The Passion Pandemic

The old railway station of New Delhi is crowded with the usual masses of colorful blobs moving. It’s a determinedly upbeat place, buzzing with the daily hustle and bustle. The double dome architecture, which celebrated its quasquicentennial this past week, used to be regarded as a remarkable feat of engineering and looked majestic; now, the old structure is barely holding up, secretly deteriorating underneath.
The large mood-sensing and aroma-emitting digital signage are strategically placed to capture the passerby's attention. In front of one of the digit signage that reads “Follow the Heroes. Join Engineering” sat a young man in his mid-twenties, seemingly dozed off, holding a dossier in his right hand and a sipper coffee mug in the left.
The public boarding announcement woke him up. It took him a moment to process his surroundings, and then he remembered the meeting. “Oh Shit!!” he exclaimed as he looked at his watch on his right hand and hurriedly paced towards a digital signage Plus e-station.
“When’s the next one” he muttered as he navigated through the e-station. He is surprised that there is still one standing on platform one. “This is unusual,” he thought as the trains usually run 15 minutes apart with impeccable precision.
“Must be the maintenance issue,” he believed as he paid for his ticket placing his left thumb on the screen. Immediately his mood lightens up as the signage releases a soothing scent sensing his time anxiety with a personalized message “Good luck for today’s meeting, Mr. Ahicham!!”
The train car seems only partially filled, that too mostly with youngsters. A dozen of them were scribbling on their Nova Neupad, apparently making portraits of each other. Then there is a group of young kids dancing and making noises beside an old couple who seems bothered by their frolicsomeness.
Ahicham sat far across from them in an empty seat near the door. His legs start shaking involuntarily in anticipation of the meeting. “Hope they don’t hate it,” he thought about the presentation he had to give in front of the entire board. Then as if he recalled something, his focused shift towards the principal figure. “Forget the board. Keep your focus on Mr.Pratish”, he reminded himself about the trillionaire who’ll personally head the meeting for the first time ever.
The train stopped at the C-Chowk station. The series of skyscrapers are the first things Ahicham notices as he steps outside the station, and it always amazes him how the place fills him with a tangible sense of accomplishment every time. He confidently re-assured himself and headed towards the meeting in “Ardour” Hotel, owned by the trillionaire.
Ahicham would’ve remained zestful going into the meeting had it not been the unexpected encounter with “Mr. Pratish” and staff in the lift. He barely made it on time for the discussion, but the thought of entering with the trillionaire left him sweating profusely.
All the board members were already seated in their place, and they all stood up to greet the trillionaire, which went unnoticed by him as he was still busy with his staff. Ahicham’s spotted his senior at the near end, who met him with questionable eyes.
After a few minutes of utter silence, Pratish signaled to start the meeting. Meanwhile, Ahicham used this time to his advantage and was ready with the presentation set-up. He now feels confident, thanking the trillionaire’s assiduity with his staff. Straightening up, he pressed the button on his senior command, and a transparent screen emerged out of thin air in front of all of them, reading the agenda in bold text - “The Passion Pandemic.”
“Let’s first revisit the reason we all know for this circumstance, starting with the genesis of “Fluttering.” There was a famous saying that “Cinema is the mirror of society,” which, as we all know now, is only partially true. The opposite where the mass mimics the movies turns out to be far more dominant than anyone has ever anticipated.” Ahicham articulated his introduction as he glanced around the room, sensing his audience before continuing.
“In the 1990s, the movies featured rich protagonists representing aspiring Indian dreams. Then in the 2000s, experimental cinema gave the audience something new to chew on. Then came the decade of 2010, where not only cinema but every consumable media possible sold the “Follow your passion” movement. Every little bird tried to flap its wings, unfollowing the herd, without understanding that they didn’t even have the right anatomy for it. Nothing much came out of it of course, as they remain at their place fluttering and hovering over the idea”.
Ahicham scanned the room again, witnessing some board members sunken in their seats, listening frivolously. He then reminded himself to focus only on Mr. Pratish, who seems to be only giving his undivided attention to Ahicham. A sense of powerful validation hit him as he continued more enthusiastically.
“Immediately, the next decade witnessed the most deadly viral pandemic ever known to humans, which lasted for twenty years. In its last cycle, the dominant Omega variant wiped out 90% of the world population, including India. Most of the poor working class and lower middle class were completely decimated, and only the rich, a portion of upper-middle-class and a few genetically gifted youngsters survived long enough on their resources until a final cure was found.”
The visual-aid then quickly covered how in the wake of only 10% remaining population and plenty of resources, the country blossomed by the mid-2050s. “The 1st post-pandemic generation gave their all to build for their children. They have lived through hell and wanted nothing but the absolute best for their children. They’ve retained the “following-the-passion” mantra, and subconsciously, each one of them strived to instill the same onto their off-springs.”
“The deeply rooted passion bug spread across the nation, where it became a norm for the 2nd generation. There was also this ill-notion started making rounds amongst the youth that they are the superior specimens, and that nature has removed all the weeds so that only they could flourish.” Ahicham explained, adding the latter info out of thin air, as it was not included in the presentation slides.
