Room 3327
Morning light barely filters through the heavy curtains of room 3327 of the New Yorker hotel.
The room is small. Too small for a man who once imagined to power the entire planet. Papers lie everywhere, folded, yellowed, some covered in equations. Others are unfinished, abandoned mid thought, as if the idea ran faster than the ink. No one will ever read them. He knows.
There was a chair, it has gotten too old and used to him now. It creaks under the weight of his frail body.
Once the great Nikola Tesla, now sits in silence and solitude. He rubs his hands, feeling cold now more than ever.
His clothes, once sharp and tailored for perfect fit, now hangs loose on his thin frame.
His face, once full of energy, now looks pale and impassive. Once bright, eyes are now surrounded by wrinkles.
A knock on the door startles him. Hotel staff leaves breakfast. They do it every day. He doesn't touch it. Hunger feels irrelevant as compared to the noise in his head.
Instead, Tesla gets up, puts on his coat and goes out in the crisp air for a walk.
The streets of New York are alive, busy and buzzing. Powered by the ideas he once pioneered, Ideas upon which once world laughed at. Alternating Current, Generators, Induction Motors, Polyphase and long-distance power transmissions, Remote control systems... and many more.
But he is not part of it. As he walks, no one recognizes him. He is a ghost in the city, running on his brilliance.
His ideas were turned down as non-profitable, too futuristic and impractical when he presented. Big names, who were threatened, even run campaigns to portray his ideas as unsafe. Doors closed quietly after that. Promises dissolved. And then came the headlines. Other names. Other men. His work, rewritten. His ideas, repackaged. And his credit, erased with ink and influence.
As he reaches Byrant park, he finds them there, his pigeons. He kneels, scattering seeds from his pocket, watching as they flutter down, surrounding him.
His mind drifts back in past. He imagines himself younger, taller, sharper and stronger.
There was a white pigeon in particular, who used to come to him. She lands gently on his shoulder and flew away after a few seconds as if she had come to say ‘hello’. That's all the warmth he would feel for the day.
On his way return, he sees many things on sale in the streets. But he didn't buy any. Not because he lacks money. Though he does. But because his mind is too restless to notice or feel the need of any of these things.
Back in his room, Tesla stares at the ceiling. The afternoon feels stretched endlessly. He sits by the window, watching the city glow brighter in the sunlight. The world is working exactly as he said it would… But just without him.
He thinks about inventions he never finished, a death ray that could end wars, a machine to harness unlimited energy from the earth. Ideas far beyond his time.
He looks at an old newspaper on the floor. It’s filled with names of people who grew rich off ideas he pioneered. Edison. Marconi. Westinghouse. He should feel anger, but he doesn’t. He’s too tired for that now.
As city light flickers on, in the evening, Tesla watches the skyline glow. Powered by the Alternating Current he invented.
As the evening matured into night, he sits back in his chair. His hands shake. The candle beside him flickers. He opens his notebook one last time and writes, slowly, carefully. He knows, no one will ever see it. But he writes, because writing is the only way he knows how to exist. His thoughts spill onto the page, unfinished but alive
The night grows colder. Outside city hums with electricity, moving vehicles and shines with lights. Inside, the man who lit it up... closes his eyes into darkness and fades into the history. The world didn't pause though. It moved on as if nothing has happened.
Alternating current, which he invented kept on flowing through billions of kilometres of wires, powering countless devices and lights. The Generators and motors which he invented kept on running.
No one will ever say Nikola Tesla created them. Documents, Patents, Newspapers, magazines and Television reports wouldn't validate to that!