I have a sweet tooth

You rang the bell? Come on in. I will not switch on the light. It is not so dark in reality. The sun is not down still. It just feels dark.

Mum says it feels so, especially when you step in from the sun. I see little flashes of light—small circles. You get used to it after a few minutes. If you blink a few times, you can see clearly. Try it. It works, doesn't it?

Step right here. This is my room. I have lived here all my life—all of my years—I am seven today. I am the oldest I have been now. Isn't that great! How old are you? Why don't you come in? It is my birthday.

Mum says there used to be birthday parties earlier. You could get together with others, have fun with friends, shout, play, eat sweets, and blow balloons. No one knows about any of these now but I have seen pictures. The other kids do not talk about birthdays, at least not with me. We are not supposed to know our days of birth.

Mum says it is a state secret. There are so many state secrets now.

I should not keep saying "Mum". Isn’t it? She says calling her Mum is dangerous. But I cannot help it, more so at night. The other kids call Mum Su. I call her Su too when we are out there. She is a caretaker at the department.

Mind the steps, oh, and your head. Did that hurt? I hope not. Ha! I have not had many tall friends.

We always come back down after the sun sets. Mum, Oh sorry sorry - Su says the drones run on solar power, and that is why there are curfews in the evening, because they cannot monitor anything at night.

Poor Bastards.

Sniff, I should not use that word. But you won’t tell. Would you?

Do you know who they are? They are the gorment, you know.

Go-vern-ment. Yes, that. What you said.

Su told me all about them. At first, I thought they were all evil. But, no.

They are just trying to do their jobs, she says.

Cogs of the wheel, she says.

Just that their work is difficult. The wheels of go-vern-ment turn with great effort. And we come in their way, you know. I do not want to come in the drones' way. They seem scary from from the stories I heard, and I cannot even imagine them from up close. Are you scared, too? I bet you are. I have never seen one. Have you?

Come, sit.

Department of Redistribution of Youth. You have heard of it. Yes, that’s what my overall reads on the back. It’s the name of our department.

You see their logo, I love it. This is a picture of a kid with a hand raised toward the sky. We all hold this pose in the morning. I love doing it, my hand goes the highest in the class. It just says DRY on the front breast pocket.

Like yours says, CRY. It is not dry, though. It is very interesting, in fact. Get it. Interesting - not dry? I hope yours doesn’t CRY too. Let me fold the overalls and keep it aside for tomorrow.

It is two sizes too big for me, but Mum says it is for the best, so we do not need to go for measurements again and again. Measurement drones ask for IDs, and we better not risk them seeing ours.

Have this, it is sweet. I like sweet. Mum says I got a sweet tooth from Dad. I have never seen him eat anything sweet, though. Don’t know why she keeps saying it. I asked him, too, if he has a sweet tooth. He never responds, though. Have some, please. It is called candy. Do you like it? Too sweet, you say. Well, maybe your sweet tooth is broken. You should ask you Mum and Da.

How do I call you? You ask. Do I have a name?

Well, names are dangerous. They were always dangerous, Su says.

Even back in the days when the world was wild. You know, back when humans groomed their own offspring like animals. Makes me shiver! Named them, the names carried meaning, history, potential, values, family, everything. No more. The go-vern-ment decided that just two were fine. We are all just Samarths and Sukritis now, the capable ones and a good creation. We get numbers, yeah. What is yours?

Samarth - ZZ97. Well, you are old.

Ol’ Sam!

Don’t tell anyone. I am not really Sukriti - AZZ1. I mean, that is what the others at DRY know me as. But I still live with Mum and Da. They know my name. To them, I am Smrithi, a memory, a memory of times gone by!

Oh, you got that for me! I never get presents. So nice of you. It is very tasty. What is this called?

Cotton-candy Cake… Umm… it is so soft. It is the most amazing thing I have ever had. It’s like - it is made of clouds. Do you have more? You should also take some. Oh, yeah, your sweet tooth is broken. I forgot. I should save some for Mum and Da.

No? Why not? They should be back any time soon. It is getting dark.

How do you know Mum anyway? I have never seen you at the department.

No, I am not going to put my robe back on. Why should I? It will get spoiled in the evening storms. There is so much dust, you know.

I will not go. Not till Mum comes back. Yes, after they come back, maybe with them. You cannot wait. Where are you taking me? No, not the government. You seem so nice. Are you with the drones?

Why do you work for them, though?

You make the world a better place, you say?

By taking us away from our parents, you say?

You want to talk to the readers - to them outside. Yes, I will let them hear you. Go on.

A pause lingers, till it is broken near imperceptibly by a soft voice. In your room. Hear closely.

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You think I do this for myself. Do you think I enjoy it? It is needed, though. Someone has to bear the burden.

You want to know why we do it? Let me tell you the story.

We never knew why births plummeted in certain parts of the world. It is so long ago that you probably won’t even remember. Maybe you were not even born then, or you have had your memory cleansed. But the very fact that you were born and survived is due to me, and more like me.

You see, the world got uneven, and people started moving. But no government liked migration. So, now some countries were empty and some brimming. The world could not sustain itself. That’s when we stepped in.

We are the Caretaker Reform for You (CRY)—global.

We devised the population resilience indices. We ensured that every square foot of the world had only the number of people it could support.

And not only that, the very people it could support. We can tell who will thrive where. It is all very scientific, you know.

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Enough! Mum will be back anytime soon. Stop with your…

Your… Whatever it is.

How can taking my Mum away from me be scientific? How can it help anyone?

Growing children like grain, farming humans, so everyone can have a good life, but no one really does. Moving them around based on some orthodox.. some unknown science, no one even understands. Take your cake, and go away.

Or stay until Mum comes back. Please. I am scared—it is getting dark, even after I blink. The dark gaps in light are not going away.

Mum is not coming back! But why?

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How can I explain to her why?

How do you explain the greater good to a seven-year-old?

What is the meaning of sacrifice to a child?

I just hope she will forget when she grows up, like I have.

And so should you. Have you forgotten?