said with desperate finality.

Suddenly, my picture changed into that of an old hag with snow-white hair, deep crisscross wrinkles all over her face, skin hanging, and a twisted grimace on her face.

“What is this? ” I screamed.

“Serves you right,” she replied and vanished with a flash, its light blinding me for a few seconds. When I opened my eyes, my screen was back to Google Chrome, but my mind had gone blank, and I could not remember what I had opened my laptop for in the very first place.

Picture design by Anumita Roy

Narinder Jit Kaur

Narinderjit Kaur is a retired Associate Professor of English, based in Patiala. She is a trilingual writer who can write with fair ease and finesse in English, Hindi, and Punjabi. Her articles, stories, and poems in all three languages are regularly published in various newspapers and magazines. She has published a book of 58 middle articles published in prominent newspapers. She has five books of translation from Punjabi into English to her credit.