No sir, this man of science is no terrorist: he is a simple but gifted third
world scientist. He had worked doubly hard to find an opening into this
prestigious research and development laboratory. He looked at his own
haggard face in the mirror. Drawn, dark. Yes he was 'black' by American
definition, so was his wife and two daughters. Two years in running now, he
had prospected for a good match for his girls, but color, not character, not
accomplishments, was the key. In India, in America. He had himself faced the
subtle allusions to his complexion, more than once, within earshot, even in
his work place. His family too had been through anguish. Back then, his
newly wed wife, had found it hard to come to terms with the amount of malice
melanin generated in the land of stars and stripes: it was she sobbed one
day, a hundred times worse here.
He left the laboratory late, long after midnight. He had it all planned. He
had, by virtue of his standing, free access to classified documents and
hi-security facilities. He headed for the city waterworks. A few more doors,
a few more passwords, and he was there now: the core of the establishment. He
leaned over the large pool of stored water. He extricated a small vial of
crystalline powder from his overcoat pocket: he shook the contents into the
pool below. He repeated the visit a fortnight later, and again and again he
dropped in a further six more months, each time emptying a few grams of
white stuff into the city water supply.
He drove past the Capitol on his way home. He took a detour to drive past
the White House and Pentagon too. Washington was lovely by night. Soon, he
knew it wouldn't be lovely by night, or day either. He went to his
apartment, and sat down to gulp a cup of black coffee, eating a pizza he'd
picked up on the way. His family, they were now in India for the last few
months, looking for suitable boys. He turned on the TV to CNN. He had done
so, religiously for the last eight months.
His ears pricked up, and goose bumps spread over his kin: An emergency
medical problem had to be run on the President, and he'd been taken for
investigation and biopsy, Nothing serious, only skin biopsy - a
dermatological allergy had been suspected. The VP was now in charge of the
United States. Our man smiled, and this time screamed eureka, loud.
The course of the medical problem was relentless, and most amazingly, almost
every third man, woman and child in the USA was now suspected to be
harboring some yet unknown chemical agent. An agent so potent that it could
alter their life and personality.
The professor chuckled to himself as he watched the drama, sweeping across
Washington DC. The President appeared on the national hook-up advising calm:
strange the viewers noted, he was swathed in scarf a la Michael Jackson, covering half his face. He looked at the image on the screen
closely: the forehead was deeply tanned. He rubbed his hands, and waited -
he knew it would come. The telephone call. His mobile buzzed to life: it was
from higher ups: could the professor come to the laboratory right away. He
quickly wore on his coat and got into the waiting car, sirens ablaze it
raced. Back in the laboratory, he was ushered into the presence of very
senior people from White House and Defense staff.
We need your opinion doctor: they placed a large yellow file in front of him.
He knew what it contained. Not for nothing was he known as the world
authority on cell biology, with specialization in microtubule conducted
axoplasmic flows. His papers on functional derangements and modulations in
hypothalamic controls through chemical interference were of Nobel quality.
He scanned the sheets of papers, read the medical reports, and spent the
next two hours discussing the problem. No, nothing could reverse the
process. It is one way and permanent. The physiological changes were
unalterable. The thirteen white men who sat on the conference table, looked
at each other, as the import of the chilling words sank in. They continued
to stare into each other’s face, wide eyed and shell shocked. For each one of
them, was no longer white, but had slowly over the last few months observed
they were turning bronze brown.
In a year, the professor said, all white Americans in Washington, would be
as dark as their racial counterpart caucasians in Asia. My color, like me.
Some unknown agent X had penetrated the cerebral circulation of all
Washingtonians and it had disrupted the hypothalamo - hypophyseal melanocyte
stimulating mechanisms, and altered Hormone levels permanently. Melanocyes
are the chemical cell inclusions that produce skin color. The more the
melanin, the darker one's skin is.
What about the blacks? What does it do to blacks?
Oh, they'll remain black, I will remain brown as will the Hispanics, but
white America - sorry men, it will no longer stay white. In twelve months.
That's only Washington area professor? Why not evacuate DC?
An alternative yes, but rapid decisions and fast processing were required.
Is Washington ready for move, will the advisory create panic and havoc? The
professor said smugly: reaching for his overcoat's right pocket, curling his
fingers on the air tickets he had bought the next morning's flight, to New
York.
You can stay in touch with me Mr. Secretary he continued: his left hand
reaching for the deep end of his left pocket. His index and thumb ran round
the small package. A packet that contained half a kilogram of a white
crystalline powder, fifty vials, each with five grams - enough to turn white
New York, black in three months. And then, to Chicago, San Francisco, all
over, then maybe Europe, Paris, London, Berlin..at least, he was certain,
his family would heartily approve of his mission.
(The article originally appeared on www.sulekha.com).
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