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Food

The way we consume food will have drastically evolved, capitalized heavily by corporations to simplify and profit from food. With nutritional science advanced to a point of molecular precision, food will often be consumed in quick, dense nutrient blocks, powders, and inhalable sprays. Fresh foods will be rare and more of a luxury item for the wealthy. Highly specialized food will be developed for specific genetic and health needs, personalized to each consumer.

Water

Water will become a delicacy, no longer essential for daily hydration, as humans will rely on synthetic substitutes. Natural water will be scarce and cherished like fine wines, stored in specialized facilities and controlled by corporations. Water sources will be hyper-regulated, and a rare taste of pure water will be marketed as a premium luxury.

Housing

Housing inequality will widen immensely. The elite will live in expansive, climate-controlled, automated habitats in exclusive zones. Meanwhile, most of the population will endure cramped, deteriorating housing complexes, where overcrowding is common and amenities are limited. Cities will have towering stacks of micro-apartments, where privacy is sacrificed for the little space available.

Education

Education systems will transform, veering away from knowledge-building to heavily state-controlled propaganda channels. The curriculum will be shaped to support government ideologies, conditioning citizens from an early age. Elite private institutions, accessible only to the ultra-rich, will retain some form of independent thought but may come under heavy surveillance.

Healthcare

Healthcare technology will make miraculous strides, with cures for cancer, advanced gene therapies, and robotic surgeries that can repair injuries with incredible precision. However, these advancements will only be accessible to those with extreme wealth, while the majority will receive minimal or outdated medical care. Healthcare will be increasingly privatized, and the gap between quality of life for the rich and poor will widen.

Social Equity

Social equity will deteriorate, with wealth concentration in the hands of a few becoming an unbreakable reality. The lower classes will struggle with constant job precarity and restricted access to essential services, while the wealthy have complete control over legal, educational, and healthcare systems. There will be little hope for upward mobility.

Gender Equality

On paper, gender equality may be legally protected. But, practically, it will still be skewed, with subtle biases persisting. For the affluent, new gender identities will be more accepted, but in poorer circles, the rigid roles may prevail due to lack of access to more progressive education or resources.

Work & Income

Work will become automated in many industries, reducing human job opportunities. Most people will perform precarious gig-based or contract work, with unpredictable income and few benefits. Only high-skilled or creative roles will offer any real stability, and income inequality will reach unprecedented levels.

Energy / Electricity

Energy production will be advanced, with efficient renewable systems. However, access will be highly restricted. In the wealthiest sectors, electricity will be abundant, while most people may experience frequent power restrictions and rationing. Energy poverty will be widespread.

Peace & Justice

Legal systems will become mechanisms for maintaining control, with swift justice for small infractions among the general population and immunity for the elite. Peace will be enforced through heavy surveillance and a constant state of military readiness. Organized revolts will be rare, suppressed by powerful technologies.

Transportation

Transportation will be high-tech, with autonomous vehicles and drones primarily catering to the wealthy. For the rest, public transport will be packed and underfunded. Private vehicles will be a privilege of the rich, and restricted zones will prevent the majority from accessing many areas.

Political Voice

Democratic rights will be eroded, with elections either abolished or heavily manipulated. Only the ultra-wealthy or powerful corporate entities will have any true political voice. Political dissent will be quickly silenced, and propaganda will dominate communication channels.

Air Pollution

Air pollution will persist, but specialized filters and “clean air zones” will be created around elite neighborhoods. Meanwhile, industrial areas and low-income zones will bear the brunt of poor air quality, with many people relying on respirators or masks for daily life.

Noise Pollution

Noise pollution will worsen, especially in overcrowded urban spaces where public spaces are heavily congested. Quiet zones will be designated for the elite, while the rest of society endures constant noise from industries, transportation, and dense populations.

Non-Human Life

Biodiversity will severely diminish, with most non-human life restricted to conservation zones or simulated habitats. Species will survive only under human management, and some may be genetically modified to adapt to the polluted environment. Wilderness will be largely a memory, reserved for wealthy ecotourism.

Chemical Pollution

Chemical pollution in both urban and rural areas will be rampant, with chemicals pervading water, soil, and air. Corporations will implement cleanup operations in wealthy areas, but lower-income zones will be neglected, suffering from high rates of disease and environmental damage.

Water Bodies & Supply

Water scarcity will plague most of the world, with natural water bodies highly contaminated. Water management will be a lucrative industry, with purified water available at a high price. The masses will rely on synthetic water sources, and natural water bodies will be heavily guarded.

Waste Management

Waste will be sorted and recycled in upper-class zones, while lower-income zones become dumping grounds for trash and industrial waste. Advanced waste-to-energy facilities will exist, but their benefits will be exclusive to the elite. Trash in the streets and public spaces will be commonplace for the less wealthy.

