By Rathin Das* There was nothing unusual about Mitun's birthday bash. He turned 15 today, having born in the centenary year of mankind's first use of destructive power of the atom. His father had told him several times that exactly a hundred years before Mitun's birth, human race had tasted the essence of mega deaths by dropping the first atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. That was the significance of the year 2045 A D when he was born. As the guests left one by one, he did not care about the mankind’s horrible deeds of a century before his birth. Instead, he concentrated on the packets left on the table by his near and dear ones, and even by those not so dear to him but befriended his father just to get their bills passed on time, if possible even before the contract work has started. All the birthday gifts were of routine nature. The same old ‘click-and-throw’ cameras, the micro recorders, the computronics game books, the lunar gravity suit or the Neptune gravity