The sun beamed just right.
The birds chirped pink tunes of hope
and the air blew soft and cold.
It was all too right. The kind of ‘right’, which is never true. Too right to be true in the city of Sheragona.
Sheragona is also known as ‘The City of Windmills’ because of its monopoly of windmill trade in the country. 60% of the country's wind energy power is supplied by the one-lakh windmills that have been planted here by the philanthropist who believes in 'responsible capitalism.'
Responsible capitalism is a contemporary term associated with ‘green’ multinational corporations wherein, for every 10% of environmental damage done, they would give back one windmill to the society. Nobody knew how much that 10% damage accounted for, but one windmill seemed like a decent enough price to pay.
The windmills powered through fast and wild and were labeled by the company's name ‘Chacko Industries’. The obvious owner of the company was Mr. Chacko who also happened to be the third richest man in the whole world to be featured in the Forbes magazine.
Today, the people of the small city of Sheragona were ecstatic. What was exciting about today was that Mr. Chacko was coming to Sheragona. Mr. Chacko had given them not only a livelihood but also recognition. Everyone in the country knew where Sheragona was. The people of Sheragona demanded respect because of the 60% of the country's wind energy supply. The whole of Sheragona worked on this. Right from 5 years old to 88 years old, everyone was employed here. True that Sheragona did not have many educated citizens, but what was the need?
Mr. Chacko had offered lifelong employment to every ‘limited’ resident of Sheragona. They could serve him forever. The Sheragonians were ecstatic at the setup and gave up their education in the blink of an eye and picked up secure jobs that would guarantee them happiness and stability.
And they were happy, were they not?
Every day, they had the peace of doing the same things over and over again. All of them had jobs and everywhere, everyone could see windmills. It was a fluttering city with no movement. Nobody left Sheragona ever and nobody could enter Sheragona. They were ‘limited’ residents.
To keep the population steady, the Sheragonians had adopted free and open relationships. They had given up on marriage and even religion. Religious activities and celebrations took too much time and they had too much work to do. It was all very set.
In fact, they considered Mr. Chacko to be their mother. He took care of them all, in all ways. All the food they liked was individually pre-packaged and sent to each ‘limited’ resident thrice a day during their 7-Minute Happy Meal time. Everyone gathered together according to their work area zones. They ate and talked heartily for all of those 7 minutes of Mr. Chacko’s 7-Minute Happy Meal Time.
They were all very happy, were they not?
It was now past lunchtime and Mr. Chacko was about to arrive. The birds were soaring pink tunes of hope and although all the Sheragonians were working, they were very excited to meet their mother. Their hands were working but their hearts fluttered and their minds were full of ecstasy.
Well today, Mr. Chacko’s 7-Minute Happy Meal Time had been quite exciting. It did taste different, as sometimes it always did. And it gave them an ecstatic energy rush! And after eating it, they were all too very excited.
Excited, excited, excited! Way too very excited! Excited!
The Sheragonians were waiting desperately for Mr. Chacko, their mother. Just one sight would do, just one sight of him would be enough to appease their anxiety. But they could not see him yet. Where was he? Was he okay? Why was he not here yet?
The Sheragonians began to sweat. Their hands continued to work while their eyes became dry. They had not blinked for 10 minutes as they watched the empty road for Mr. Chacko's electric limousine. Mr. Chacko was a green-man.
The birds had stopped singing pink tunes of hope as their throats hurt too much.
Their capitalist was not being very responsible today. Why was he not here yet? Was he okay? What had happened? They deserved to know and they deserved to blink.
Their hands stopped.
The windmills moved slower. Their eyes were now bloodshot red.
The situation was no longer bright.
The sun was too harsh.
The birds lay almost dead.
The air seemed heavier and harder.
The windmills found it difficult to whirl and churn the strong air.
There was something really wrong with the sky.
The sun seemed too bright.
The birds lay swept and dead.
The air blew hard and strong.
The Sheragonians did not know how to make sense of the air. It all seemed almost impossible. Almost, too wild to be true. Almost like a designed tragedy where all went from good to bad.
Their throats choked and their eyes nearly lost sight. The Sheragonians got down on their knees and did all they could do in times of such helpless suffering. They prayed to Mr. Chacko, their mother. They folded their pride and anger between their palms. And all the ‘limited’ Sheragonians sang.
♪ When all seems to be lost and there is no way to turn,
We pray to you Mr. Chacko, who taught us how to learn.
You gave us food to eat and clothes to wear,
Mr. Chacko, you keep us so happy in your delicate care.
So, when all seems lost and there is nowhere to go,
We turn to you Mr. Chacko, our only hope. ♪
At the word 'hope', the sky began to clear and the windmills slowed down to a halt.
All stood too still. The kind of ‘still’ that can never be real.
And the devoted Sheragonians smiled with disbelief, as their dry eyes looked up at the clear sky. Their hands were still folded with gratitude while their bodies were still sweating as they caught sight of their mother. Mr. Chacko, the green capitalist had mystically arrived in his electric limousine clearing away the air.
The Sheragonians were ecstatic again and their eyes teared up. They could not believe what had just happened. A miracle! Surely, a miracle!
Excited, excited, way too very excited! Excited. Very. Way too!
Mr. Chacko was a very smart green capitalist who was known for designing miracles. He owned many other industries like video game industries, simulation chambers, pharmaceuticals, artificial intelligence companies, and grocery markets. All was under him and he was above all of them.
Mr. Chacko was a green capitalist who did all that he could for his people. They worshipped Mr. Chacko and believed him to be a man with a vast intellect that spread as far and wide as the pink sky above them.
The kind of vast, which was too big and too out of reach to understand.
Mr. Chacko was a very smart green-businessman.
Mr. Chacko waved and smiled at the Sheragonians. The Sheragonians smiled back and teared up with gratitude. Mr. Chacko smiled wider, and wider and wider.
The air once again blew soft and cold. The sun seemed just right.
The dead birds lay dead as a new bird batch just arrived.
The new bird batch cheeped and they tooter-ooed,
the same pink tunes of hope and light.
Navya Sah works in the realms of filmmaking, dance, sound, and writing. Her work studies emotional responses by creating conflicting art. She enjoys simplicity, slowness, and detailed observation-making.