8.15am The only thing free in life is bad advice. Especially in India, where from the moment we are born, someone is applying a kala teeka to our forehead on the recommendation of a chachi who once cured someone’s bad back with haldi wala doodh. So, I was surprised to learn that ChatGPT now has over 100 million weekly users in India. This became personal when my younger one emerged from a bedroom to inform me that I was ‘gaslighting’ her. She had uploaded our recent argument into the chatbot. The verdict came swiftly. I was apparently ‘manipulative’ and possibly ‘a narcissist’ because I had refused to hand over her screen-time password. Naturally, I booked an appointment with my therapist.
Since I had to wait a day for the appointment, I had enough time to wonder why Indians suddenly needed artificial intelligence for guidance when we already live inside the world’s largest unsolicited advice, or rather, interference, network. I then decided to conduct some experiments with truth. Not Mahatma Gandhi’s version involving celibacy and moral discipline, but my own, using humans and chatbots as test subjects.
For an entire day, I decided I would ask chatbots and real people the same questions and compare the quality of advice. A buttered toast in one hand, I asked the chatbot, ‘Do you think I’ve become old?’
The reply appeared before I had finished chewing my first bite. ‘Not necessarily. Are you growing older? Yes. But perhaps differently than before.’
To keep the experiment fair, I now had to ask a sentient being the same question. Since the nearest options were my daughter and the dog, I chose the child.
She looked suspicious. ‘You are 52, na? And I’m 13. That means you are 39 years older than me. Which is exactly four times my age. So, yes. Really old.’
‘If only you used your maths skills in school like this!’ I snapped before moving to the next question. ‘How old do I look?’
The machine replied, ‘Looking old is less about age and more about cues like posture, expression, energy and sleep. You can be 22 and exhausted and 60 and vibrant.’
My daughter looked me up and down. ‘Not that old, Mama,’ she said kindly. Then she added, ‘But you have hair growing on your chin now.’
Clearly, I need to put on my glasses when I am moisturising.
As I reached for my phone to ask the chatbot another question, she narrowed her eyes. ‘Why are you texting while talking to me? You keep saying I’m not allowed to do that.’
‘I’m not texting, I’m conducting an experiment,’ I said.
‘See Mama? This is what I mean by gaslighting.’
10am After weeks spent working with my plumber on my balcony’s various leaks, I treat him with the intimacy reserved for second cousins. While he works on my guest bathroom ceiling, I ask him, ‘Why do houses in Mumbai always leak?’
My chatbot had already answered this question with monsoon exposure, humidity, salty air and ageing infrastructure. Perched on a ladder, he looks down at me and says, ‘Didi, water always finds its way.’
‘Can you fix it permanently?’ I ask hopefully.
He shakes his head. ‘What is permanent in life, Didi?’ At this point, I feel like I am in the presence of a PVC pipe-wielding guru instead of Monu plumber. I try once more. ‘At least give me a six-month guarantee.’
‘Even God doesn’t give guarantees,’ he says. ‘Then who am I?’
2.30pm I’d promised to catch up with a friend. As I wait for the lift, I notice two signs: Residents, and Staff and Deliveries. The first lift arrives, and I step inside with the liftman. ‘Why are there separate lifts?’ I ask as we inch towards the thirty-fourth floor.
‘Society rules,’ he replies.
I ask if the staff minds it. He says, ‘No, everyone knows where to go. The only problem is when the staff member is accompanying a resident’s dog. If I tell them to go to the staff lift, then that resident complains, and when we put them in the resident’s lift, the eighth-floor madam complains.’
My chatbot states that common reasons include service movement and adds ‘a class element’. Then it suggests renaming it ‘resident and service elevator’ for neutrality. When I ask it what to do about the maid accompanying the dog situation, it asks me to check the building’s pet policy.
In my friend’s lofty, cool apartment, I am handed cold nimbu pani. I tell her I am thinking of getting an air cooler for my balcony. It has finally stopped
leaking, but I still can’t use it because Mumbai now feels like living inside a Philips air fryer. ‘You should just enclose the balcony and put an AC,’ she says.
‘But then it won’t be a balcony anymore. Also, it’s probably illegal.’
‘Just bribe someone,’ she shrugs.
Later, the chatbot informs me that air coolers work poorly in humid climates and suggests a misting fan and bamboo blinds for the balcony. Great advice
that will also keep me out of jail for building violations.
7pm By dinnertime, I am at my mother’s house. The moment I enter, she squints at me. ‘You have two pimples. One on your forehead and another coming up on your chin,’ she says.
My chin is clearly becoming a matter of grave familial concern. ‘It’s hormonal,’ I say defensively. ‘ChatGPT says falling estrogen affects skin and causes excessive sweating.’
She waves this away. ‘It didn’t happen to me, and my hot flushes were as bad as yours.’ Then she peers again at me. ‘Have you been eating mangoes? When you were a child, you loved them so much that through the season you had a yellow outline around your mouth.’
‘Mom, stop exaggerating. Yes, I have been having a few mangoes now and then.’
‘Have you been soaking them overnight?’
‘There’s no proof that works, see.’ I triumphantly pull out my phone and show her the chatbot response. ‘Scientifically, the idea of mangoes causing ‘body heat’ is not strongly proven, though many families continue the practice culturally.’
My mother looks unimpressed. ‘Has your chatbot ever eaten a mango?’ she asks. ‘Since your Nani’s time, we have soaked mangoes, and nobody got boils. This AI may know science, but has it raised two children into their fifties? And, I’ve noticed, you keep talking about hormones, menopause and getting old all the time. I am 67. Will it be so bad to end up like me eventually?’
‘No Ma, it would be great actually,’ I say.
Then she pats me on the shoulder and says, ‘Just keep your pimply chin up, and it will pass quickly.’
9pm On my sweaty balcony, I tally the results of my experiments with truth. AI can explain humidity, hormones and quote statistics. But it can’t make you wonder if you are learning life lessons while fixing a leak. It can answer questions, but can’t tell you what you need to hear, whether it’s a stray hair or the feeling that your life has stagnated. A machine’s advice is like climbing a tree from the bottom to the top. Humans, like our predecessors, the apes, jump between trees. The leaps are unplanned, and the landings even more unexpected.
A chatbot can never care about your chin unless prompted. Indian families, fortunately or unfortunately, will never require such prompts.
Disclaimer
Views expressed above are the author’s own.
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