AIR-AIR-EVERYWHERE-BUT-OXYGEN-NOWHERE..

 (A Short Story by Dr Sivaram Hariharan)

2018AD:  A sweltering 2PM of a Wednesday afternoon in the city of Mumbai. 

A 2km long queue of gasping and panting citizens thronged outside Murali’s hastily assembled Oxygen Kiosk.   Murlidharan Chinniah, 52, owner of MO2, was the global market leader in the supply of Oxygen cylinders.   His clients were, of course, chemical industries and hospitals, but overnight the general public had become his biggest client.  The reason:  The air all over the planet had become close to unbreathable in the last two days, shocking scientists and climatologists with the rapidity of how this deadly transformation had taken place.   Within hours, the oxygen content of the air had plummeted to very low levels and this was even more pronounced in the big cities, where oxygen levels were as low as on the summit of Mount Everest in normal times.  The harried scientists attributed this to the damaged ability of Mother Nature to maintain the oxygen content in the atmosphere due to increased carbon-dioxide content, thanks to global warming. 

There were mass deaths of living things; plants, trees, animals and humans all over the planet – on land and on water.   The rivers and the seas teemed with dead fish and the carcasses of other aquatic life floating as jetsam.  The political leaders across the world had gone on air to contain the rising panic.  They assured their terrified citizens that everything would be fine in a couple of days and that the oxygen levels would recover to their original levels, even though there was no empirical evidence in this regard.  They had now imposed several reactionary measures.  There was a complete ban on all petrol driven vehicles.  Consequently the world economy, dependent as it was to fossil fuels, had ground to a complete halt.  No vehicles, no airplanes, and no ships.

It appeared that humans had embarked on a nightmarish journey.  Day to day life was severely crippled.  It was taxing for humans to take even a few steps, leaving them panting and gasping for air.  As for those on higher floors, especially on skyscrapers, the oxygen deprivation was even more acutely felt.   Floors beyond the 10^th floor of  many high rise buildings become no-go-zones as the oxygen content plummeted to zero. 

There were mass deaths due to asphyxia in many high altitude regions and consequently, there was a mad scramble by humans to get to lower altitudes.   The rush for portable oxygen cylinders, that people could strap on and move about, was manic.  Bitter fights erupted in this frenetic struggle for survival and governments had to enforce strict Oxygen cylinder quotas.   Hoarding of oxygen was made a criminal offence.  People were strongly encouraged to help those in dire emergencies. Oxygen now became life itself.  In such life and death circumstances, paper currency had become completely worthless.  

Enter  Murlidharan Chinniah. His  business fitted like a messiah in all this misery and death. But for those poor in the low altitudes that could not afford this live saving oxygen, life had become a virtual hypoxia-hell.  Many suburbs in the less affluent parts of the world were teeming with blue skinned people, a classic symptom of hypoxia cyanosis when the amounts of deoxyheamoglobin increase in the blood due to inadequate oxygen.  Even those that had access to oxygen complained of bouts of headache, dizziness, vomiting and many had frequent episodes of hallucinations and fainting.

The cell phone vibrated with a buzz in Murali’s breast pocket and it was his wife calling him from their home.   ‘Vegam vaango (come fast in Tamil),’ she sounded hysterical.  ‘There are a group of crazies outside our home and they are demanding that oxygen cylinders be given to them immediately.  I told them that we do not stack these cylinders at our home other than those for our own personal use but they are refusing to listen.  They may tear down this place any minute, such is the hysteria.  Please come here quickly and if possible bring some oxygen cylinders with you to pacify them.  If not, I’m afraid as to what will happen.’

‘Don’t worry dear,’ Murali sounded reassuring even though there was a rising sense of fear building in him. ‘I’ll be there shortly.  Do not panic under any condition.  Tell the mob that I’m getting some oxygen on the way.’ Murali hastily called his assistant manager and briefed him to look after the kiosk in his absence and then ordered one of the kiosk assistant to load up his bicylcle with oxygen cylinders.   But this did not go well with the customers who had lined up at the kiosk, especially those that were at the back. 

‘How the hell can you take so much oxygen cylinders out of this kiosk when you can see the huge line in front of you.  People are dying here and you want to take these cylinders.  We will not allow you to do this,’ a man screamed from the back.

