It’s almost 5.00 AM. The power went off at 12.00 AM. I just returned from the balcony. I’ve spent time watching the dogs in the street. Though they eat garbage, I couldnt help feel they live much better lives than we do. I envy their freedom, their freedom from things like power cuts, water supply problems, duty, “goals in life”, attachments, morality, their freedom to terrorise passersby at will, their laidback lives, the bindaas attitude they sport when they yawn spread out like lions on car tops, watching their human counterparts running around like rats in their cars and going about their pitiful lives.

It’s mid-August but it’s still hot and humid. For the last three weeks, temperatures have been like 35 – 38 degrees Centigrade, relative humidity about 80% to 90%, making it feel like 44 – 45 degrees effectively. Add to that the “force multiplier” of power cuts, for atleast 5-6 hours daily.

Anyway, it’s late, I’ll just go to bed and try to sleep. What else can I do? I dont have much choice do I? I’m just assuming the power will return. I’m also assuming I’m in the capital city of our great country. I’m assuming I’m living in a metropolitan city and not in a remote village. I’m assuming I’m a circus animal.

Circus animals are completely at the mercy of their masters. What they do, when they do, what they eat, where they live, everything is decided by their masters. Likewise, when I study, when I sleep, when I wake up, how much sleep I get, everything is decided by the power distribution company here.

Ah leave it, it’s already 5.00 AM. I have a class at 9 and I have to wake up at 8. So, all the sleep I get for today is 3 hours. I hope I wont doze off in the classroom tomorrow. I hope I wont vent my frustration on somebody else. I’m not going to shave tomorrow, I’m going to wear a crumpled shirt, I’m not going to smile so that I look as ugly as possible, as if to say “Danger. 440 Volts. Maintain distance.”
As I write this, all our respectable politicians, from our “champion of the poor” that 19th century ol’ bastard, Prakash Karat (this “champion of the poor” moves around only in airconditioned cars), to our honourable Prime Minister, must be snoring in their bedrooms. Rahul Gandhi must be fantasizing, moaning in pleasure “Yes! Yes! Yeees!” at the very thought of becoming India’s future Prime Minister. And they must be reaching for their blankets. It’s 5 AM. The airconditioning must’ve got too cold eh?