Bring on the darkness!

Summer is here! Bringing with it, the inevitable power-cuts. A power-cut during the day is simply a nuisance. But power-cuts at night have always been an event, for as long as I remember!

Age 5 - We lived in a colony with lots of kids. Lots of screaming just as the lights went out, and everybody assembles to play hide and seek. Terrified as I am of imaginary creepy-crawlies in the dark, I avoid that game where I will have to hide in nooks and crannies - what if a giant tarantula lived in there?! I run home and busy myself in bugging my kid sister, or just get in everybody's way until my father devises some cool games to keep me occupied. And I laugh and play until the lights come back. Then I scream..."Nooooooooo lets switch off the lights again!"

Age 6 - My father entertains me with shadow figures that he makes using his hands. He performs an entire story, complete with dialogues and sound effects. I watch fascinated, and try my hand (pun not intended) at it, but succeed in getting only a little yapping shadow puppy on the wall.

Age 7 - I am a regular little bookworm. You can always spot me with my nose in a book. When the lights go out, I just pull my chair close to the candle and continue reading. No amount of coaxing by my parents will tear me away from my book. Then I go too close to the candle and get a couple of hair on my head burnt by the flame of the candle, and I withdraw, screaming, with the smell of burnt hair in my nostrils.

Age 8 - I have realized that reading in the dark is bad for the eyes. So I just keep my book aside when the lights go out, and go out and play running and catching in the dark. Or I play word-building with my parents. If some of my friends dropped by, we play Antakshari or play some games which involve very silly songs and lots of hand-clapping. ;)

Age 9 - I sit around with the other kids and exchange ghost stories. There are half a dozen tamarind trees in our colony, and these apparently house ghosts. We dare each other to walk under the tamarind trees. If a slightly reckless soul steps forward to take up the dare, we follow, making eerie, creepy, howling and creaking noises, and the brave kid turns into a bawling kid.

Age 10 - Influenced by the freedom-fighters, I hold my palm at the level of the candle flame but not right above it, and mouth patriotic dialogues. My little sister, watching from one side, looks at me admiringly, probably thinking how brave her Akka is, to hold a palm to a candle. Of course, like a responsible big sister, I make sure that she gets nowhere near the flame.

Age 11 - I spend all my time staring at the candle flame, and comparing it with the diagram of a flame in my science book. My father has taught me how to run my fingers through the candle flame without getting burnt, and I spend hours doing it, not getting bored. Then he teaches me how to light a candle out of the still hot smoke of a just-extinguished candle. I think this is next only to magic, and blow out and light candles until the table becomes a mess of wax much to my mother's exasperation.

Age 13 - My friends and I take walks around the colony, or sit somewhere and just chat. We whisper secrets to each other and wonder about the mysteries of life. We comment on the guys, and giggle uncontrollably. We look up at the sky and try to identify the constellations. Or count the stars. Or hope to see a shooting star. Horses were needed to drag us home.

Age 15 - Exam time. Just curse the electricity board and continue studying with the aid of an emergency lamp.

Age 17 - My sister and I are into serious singing. The moment the lights go out, left with no alternative, i.e. no books and no TV, we automatically pick up the Tanpura, tune it and start singing. The deep resonant twanging of the Tanpura. Our clear voices in perfect harmony with it soar through the darkness. We revel in the sound of our own voices in the silence. My mother, half-ground chutney in the mixer forgotten, just sits and listen to us, probably thanking the darkness for hiding her tears of joy at hearing us sing.

Age 20 and after - Quiet moments on the terrace or balcony, alone. Breathing the crisp night air. Looking at the moon.
Or precious moments with parents. A mat on the terrace floor, lying on it, with my head on my mother's lap, looking at the sky. Serious discussions underway, about the future.
Quiet conversations with my sister. About life, love, friends, hopes and dreams. Spontaneously bursting into song.
Or just sitting with eyes closed listening to my mother hum, or my father play plaintive notes on his Hawaiian guitar.

Yesterday - A lovely walk. After dinner, Just sit and talk with S. Slip into a comfortable silence. Enjoy the peace and happiness that comes with being together and doing nothing. Listen to the silence of the night.

Rather strange, isn't it? Power cuts have caused loads of misery and inconvenience, but if I think back, all I remember are the happy moments!