Land Use & Streets & Public Spaces

Public spaces will shrink in impoverished areas, overtaken by private developments for elite use. Lower-class areas will have minimal green spaces, with poorly maintained streets and infrastructure. The affluent will have sprawling, green public spaces for recreation, away from the overcrowded masses.

Ocean Pollution

Oceans will face dire levels of pollution, with marine life nearly extinct in some areas. Wealthy nations will have advanced technologies to isolate certain oceanic regions, keeping them clear, while the rest of the seas remain contaminated with waste and industrial runoff.

Effects of Climate Change

The impacts of climate change will be profound, with extreme weather events, rising sea levels, and resource scarcity. Wealthy regions will have high-tech protective barriers and adaptive infrastructures, while poorer regions will be left to face the brunt of disasters.

Urban Agriculture & Greenification

Urban agriculture will become vital, with vertical farms and greenhouse skyscrapers providing fresh produce, mostly for elite consumption. Low-income zones will be devoid of green spaces, relying on processed, nutrient-dense supplements rather than fresh food.

Gender & Sexuality

Gender and sexuality will be freely explored, with a broader acceptance of diverse identities among the youth. However, this openness will face restrictions or backlash in certain regions or conservative areas. Gender and sexuality will remain highly politicized and will often be weaponized in political discourse.

Diversity & Inclusion

Diversity will be promoted in theory but lacking in practice, with major corporations using diversity as a marketing tool. Genuine inclusion will still be rare, and systemic inequalities will persist across races, ethnicities, and economic classes.

Accessibility

Accessibility for physical and digital spaces will advance, but only for the wealthy. The general population will struggle to access even basic amenities, while elite neighborhoods and services cater to the needs of all abilities, using high-tech solutions.

Sustainability

Sustainability will be crucial yet hypocritical. Corporations will brand their products as sustainable but will often ignore genuine environmental concerns. The wealthy will live in eco-friendly zones, while the rest of society deals with deteriorating environmental conditions, with sustainability policies barely touching their day-to-day lives.

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Tabla in 80 years

The tabla, a timeless symbol of Indian classical music, has retained its traditional form for centuries. Now, a futuristic reimagining, the Tabla Practice Matrix, offers a way to bring this instrument into the modern age without losing its soul.

The Tabla Practice Matrix is a sleek, portable surface made of advanced, pressure-sensitive materials that replicate the tactile response and tonal variety of the traditional drums. Each zone is designed to mimic the distinct sounds of the bayan and dayan, but with customizable features. Players can adjust the tonal settings digitally, shifting between classical sounds or exploring new, experimental tones, depending on the style they wish to practice.

This futuristic tabla surface is not just a playing platform but a learning tool. Equipped with AI-powered rhythm analysis, it monitors the user’s strokes and provides real-time feedback. Through vibration patterns and subtle LED indicators, it guides players on finger placement and timing, allowing them to refine their technique with precision.

The Matrix also includes an integrated metronome and customizable rhythm loops for solo practice. Users can select traditional compositions or create their own patterns, transforming the practice session into a more dynamic experience.

Designed for portability, the Tabla Practice Matrix can be easily carried in a small case, making it the perfect tool for practice on the go. By blending tradition with cutting-edge technology, this speculative design offers a forward-thinking approach to tabla learning while staying true to the instrument's roots.

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Robot Intifada : Resistance of 2095 - Draft two

By 2095, Ahmedabad had become a living monument to the brutal intersection of capitalism and fascism. The city, once a thriving center of trade and culture, had turned into a decaying capitalist dystopia, where unchecked greed and authoritarian power had hollowed out every aspect of society. Towering, half-finished skyscrapers loomed over the slums like tombstones, relics of ambitious mega-projects abandoned when the rich had no more use for them. Beneath the steel-and-glass facades of the elite, the poor fought for survival in a world that had long since forgotten them.

In this world, there was no middle ground. The wealthy lived in automated enclaves, far removed from the suffering below, protected by the very systems that oppressed the majority. Meanwhile, the masses—those who did not subscribe to the fascist ideology of Hindutva—were trapped in a nightmare. The systematic persecution of Muslims had become normalized, justified under the guise of national security and cultural purity. The government, dominated by the fascist RSS, had merged capitalism with ultranationalism to create a regime that thrived on the exploitation of the poor and the marginalization of minorities.

Nasir, a 12-year-old boy from the slums of Ahmedabad, was born into this world of violence and repression. His family had lived under the shadow of fascism for as long as he could remember, their lives marked by constant fear. Like countless others in his community, he had witnessed the brutalization of his people at the hands of the state-sponsored paramilitary groups loyal to the regime. The state’s Hindutva ideology—the belief that India should be a Hindu-only nation—had created an environment of genocidal hostility toward Muslims, who were seen as outsiders, undesirables to be erased.

