How Dead Plankton Made the Gulf So Rich

Continuing the journey into the mysterious Earth

For children and curious minds of all ages

Yogendra Deva

 

The television was unusually energetic. Three experts were speaking at once, none listening to the other, while a narrow blue strip labelled Strait of Hormuz flashed as if it were personally responsible for the situation.

“…a critical chokepoint!” one declared.
“Global oil supply at risk!” insisted another.

Aaba leaned forward, trying to understand how all three could be right at the same time.

“Aaba,” a voice said from behind Aaba, “why is Hormuz so important? Everyone seems very… excited about it.”

Aaba turned around rather abruptly, nearly upsetting the teaspoon in my hand.

Mihir stood there, looking entirely innocent.

“Ah,” Aaba said, recovering his balance, “you appear to have walked in looking for some peace… and landed in a global crisis.”

He nodded solemnly. “I came in to escape homework. This looks worse.”

“An unfortunate choice of timing,” Aaba said. “Television specialises in ensuring no one feels calm for very long.”

“That much is clear,” he said. “But how can one narrow passage make the whole world nervous?”

“It carries a great deal of the world’s oil,” Aaba said.

He frowned. “All of it decided to travel through one place?”

“Not all,” Aaba said. “But enough to make people pay attention.”

“And why does that region have so much oil?” he asked. “Did the Earth just favour it?”

“The Earth,” Aaba said, “has its own way of distributing gifts. Fairness is not always part of the plan.”

Mihir leaned forward. “That sounds suspiciously like a story.”

“It is,” Aaba said.

He settled in. “I was afraid of that.”

Aaba put the remote aside.

“Close your eyes.”

“Imagine,” Aaba said, “that we are travelling back. Not hundreds. Not thousands. Millions of years.”

“Dinosaurs?” Mihir ventured hopefully.

“Too dramatic for today,” Aaba said. “This story begins quietly—with creatures you would not notice even if they floated past your nose.”

“That sounds disappointing already.”

“Patience,” Aaba said. “The most powerful stories often begin invisibly.”

When Mihir opened his eyes, the world had changed.

We stood beside a vast, warm ocean. No buildings. No roads. Only water, stretching endlessly under a golden sky.

“Where is everything?” he whispered.

“Right here,” Aaba said.

He squinted at the water. “I see nothing.”

“Exactly,” Aaba said. “Tiny plankton. Algae. Microscopic life.”

He looked doubtful. “Invisible heroes.”

“Small enough to be ignored,” Aaba said, “but not small enough to be unimportant.”

We watched. The tiny creatures drifted, lived, and died. Their remains settled gently onto the seabed—layer upon delicate layer.

“No one noticed them,” Aaba said softly. “Yet they were writing a future no one could imagine.”

Mihir crouched, peering into the water as if effort alone might make the invisible visible.

“This does not look like treasure,” he said.

“Not yet.”

The scene shifted.

Mud and sand began to cover the seabed. More layers followed. Then more. Time passed—not in days or years, but in vast, silent stretches.

“It feels like someone is tucking the ocean floor into bed,” Mihir said.

“Or cooking very slowly,” Aaba replied. “The Earth is a patient chef.”

“That is reassuring and slightly worrying.”

“Heat rose from deep within,” Aaba continued. “Pressure built. The buried remains began to change.”

“Into what?” he asked.

“Into something the modern world depends upon,” Aaba said. “Ancient fuel.”

His expression sharpened. “Petrol?”

“And natural gas.”

He sat back. “All this… from tiny floating things?”

“Never underestimate the small,” Aaba said. “Given time, they can transform the world.”

Mihir looked thoughtful. “And this happened everywhere?”

“Not quite,” Aaba said. “In some parts of the Earth, the conditions were especially favourable. More life, more accumulation, better chances for transformation.”

He nodded slowly. “And the Gulf region was one of those places.”

“Yes,” Aaba said. “For a very long time, everything came together there just right.”

