Yes I've been there, endured it, and I can tell you it's quite creepy and clammy. The power cut that woke me up at 10.30am on Monday lasted almost 15 hours
Yes I've been there, endured it, and I can tell you it's quite creepy and clammy. The power cut that woke me up at 10.30am on Monday lasted almost 15 hours. A touching tribute indeed on part of the discom, but one that I wasn't able to appreciate during that exasperating span. Now of course I'm thrilled to learn that a local fault was the cause of the misery and there was in fact no shortage of electricity. Phew! What a relief!
But on that momentous morning, my first instinct was to pick up the phone and address the representatives of the power distribution firm in the most unparliamentary language that years of tuning in to Lok Sabha TV has helped me acquire. A few hours later I passed on the mobile from my arthritic fingers to a family member. He got lucky and was told that a transformer had developed a snag and supply would be restored by 8pm. For a few more hours I half expected Optimus Prime, or at least Bumblebee, to show up and put things in order.
Finally, when it sunk in that there was little hope of admiring the good doctor's flamboyance from the ramparts of Red Fort on telly, I decided to head out.
Didn't they say it was supposed to be a dry day? Well, it wasn't. The prime minister will vouch for that. So will, I believe, the VIPs and 3,500 schoolchildren who heard him huddled under umbrellas and sheathed in raincoats at Lal Qila. My destination was Connaught Place. I reached there relatively unscathed as my autowallah dodged sundry puddles and potholes with sufficient dexterity. After skulking in the corridors for some time in search of dry land and hoping for the rain to abate, I decided it was time to give in to the patriotic fervour that was smouldering inside. So I spent nearly fifteen thousand bucks on objects that I can very well do without (I'm still not sure whether one of my acquisitions is a watch or the Neuralizer from Men In Black).
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Triumphantly, I returned home at 10.30pm to discover that the discom had frustrated my cunning contrivance. Another phone call revealed that 12.30am was now the new deadline. Alarmed by the abhorrent plans that were now coming to mind, I put myself to bed with the happy thought that 40 per cent of India's rural households still lack electricity. That did the trick. When lights came back on at around 1.30am, I was blissfully asleep. Just another day in my life. Just another day in the life of India.
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