At this moment, Ahicham could sense some discomfort amongst the board members. “Shouldn’t have brought up this fact,” he debated with himself, but once again, the calmness and unwavering attention of Mr. Pratish gave him the confidence. “It’s not that they are not aware. I’m just stating facts,” he comforted himself as he continued.
“Now, coming to the present, we have our current 3rd post-pandemic generation entitled to follow the passion. Almost all of them are far from reality, and everyone considers a desk job or a working-class job beneath them. Even if they do, they expect the employers to work according to their wishes. There is a severe shortage of labor-intensive workers, and that’s a sum-up of the passion pandemic we all know of,” Ahicham concluded with a sigh of relief, immediately preparing himself mentally for the main Q&A part coming his way.
“What percentage of shortage are we looking at” asked one of the trillionaire’s staff, who was seated right next to Mr. Pratish.
“Sir, our Centralized Data hub has classified 98% of current youth as "passion babies." Currently, we are experiencing a massive hurdle in recruiting even 10% of people in the worker class. The majority of existing ones are mostly the 2nd generation elders, which is not at all sustainable. And if the situation continues, we forecast major infrastructure setbacks across all Nova Industries”. Ahicham answered confidently.
“So what are the solutions you propose, Mr. Ahicham,” asked Mr. Pratish in a very calm, authoritative voice. It took a moment for Ahicham to process the question as Mr. Pratish’s voice echoed weirdly in his ears. Not only did he not expect the trillionaire to address him directly, but he was also beyond shocked to know that he knew him by his name. He immediately composed himself and then answered, locking eyes with the trillionaire.
“Sir, I am an avid follower of Rangarajan’s school of thought and agree wholeheartedly with his solution-out-of-the-problem approach. Though his proposals seem a bit jarring, they are still the most practical ones.” Ahicham admitted.
“The long-term suggestion is the two-fold approach which proposes to nurture all the orphans into a working-class citizens and simultaneously marketing all these professions as an alluring Heroes Job. It’ll need the lawmakers to deviate from the current egalitarian standards heavily. And as he repeatedly stated, it’s not that the orphans will be exploited with draconian measures; it’s just that they’ll be predestined for a particular job, much like the pre-pandemic era, only now they’ll be heavily compensated.” Ahicham added. “Also, to include passion babies in the long run, we’ll have to bombard them into accepting this as the new norm via marketing, cinema and literature.”
“Mr. Rangarajan. I see,” said Mr. Pratish looking down at the dossier in front of him. “What about the short-term solution he proposed then?” he asked Ahicham
“I agree to some extent with him there,” Ahicham admitted. “I completely agree that it is pointless to keep the prisoners in lavish open cottages with amenities, especially considering present circumstances, and also favor his proposal to unite all influential people such as yourself to pressurize the penal administration to lend them. But I can't entirely agree with the proposal of appointing them only for the lowest level of work.”
“So, let me summarize. In your opinion, both the short-term and long-term solution includes impelling the excluded section of society for predestined jobs. While I also continue to exercise my influence in tech and media to mold the current generation for the herd mentality,” asked Mr. Pratish
“Yes, sir, this seems to be a practical approach, especially considering that all other methods have met with outcry from the parents and protest by this generation,” replied Ahicham.
He was waiting for further questions from the board, Mr. Pratish and his staff, but suddenly the whole ambiance of the meeting room switched to full tilt. All the board members started writing something in their Neupad, and to Ahicham’s surprise, they all began to vanish one by one. “They were present virtually?” a shocked Ahicham questioned himself as he watched all of them sign off one by one.
Then to add to his horror, he saw Mr. Pratish fluttering his eyelids uncontrollably and again heard an echoed voice in his head, only this time it sounded like a mix of a printer and record-player sound. Then Mr. Pratish talked again, this time in a strange monotonous mechanical voice, “Mr. Ahicham. Applicant number 01012125. Your ideas were not progressive enough and didn’t qualify for the ETB (Evolved Thinking Benchmark). You cited a solution that reminiscences of a regressive era. Hence, you are not selected for the Prime citizenship of MSC (Mars SkyCycle). Regard MHTC (Moon Habitat Test Centre).”
“Dismissed” as these last words were ringing in Ahicham’s ears, he woke up with a loud hissed sound as the hydraulic lid of the submerged simulation tank opened. He was nauseous and could sense the burned QR code tattooed on his arm. Immediately some attendant provided him with a towel and a physical copy of his test report. “The Passion Pandemic?, Shit! How could I have failed this simulation module” he thought, reading the scorecard review. The only pleasing thing he got from this report is that he is still selected for applying as a working-class in the MHC (Moon Habitat Colony). “At least I didn’t have to go back to earth,” he consoled himself as he walked out.
“Another one thought he can rig the subconscious simulation tank. Wrote completely different answer in the written test.” Announced junior operator to his head. “It's quite unfair, to be honest. He could’ve tried to change his perspective, you know?” said the head operator.
“You think so?” asked the junior operator.
“Yes. They should get another chance.”
Hissed sound. Another Simulation Tank opened.