The Hunter Slayer In Us Will Never Die

As the clock’s second hand inched closer and closer to twelve, the moment he had been waiting for, finally arrived. It was time to subject his body to physical stimulation of the sort, a few million in the world of seven billion would think of executing, on a daily basis. He was one among them. Had been so for the past three days only, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the fire that burnt inside of him each morning, the moment he opened his eyes.

Images of ripped chests and chiseled backs would flash across his mind, as he knelt down to don his running shoes each day after gulping half a litre of water, taking a shit, brushing his teeth and eating a banana with one piece of bread and peanut butter. In the public bus, heading to WeWork, a co-working space he had moved into a few months before, that hosted a gymnasium and a swimming pool on the terrace area, coupled with a smoking zone and comfortable chairs and hammocks placed all around, he would listen to Slayer and feel the rage and adrenaline build up inside him like an imminent volcanic eruption. Only Slayer could do that to him. The American Thrash legends had come to Bangalore on the twentieth of October in 2012, when he had been ten days shy of his eighteenth birthday and the concert had stuck with him till this fine day, remembering how alive he had felt during the violence inside the mosh pit. He hadn’t been able to move the next day.

In times of extreme physical activity, he could taste the pulse of his hunter-gatherer ancestors who had been as fit as the world’s best endurance sports athletes, on their toes most of the day, alive and conscious of every taste, smell and sound in their vicinity, while they protected, scourged and hunted for their band of compatriots, fiercely determined to fight against rival clans in case of conflicts or make alliances in order to secure their required food supplies. He would imagine himself leading one of the bands armed with spears and tools, erecting tents, dancing naked around bonfires with women and killing wild animals, while he pumped Slayer on the loudspeakers inside the gymnasium, diligently executing his routine of the day, modeled on a mix of calisthenics and compound exercises.

After his routine, he would hit the cold shower with a vengeance, feeling as if he was purging his body of all the intoxicating elements that he had ingested over the past few months, swearing never to make them habits again for the remainder of his life, strictly controlling his urges and desires to do so, comforted by the fact that all human desires and thoughts were not a result of free will but rather external stimuli and genetics, that were governed by biochemical algorithms inside the human brain that manipulated his body through chemicals like dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin, cortisol and testosterone among others. He was sure that in his lifetime the human brain could be completely understood and no longer would any human being be subject to unpleasant feelings and sensations that had been honed over the millennia for a life of hunting and not industrial level comfort and luxuries.

He was currently reading Yuval Noah Harari’s third book, 21 lessons for the 21st Century, after being slavishly engrossed by his first two books, Sapiens and Homo Deus. The man was a visionary thinker, a person who had stirred up a revolutionary conversation internationally about the future of Homo Sapiens, us, the only surviving human species of the original six who had walked on planet earth, our superior abilities of co-operating with our fellow sapiens members holding us in good stead against the lesser cognitively developed abilities of the other five.

Post a hearty breakfast, he would proceed to plan his work day.

But before that he would think about her for a few minutes, for he couldn’t help doing so in light of how he much he looked forward to their conversations everyday.

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