Nasir’s awakening came the day he saw his father beaten into the dust during a peaceful protest against the latest round of Muslim killings. His father, along with other members of the community, had gathered to speak out against the systemic violence that had claimed the lives of their friends and families. But as was the case for decades, their cries for justice were met with batons and bullets. Nasir, watching from the shadows, felt a burning rage rise within him. It was in that moment, as he saw his father’s blood stain the ground, that Nasir decided he could no longer remain a passive observer. He had to act.

Nasir’s rage was not an aimless fury. It was sharp, directed, and, above all, political. He saw how capitalism had created the conditions for fascism to flourish—how the rich and powerful benefited from keeping the masses divided, using religion and nationalism as tools of control. The wealth gap in Ahmedabad had reached obscene levels, with the poorest citizens scraping by in automated, lifeless districts, while the elite lived in luxury, untouched by the suffering around them. Fascism, Nasir realized, was the weapon of the ruling class, a means to protect their wealth and power by turning the populace against itself.

Nasir’s revolution began as an intifada—a grassroots uprising against the fascist state. He understood that direct confrontation with the government was impossible; their surveillance systems, armed drones, and paramilitary forces made open rebellion a death sentence. But Nasir was not alone. Through underground networks, he connected with other young dissidents, not just in India but around the world. The internet, though heavily censored, still offered pockets of resistance, where those who refused to submit to fascism could communicate and organize. In these virtual spaces, Nasir found allies.

One of his closest connections was Cillian, a young Irish activist who had grown up in the anti-fascist circles of Dublin. Ireland, in stark contrast to India, had become a bastion of leftist thought and resistance, its government openly opposing the rise of fascism around the globe. Cillian and Nasir exchanged ideas about revolution, strategy, and solidarity. Cillian told Nasir about historical socialist movements, how the workers in various parts of the world had risen against their capitalist overlords, only to be crushed by the violent apparatus of the state. Nasir, in turn, shared the brutal reality of life under the RSS regime, where Muslims were dehumanized, where dissent was met with death.

Together, Nasir and Cillian formulated a plan. If the state’s surveillance networks prevented communication, then they would bypass them. Nasir, a self-taught engineer, began to assemble a team of small robots from discarded parts he found in the ruins of the city’s old factories. These robots would serve as his messengers, silently moving through the city’s underground, carrying encrypted data packets that no human hand could touch. Nasir knew the state could not be trusted; the Indian government had long since become a puppet of corporate interests, using Hindutva to justify their totalitarian rule.

The Irish government, being staunchly anti-fascist, was receptive to Nasir’s cause. Through Cillian’s connections, Nasir was able to contact members of the Irish Parliament. His message was clear: “India is dying. Fascism is spreading. The world must act.” The Irish government, horrified by Nasir’s reports of state-sponsored genocide, began to rally international support. Ireland’s leaders brought Nasir’s plea before the World Government, calling for sanctions and an investigation into the human rights violations in India. Nasir’s uprising had gone global.

Meanwhile, in Ahmedabad, the majority of the population remained in the iron grip of Hindutva propaganda. State-run media outlets flooded the airwaves with nationalist rhetoric, portraying Muslims as enemies of the state, while glorifying the RSS and its fascist agenda. Schools were little more than indoctrination centers, where children were taught that Hindutva was synonymous with patriotism. The regime had mastered the art of manufacturing consent, using fear and hate to keep the population in line. Those who questioned the narrative were swiftly silenced.

The climate in Ahmedabad, both political and literal, had become unbearable. The extreme temperatures were a constant reminder of the failures of the capitalist state. Summers reached unbearable highs of 60 degrees, while winters were bitterly cold. The city, once alive with the sounds of human connection, had grown desolate. The automation that ran the lower districts was cold and impersonal—machines dispensing food rations, machines processing the dead, machines policing the streets. Humanity had been stripped away, replaced by the efficient cruelty of capitalistic systems.

But Nasir’s intifada was a spark in the darkness. His robots became more than just messengers; they were symbols of resistance. They projected images of the atrocities being committed against Muslims onto the sides of skyscrapers. They hacked into government broadcasts, replacing propaganda with the truth. The regime’s carefully constructed narrative began to fracture, and cracks in the wall of fear appeared. Nasir had given people something they hadn’t had in years: hope.

By the time Nasir turned 13, his revolution had reached beyond the borders of Ahmedabad. The Irish government’s support had brought international scrutiny to India’s fascist regime, and sanctions were beginning to bite. But Nasir knew that the fight was far from over. The regime, desperate to maintain its grip on power, saw him as the greatest threat to their existence. He had become the face of resistance, a symbol of defiance against the capitalist-fascist alliance that ruled India.

