Head hackers

It was a long, sleepless summer. Pills weren't working, and I was staying awake, talking nonsense, tweeting rubbish. For hours, I would listen to dogs and drunks outside, wondering how the hell I would make it to work on time the next day.

I was starving for wisdom. So I turned to video-chatting site Omegle, a dwelling place for naked, wise men. The portal puts two screwballs in one room and lets them chat.

But here is a twist. You have the option of revealing personal information. Of course, nothing good comes out of this. And 90 per cent of all conversations begin like this:

You: Age, gender, location?

Stranger: 40, male, India

You disconnect

or

Stranger: You a beautiful girl?

You: No

Stranger disconnects

I had no time for this nonsense. So I went straight looking for head hackers, a hypnotist species that specialises in hacking your head and reprogramming it, over video chat. They crack open your sleepless skull, fix faulty wiring, and tie loose ends. I needed sleep so bad. I needed a head hacker.

So, I, Net Sherpa, met John on Omegle. This long-haired freak described to me the euphoria of a mind controlled - free will set aside in favour of following instructions. His robotic voice rang around my head.

On video chat, he said he would tap into that part of myself that wanted to be controlled.

So this is how I found myself frozen on a sofa.

John's voice was slow and calming. A strange serenity settled on me as I started surrendering myself to him. He began whispering that my arms were getting heavier, my eyelids were freezing shut. I started to sink in my sofa.

"The deeper you go, the better you will feel, and the better you feel, the deeper you will go," he said. All scepticism melted, and I found myself fading into the darkness, obeying the voice coming from my laptop.

I had a rare opportunity to give my brain some rest. I had become so used to the smartphone tucked under my pillow at night, waking up every hour to read alerts and messages, my brain felt automated all the time, in a different kind of way. WhatsApp and other messaging platforms had created a tyranny of constant contact. On them, I was accessible all hours of the day. As a result, my brain had become hyperactive and I wanted to soften that crazy energy. How ironic then that the Internet came to my rescue.

Head hackers on Omegle can watch your brain at work and make changes to it. John, for his part, was only trying to run a spell-check on my brain and program out sleeplessness.

The head hacker put my mind to sleep in the world's most comfortable bed.

His voice was whispers on steroids. He would say "shhh", and send shivers after shivers through me.

In my teens, I used to believe drugs split off a component of mental activity, sending you out of yourself, only to resurface in a puddle of vomit. During the session, I felt similarly split: half my brain listening; half my brain off. And, on resurfacing, I didn't feel like a zombie.

"My voice is here to help you taste bliss. Just let go. One. Two. Three. Sleep," he said.

I nodded off.

After the session, I was warm. My brain had always felt foggy before, but now all mist had lifted, and it felt bright and sunny, no chances of rain.

John told me that the more messaging platforms we welcome, the more scattered our brains get, and the more sleepless we become.

He also offered to plant himself in my brain, in order to attract me. I passed up the opportunity. Never mind that he got steaming mad, for I reached office on time happily ever after.

aashish.sharma@bsmail.in