He considered this.

“Right place, right time,” he said.

“On a geological scale,” Aaba added, “those words carry serious weight.”

The silence broke.

Machines roared. Drilling rigs rose against the sky. Oil surged upward.

“That,” Mihir said, stepping back, “looks expensive.”

“It is,” Aaba said. “And valuable.”

We travelled across vast deserts—endless stretches of sand beneath a blazing sun.

“In regions like these,” Aaba said, “the Earth stored enormous quantities of this ancient fuel.”

“Hormuz?” he asked.

“Yes. Much of the world’s oil passes through that narrow passage.”

He frowned. “If something goes wrong there…”

“The effects travel far beyond it,” Aaba said. “Even here.”

He nodded slowly. The television headlines made more sense now.

“One thing is still strange,” he said. “Why is that sea so narrow? Why not a wide-open ocean?”

A promising question.

“Do you remember our earlier chat about the Earth not being one solid piece?” Aaba asked. “It is broken into large sections called tectonic plates.”

“I remember,” he said. “They move.”

“They do—very slowly, but with great force. The Arabian plate and the Eurasian plate have been moving toward each other for millions of years.”

“Like two stubborn people refusing to give way?”

“A fair comparison,” Aaba said.

“When such plates meet, the land between them is squeezed, folded, and lifted. Seas can narrow. Passages can form.”

His eyes widened. “The Strait of Hormuz is one of those places?”

“A narrow doorway shaped by slow, relentless movement of the Earth itself.”

He looked impressed. “Traffic problems of the world… created by plate tectonics.”

Aaba considered that. “An unusual but not entirely incorrect summary.”

“Do we have this ancient fuel?” he asked.

“We do,” Aaba said.

The scene shifted again—this time to lush green landscapes.

“Assam,” Aaba said. “One of India’s earliest oil discoveries.”

“‘Dig, boy, dig!’?” he said, clearly pleased with himself.

“You have been paying attention,” Aaba said. “That phrase is said to have given the name Digbo Aaba to this famous oil field.”

We moved offshore. Steel structures rose from the sea.

“Bombay High,” Aaba said.

“Even beneath our oceans,” he murmured.

“The story is hidden in many places,” Aaba said, “though not in equal measure.”

Mihir grew thoughtful.

“This took millions of years to form,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Some countries became very rich because they had more of it?”

“That is often the case,” Aaba said. “Where you are on Earth can matter as much as what you do.”

“And everyone needs it,” he added. “Which is why people worry… and watch narrow seas very carefully.”

“That is well understood.”

He looked back toward the ancient ocean in his mind.

“Those tiny creatures would be surprised.”

“Very,” Aaba said.

The television returned, still murmuring in the background. The map had disappeared, but the tone had not improved.

Just then, the front door opened.

Mihir’s father walked in, dropped his bag with a familiar thud, and announced, “Petrol prices are climbing again. At this rate, I may have to start walking to work.”

Mihir turned instantly. “Walking might be good for you,” he said helpfully.

His father gave him a look that suggested the idea had already been rejected.

“Very funny,” he said, heading toward the kitchen. “Let’s see you say that when I ask you to walk to school.”

Mihir waited for the sound of retreating footsteps, then turned back to me.

“Aaba,” he said, lowering his voice, “if all this oil comes from ancient oceans… what happens when it finishes? What will Papa do then?”

Aaba considered the question.

“Ah,” Aaba said, “now you are thinking about the future.”

He nodded. “It sounds like everyone depends on this… including us.”

“Very much so,” Aaba said.

“When this ancient fuel runs out… what will we do?”

Aaba considered the question.

“Then,” Aaba said, “we will turn to the gifts the Earth gives us every day—sunlight, wind, water.”

He nodded.

After a moment, he added, “Petrol still smells suspicious.”

Aaba laughed.

“Perhaps that is the Earth’s way of reminding us—
use it wisely.”

This time, Mihir did not argue.