You have to be very skilled in this industry. I grew in this

Host: The factory floor stretched into the darkness — a cathedral of circuitry and memory. Rows of old motherboards, cables, and soldered dreams lay beneath the hum of fluorescent lights. Time itself seemed to echo through the metallic air. The place was half museum, half mausoleum — where progress had both lived and died.

Jack stood near an old workbench, running his fingers across a dusty keyboard prototype. The keys were stiff, yellowed by decades, yet still carried the silent ghosts of invention. Jeeny entered from the other side, her reflection flashing in the broken monitor screens stacked along the wall.

On a cracked glass panel above them, half-faded but legible, someone had stenciled a quote in paint — defiant, proud, and reverent:
“You have to be very skilled in this industry. I grew in this industry; we created the very beginnings of this industry. We made the first PCs in the world.” — Shiv Nadar

The words lingered like a confession of both achievement and burden.

Jeeny: Looking up at the quote, voice soft with wonder. “Imagine saying that — we made the first PCs in the world. To create the future before anyone even knew it was coming.”

Jack: His tone dry but tinged with admiration. “And now that future sits in landfills — rusting dreams and lithium ghosts.”

Jeeny: Turning toward him. “You can be cynical, but that’s the price of vision. Every revolution leaves behind ruins.”

Jack: Nods. “True. But somewhere between the soldering iron and Silicon Valley, invention turned into addiction. Skill became currency. And the industry that began with curiosity became an empire of consumption.”

Jeeny: Crossing her arms, her eyes glowing in the pale light. “That doesn’t make the creation any less magnificent. Think of Nadar and his generation — they weren’t building for profit; they were building for possibility.”

Jack: Scoffing softly. “Possibility’s just potential waiting to be commercialized. The first PCs weren’t born from altruism — they were born from ambition.”

Jeeny: Smiling faintly. “And what’s wrong with that? Ambition is what makes us reach beyond the ordinary. Without it, we’d still be writing on typewriters.”

Jack: Picking up a dusty circuit board. “Maybe we’d be writing more truthfully.”

Host: The lights flickered, as if disturbed by memory. Dust floated in the air like static snow — particles of time suspended between eras. The old machines around them seemed to hum faintly, a chorus of innovation murmuring its unfinished symphony.

Jeeny walked slowly toward a large, glass-encased terminal. Its body was bulky, primitive, yet majestic — like the skeleton of a technological god.

Jeeny: Whispering. “Do you ever think about what it felt like? The first time someone pressed a key and saw the screen come alive — when knowledge itself became visible?”

Jack: Quietly. “Yeah. It must’ve felt divine.”

Jeeny: Nods. “Because it was creation — not of machines, but of meaning. Nadar and his people didn’t just make computers; they made the bridge between thought and action.”

Jack: Setting down the circuit board. “And that bridge now carries billions — every click, every confession, every distraction. It’s no longer sacred, Jeeny. It’s crowded.”

Jeeny: Turning to face him. “You think innovation loses its soul just because it succeeds?”

Jack: Shrugs. “I think innovation loses its soul when it forgets why it began.”

Host: A faint humming grew louder as a motion sensor flicked on an old projection screen. A slideshow of vintage photos came to life — engineers in flared trousers, wires spilling over worktables, young faces lit by the glow of discovery.

Jeeny: Her voice trembling slightly. “Look at them, Jack. They were artists, not just engineers. Every chip, every board — hand-built with care, with belief. There’s a purity in that kind of creation.”

Jack: Watching the images, quieter now. “Purity doesn’t survive scale. The moment skill meets profit, the soul starts negotiating.”

Jeeny: Gently. “Maybe. But even compromise can carry greatness. You can’t dismiss an entire legacy because the world learned to exploit it.”

Jack: “Legacy isn’t invention, Jeeny. It’s interpretation. The inventors built tools; the corporations built cages.”

Jeeny: Steps closer. “And yet those cages still connect people. They still educate, create, liberate. Don’t pretend the story ends in greed.”

Jack: Looking at her now, his tone softening. “No. But it does get rewritten by it.”

Host: The rain began tapping faintly against the roof — a slow, rhythmic percussion that mingled with the mechanical hum. The projection shifted to an image of a younger Shiv Nadar, standing beside one of the first personal computers — proud, resolute, unaware of how monumental that moment would become.

Jeeny: Staring at the image. “He believed skill could change the world. And it did. Every keystroke we make is an echo of that faith.”

Jack: With quiet irony. “Faith in what, though? Progress or permanence?”

Jeeny: “Both. Faith that what we create can outlast us — even if it outgrows us.”

Jack: “And when it turns against us?”

Jeeny: Smiles sadly. “Then we do what creators have always done — we learn again.”

Host: The lights dimmed to near-darkness. Only the old machines glowed faintly, as if the ghosts of circuits past still pulsed with the electricity of memory.

Jack sat down on a stool beside an ancient computer — his reflection merging with its black screen.

Jack: “You know, I envy them — Nadar, Jobs, Gates — all those first builders. They got to be explorers. We’re just repairmen now, fixing the consequences of their dreams.”

Jeeny: Sitting beside him. “But even repair is creation, Jack. It’s just a humbler kind. The world still needs people who remember how things were built — and why.”

Jack: Looking up at her, voice low. “So skill isn’t just making new things?”

Jeeny: “No. It’s also keeping the old truths alive.”

Jack: Smiling faintly. “Then maybe there’s still hope for this industry after all.”

Jeeny: Softly. “Hope — and history.”

Host: The camera pulled back, showing the two figures seated among the relics of technology’s genesis — surrounded by the hum of dormant machines, by invention’s ghosts still whispering through copper and code.

Outside, the storm broke, thunder rolling softly like applause from another time.

The projection faded to black, leaving only Shiv Nadar’s words glowing in the dark — no longer a boast, but a benediction:

“Skill built this world. And only skill, bound to purpose, can save it.”

Host: And in that silence, where ambition and nostalgia intertwined, one truth stood clear — the first computers were not born of profit, but of faith — in human curiosity, in the courage to create, and in the fragile, enduring beauty of building something that thinks with us.