‘I have to take these cylinders to my home’, Murali shouted back.  ‘I have to pacify the mob over there.  They are demanding oxygen themselves; else they are threatening to tear down my home. I have to go. Sorry’

‘If you go now, we will tear this kiosk and lynch you.  For goodness sake, my wife and children are panting to death here and they need oxygen.  If you take these cylinders away, there wouldn’t be enough left for my family.  No sir you cannot go,’ the man threateningly moved towards Murali.  He was joined by a few more from the back.

Murali’s phone vibrated again.  It was his wife again and this time she was audibly sobbing.  ‘They have already entered our house and now ransacking it.  A couple of thugs came and snatched our oxygens too.  Bittu (their youngest son) is in really bad shape.  You know how he’s asthamatic and how the doctors have warned that he should be never off oxygen even for a short while.  And now his entire body has a bluish tinge and he is really panting and gasping in a bad way.  Please bring the cylinders fast.  Else we may lose our Bittu,’ his wife now was wailing at the top of her voice.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be there in a hurry,’ then turning over to the men who had surrounded him now.  ‘I plead with you.  Please let me go.  My son is in big trouble. He is asthmatic and the mob has ransacked our home and forcibly taken away all our oxygen.  If I do not rush now, my son will die.  Please let me take go now.’

‘You are going nowhere,’ the burliest of them stepped forward to block Murali’s way. ‘If you go, we die, our families die and we can’t let that happen.’

‘Please show some mercy, please.  Here, just let me take three cylinders; one for my wife and two for my children.  You can take whatever oxygen in this kiosk free of cost.  Just let me go to my family.’

‘No sir.  Not a single cylinder leaves from here.  Even a cylinder gone from here equates to a life at stake for us.  We cannot let you go.’

Suddenly, Murali lost his temper and punched the burly man on his stomach and rushed to the back of the kiosk.  He hastily picked up three oxygen bottles. But the crowd had gone berserk by then.  It was as if an avalanche of humans that had rolled and tumbled into the kiosk and then it was a complete free for all.  People were fighting each other like animals in their scramble to grab any oxygen cylinder that they could.  Some were even snatching and grabbing it from others.  A couple of people got stabbed and bludgeoned in the melee and now blood started to flow.  Somebody threw an empty cylinder in disgust and it hit Murali square on his chest, instantly cracking a couple of ribs. 

Murali doubled up as the pain vector seared through him.  Somehow, he mustered some strength to head out to his cycle.  His own oxygen cylinder had been ripped off by someone in the melee and now it was an effort for him to even take a step in this oxygen starved air.   Moreover, he had to cycle back close to 5 km to his home.   Alas, even his cycle was mangled beyond recognition by the mob…

The phone rang again and Murali picked it up as if in a trance.  ‘What has happened to you? Why are you not picking up the phone?’

‘The mob has ruined everything here.  How’s my little Bittu. Oh God please save him.’

‘What the hell has happened to you? Bittu and Mittu are at schoo1.’

And that’s when Murali became aware of the stack of mineral water cans in his kiosk.  He was a dealer of these water cans selling spurious mineral water.  His cans actually contained water from a small muddy creek in Lonavala and boiled and filtered through a cloth.  Murali had made a killing in this venture for more than seven years.  And it was only January 2013.

‘You know dear, I just had this very weird and  scary dream,’ Murali let out a huge sigh of relief.  ‘We humans really need to take care of our air.  I believe that we are headed towards big trouble if we do not.  If you think it is water water everywhere but not in my drink today, tomorrow it is going to be air-air-everywhere-but-oxygen-nowhere and that is going to be even more deadlier.’

‘What happened to you dear, you are talking like an environmentalist.’

‘My eyes have opened for the first time dear.  No more selling of spurious water from now on.  I’m going to wind up this business and instead concentrate on investing in some carbon footprint reducing technologies.  How does that sound my dear?’

‘Now you sound like an erudite scientist.’

‘And I’ll pick up the kids today.’

‘Looks like the sun has risen in the west today,’ his wife’s laughter cracked through the receiver into his ears and the sound of it felt to Murali as if there was real hope for mankind’s future.

(Air quality is going to be the biggest challenge for mankind in the future)

Sivaram Hariharan aka Shiva IYER

Copyright 2013:  No part of this Short Story shall be reproduced in any part or manner or form without the explicit permission of the author.