I, Also Ran.

AI and me.

A friend posted the above question in a WhatsApp group that I am part of and asked if I would be interested in writing a Substack post about it. Given my limited understanding of technology and AI, the subject felt too complicated for me. But then I thought, let me attempt an answer, too.

I was also born, like most other life forms, to embark on a short journey on this planet. It was the day of a bandh, and my mother, who was in labour, was taken in a newspaper van belonging to The Indian Express, whose driver was kind enough to stop and drop her off at the nearest hospital.

I also survived, as did my mother, in a country where many did not. I learned to crawl, walk, play, run… I also went to school. I also figured out how to read and write in three scripts and count, so on and so forth, like you.

I also loved movies and songs and had a favourite star, like all South Indians.

Since I grew up in Bangalore, I watched movies in six languages, Kannada, Hindi, English, Tamil, Telugu, and Malayalam, in a theatre that screened films almost for free. The theatre was part of a public-sector colony’s hall, which was also transformed into a stage for plays, musical concerts, and cultural programmes. It was unimaginatively named Cultural Hall but had a far better-sounding Kannada name: Kalakshetra.

I also had Akashvani, Vividh Barathi, Radio Ceylon, and later, Doordarshan as my background noise. Then, I discovered shortwave radio, following the Cold War on 13 and 16 megahertz. Neither VoA, BBC, AIR, nor Radio Moscow could buy my also-ran soul.

I also read Indrajal Comics, Champak’s holiday specials, and all the Chandamamas—which, honestly, I found boring.

I also read newspapers The Hindu, which my father preferred, and The Indian Express, which I read in local libraries. Fortunately, several libraries existed in the locality where I grew up, on the outskirts of Bangalore.

I also read a lot of magazines. My learning to read coincided with the golden age of Indian magazines, Illustrated Weekly (which was fading), Sunday, Onlooker, Frontline, The Week, India Today and the women’s magazines my mother read: Femina, Eve’s Weekly, Women’s Era.

The original brief included the word mediocre to define the people, who use tools like ChatGPT to create copies of Studio Ghibli art. I think I am one of them - a mediocre also-ran.

Smithsonian Institute Collection: Bart Simpson "Underachiever and Proud of it, Man!" t-shirt National Museum of American History.

It reminded me of something. In the early ’90s, when cable and satellite TV suddenly accelerated the news cycle, a T-shirt caused a minor controversy. It featured Bart Simpson saying, "Underachiever and Proud of It, Man!" The also-ran in me, struggling with school, immediately identified with that message. I even made a sticker with that slogan, stuck it onto my Hero cycle, and successfully pissed off my mother. Like most parents, she didn’t want me to be an also-ran.

But the truth is that I also belong to the invisible, unconscious mass that populates this fragile subcontinent.

I also logged on to the World Wide Web when it was finally allowed in India. I also tried out Microsoft Paint when I first used a computer. I also stopped writing letters and started sending emails to friends who had moved to other continents for work or study. Then, I also stopped sending emails. I also got a mobile phone, a digital camera, and an endless list of applications, or apps. This leads up to LLMs or AI, which to me seems like artificial, artificial intelligence, an imitation of an imitation, that is built on borrowed words and statistical guesswork that is fun to use, has new apps that we all use for a few times and then move on to the next time-pass.

So yes, I also use AI. I also have no answer to my friend’s question. Maybe, I just belong to the billions who breathe, becoming data for others to monetise. I am also a sponge with a few rupees, located somewhere on that famous pyramid with a large bottom that will never see acche din.

Question:
In today’s world of show and tell, where will the less artistically inclined people go? Not everyone has the aptitude/attitude/environment to learn an art form, let alone express their individuality. Indeed, I’m saying they may not even know themselves but still seek to put their fingerprint out there and seek validation.

I also don’t know who I am or my life's purpose. I don’t even search for a meaning. I don’t put my watermark on whatever I create, though I did think of it like any child who wrote their name on the first painting they made and felt a little proud about it. I am someone who drifts with the tide of technological and cultural shifts without seeking to leave a distinct mark. I also don’t understand the worldview of the Mickey-mice who recognise the value of intellectual property, nor how they use also-rans like me.

Search for a meaning on the streets of Banaglore. This sign is outside Baptist Hospital, Hebbal.

Question:
If AI didn’t exist or didn’t offer Ghibli templates, albeit stolen, what might the pleb put up? It is this very sense of exclusion and unbelonging that drove them to the fascists.

If AI didn’t exist and offer templates, I wouldn’t have known or cared about what the knowledgeable people are thinking and gone about being the eyeballs someone else seeks.

I also had no idea what Studio Ghibli was until a friend introduced me to it as a beautiful film one must watch on Netflix a few years back.

One might assume I am also fodder for fascists. But I am not.

My first breath contained CO₂ at 398.26 ppm. Now, as of April 2, 2025, the atmosphere holds 427 ppm; that’s the only lasting and silent record of my existence. Long after this also-ran is gone, this planet will carry the weight of my breath, absorbed into the air, unmarked but persistent. They say that playing with AI will increase CO₂ emissions, which will probably underscore my presence.

I, also ran.
In circles,
until I stood dead still.

Let the planet spin
with
and
without me
forever.

That’s all, folks.