Dust storms pummel Punjab frequently in May and June. They leave behind a trail of uprooted trees and electricity poles. The resulting power outages leave people fuming. During a stormy night in May, the electricity as usual, enacted the vanishing trick and our inverter battery also went kaput after its flickeringly moody, five-hour grudging generosity. Without electricity, it was a long buzzing night of mosquitoes. My wife reminded me of the need to have an emergency light in our home. I knew I had a task on my hands the next morning; I had to look for an emergency light first thing after waking up.
Feeling groggy, I dragged myself to a neighbourhood electric goods shop in the morning. Spoiled for choice by retail showrooms, I was disappointed to find only four varieties of emergency light at the shop. When I complained to the young shop owner about the limited options, he replied apologetically, “Uncle, we don’t keep emergency lights because there’s hardly any demand. If you want a wider choice, search online. I’m sorry.”
On reaching home, I plunged straight into the net. It turned out to be a maddening experience. One link led to another and I was bamboozled by the bewildering variety of emergency lights, all up for grabs! There were emergency lights that doubled as torches, some were equipped with a siren, and some others were solar-powered. I came across one that was equipped with a dynamo; you just shake it to charge it. Very inviting indeed, but since it happened to be a Chinese product, I dropped the idea. Who knows, if it was manufactured in Wuhan?
After experiencing the freedom of choice and thrill that an itinerant window-shopper enjoys in the immense virtual mall, I realised that with so many sellers around, perhaps everyone was looking for an emergency light like me. Each model came with the promise of happiness, of dispelling darkness better than its competitors. Unable to decide which one to buy from the vast array, I gave up in exasperation. All were objects of desire and I wanted all or none. It was a case of a window-shopper’s delight giving way to a strange predicament summed up beautifully by Rajesh Reddy in this couplet: “Dil hai ik zidd pe adaa hai kisi bachey ki tarah/ Ya to sab kuchh hi isay chahiye ya kuchh bhi nahin (The heart, stubborn like a child/Yearns for everything or nothing).”
{{/usCountry}}After experiencing the freedom of choice and thrill that an itinerant window-shopper enjoys in the immense virtual mall, I realised that with so many sellers around, perhaps everyone was looking for an emergency light like me. Each model came with the promise of happiness, of dispelling darkness better than its competitors. Unable to decide which one to buy from the vast array, I gave up in exasperation. All were objects of desire and I wanted all or none. It was a case of a window-shopper’s delight giving way to a strange predicament summed up beautifully by Rajesh Reddy in this couplet: “Dil hai ik zidd pe adaa hai kisi bachey ki tarah/ Ya to sab kuchh hi isay chahiye ya kuchh bhi nahin (The heart, stubborn like a child/Yearns for everything or nothing).”
{{/usCountry}}As the day wore on, I was still undecided and worrying about the approaching night. The eventide was ominous as the deep blue sky disappeared behind dark thunderheads presaging a stormy night once again. The wind that began as a whisper had turned into a gust, and before long it was a gale. I looked sheepishly at my wife. She knew what I was feeling. But she smiled reassuringly and said, “You don’t have to worry. I’ve found an heirloom in the store.” She put on the table an old brass wick lamp with a sparkling glass chimney. My mother used to light it with desi ghee when I was a kid. “This is our emergency light,” she said. There it stood, ready to dispel darkness and gloom with its warm glow, redolence of abiding family love and heart-warming childhood memories! Provisioning happiness at short notice has been her speciality; our family’s emergency light spreading cheer since the day she became my life. swarajraj@yahoo.com
The writer is a retired professor of English in Patiala