Tags:
Journalism of Courage
It was a typical sultry evening. Suddenly the house was plunged into darkness. One of several unpredictable power shutdowns. The inverter, with no time to recharge between breakdowns, had also gone on the blink. I stretched my hand out to my feeble, octogenarian mother-in-law and asked her to remain seated till I got the torch and candles out. 8220;Oh, but I am used to darkness,8221; she said, her voice amazingly loud and confident.
She then went on to describe her experiences of growing up in a Kerala village which had no electricity. The houses were built like tunnels with common walls on both sides. Light, therefore, filtered in from just the front and the back. There would be a single lantern lit after dusk, with the wick kept at the minimum length to ensure its longevity. This would be hung at a central place.
Everybody was encouraged to finish their work while there was daylight. This included trips to the toilet, which was always on the far side of the compound. Occasionally there was an emergency usually because of a child. An adult would then accompany the kid on the odyssey with the lantern and a stick to ward off stray dogs and snakes.
Each opening to a room had a three-inch doorstep and, at the deep end of the house, there was a sheer four feet drop forming the mittam, or backyard. Food would be eaten in the kitchen in the glow of the burning choolah or aduppu.
What my mother-in-law found most intriguing, looking back, was that despite the fact that there were innumerable people around in the households of yore 8212; old people, young couples, children and babies 8212; some who shuffled, some who walked, some who ran or some who crawled about, she could not recall a single major accident having taken place.
As she rambled on, our lights came on. For once I was happy for that power breakdown. It enabled an old lady to identify with the dark and spend some happy moments traversing through memory lane!