When Nasir was invited to speak before the United Nations, it was a victory for the movement. But it was a victory that would come at a cost. As he stood outside the UN headquarters, preparing to deliver his speech, Nasir was assassinated. The regime claimed it was an accident, but everyone knew the truth. Nasir had been silenced because he dared to challenge the foundations of fascism.

Yet, Nasir’s death was not the end of the revolution. The intifada he had sparked continued to grow. The world could no longer ignore the atrocities being committed in India. The robots Nasir had built continued their work, and the ideas he had spread—solidarity, resistance, socialism—lived on. The people of Ahmedabad, and of India, had begun to wake from their long nightmare.

Nasir’s revolution was not just against a regime; it was against a system. It was a fight against the intertwined evils of capitalism and fascism, and it was a fight that would continue long after his death.

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Robot Intifada : Resistance of 2095 - Draft one

It was the summer of 2095, and Ahmedabad, once a vibrant city known for its culture and history, had become a dystopian nightmare. The heat was unbearable, often crossing 60 degrees Celsius, and the air was thick with tension and fear. The streets were littered with the decaying remains of abandoned mega-projects—failed promises of a better future that only served to widen the chasm between the rich and the poor. The wealthy lived in towering glass structures, away from the scorching heat and the chaos below, while the poor, like my family, struggled to survive.

I’m Nasir, 12 years old, and this is my story.

I grew up in the narrow lanes of a forgotten part of the city, where the government rarely visited, except when they needed someone to blame for the country’s problems. My father, a humble tailor, had always told me to keep my head low, to avoid the attention of the "goons"—the word we used for the violent mobs associated with the RSS, the right-wing political group that had terrorized us for as long as I could remember. For over 30 years, they had systematically persecuted Muslims like us, using fear and violence as their tools. The government, complicit in their actions, remained silent.

It was a sweltering day in June when my world changed forever.

I remember waking up to find my father dressed in white, not his usual worn-out kurta, but a crisp, ironed one. His eyes, though weary, burned with determination. He was going to a protest—one of the many that had been erupting in the city lately. But this one was different. It wasn’t just about jobs or food or the crushing heat. It was about life itself—our lives, the lives of our neighbors, our friends, all of whom had been taken from us because of one simple fact: we were Muslims.

I followed my father that day, hiding in the shadows, watching him hold a placard with trembling hands. The protest was small, a group of men and women gathered under the blazing sun, shouting for justice, demanding an end to the killings. As they stood there, I saw the faces of those they were fighting for—my friends who had disappeared, uncles who had been dragged away in the middle of the night, families burned alive in their homes. I felt something hot and fierce rise inside me—a rage I had never known before.

It was then that the police came, not to protect, but to crush. The goons followed, swinging batons and chanting slogans, mocking the protesters. I watched in horror as they beat my father. He fell to the ground, his placard snapping in half. Blood stained the white of his clothes. And yet, even as he lay there, broken and bleeding, he kept chanting, “Justice! Justice!”

That night, as I sat by my father’s side in our small, dimly lit home, I made a vow. I would not let his fight end there.

In the weeks that followed, something shifted in me. The anger that had burned inside me that day had not faded; it had grown. I began speaking to the other children in my neighborhood, those who had lost their fathers, brothers, and friends. We were young, but we were not powerless. We had seen too much, lived through too much, to remain silent.

By the time I turned 13, I had gathered a small group of children, all of us united by our shared pain and anger. We started calling ourselves Azad, meaning "free." We weren’t fighters, not yet, but we had a voice, and we were going to use it. We marched through the streets, holding our own protests, chanting for justice, for peace. People began to notice us. The media called us "the children's revolution."

But the government did not take us seriously—not until the day I stood outside the Prime Minister’s office, holding a letter addressed to the World Government. I had written it myself, detailing the atrocities committed against my people, the systematic persecution we faced. I demanded that the world take notice, that they intervene, or the blood of the innocent would be on their hands too.

The video of me delivering that letter went viral. Within days, I was summoned to speak at the UN headquarters. It felt surreal, a 13-year-old from the slums of Ahmedabad standing before the world’s leaders, demanding justice. I spoke not just for my people, but for all those who had been silenced. I told them about my father, my friends, the heat, the fear, the hatred that had consumed my country.

But revolutions do not come without sacrifice.

The night before I was set to leave the UN headquarters, I was killed. They said it was an accident, but those who knew, those who understood the darkness that had gripped my country, knew better. I was silenced because I had dared to speak the truth, because I had dared to stand up against the fascists who had ruled my homeland for too long.

But my death did not stop the revolution. The children I had marched with, the people who had heard my story, they continued the fight. And though I am no longer here to see it, I know that one day, my people will be free.

This is my story. The story of Nasir, a boy from the slums, who dared to dream of a world where justice was more than just a word.

And though they killed me, they could not kill my dream.