The Blinding Light

The night was unusually bright with small bulbs, twinkling like fireflies seen through a rainbow.

It was like any other festive night in a typical Indian calendar, where worries and curries climaxed in the incessant pratter of men and women. I was, after my usual fill of vodka, music and cricket, heading for my hostel room. Not that I was bored, for surrounding me were faces known, dear and a few, I daresay even interesting. There were the usual digs at budding affinities for the opposite sex and the usual concerns about the impending load of the threatening semester. Actually this usual nature of things put me at comfort more than it bored me, so it wasn’t monotony which made me make my move. It was, in fact, a sudden urge to play the harmonica…something I often do break the rhythm of life’s soiree.

The people also picked their poison…some headed for the dance floor, while some for the modest chairs which looked comfortable, but often belied their appearance. Some simply floated around from huddle to huddle, punctuating the conversations with their invaluable inputs before commenting on the tough, fibrous nature of the mutton. I was about to give the party a slip, when a voice from nowhere cornered me..
“ Hey, are you off?”
“ Was thinking about it…what about you?”
“ I have to stay yaar, she is keen on dancing today. Can’t even bargain, was a neat half hour late . Anyway, I have a favour to ask of you.”
I had exactly thirty rupees in my wallet and marginally more in my account, my class notes resembled the footprints of a beetle after revelry in ink and was universally considered to be extremely irresponsible and absent-minded. I was desperately looking for reasons which could make me a remotely useful Homo Sapien.
“ You see, there is this guy…
New to the place? Sight-seeing? No way!
“.. who is blind and has to return immediately to his room. Since his hostel is on the way, could you possibly….”
Aaha! Infinitely better proposition….
“Sure, not a sweat! Where is he? We can leave immediately…”

After being duly introduced to the guy, who turned out to be from the same School of Social Sciences, which housed my academic ambitions, I promptly took him by his arm and set off. His was a wiry frame, with gaunt cheeks and a cinematic pair of goggles that probably sheltered the socketed deformity. As I whistled along the saffron street lamps, he asked whether I liked music or not. A stupid question, I thought, after all, who doesn’t- but politely answered in the affirmative. Not the least because I realized I must have taken refuge to many such questions to strike up a polite conversation on a number of occasions.

The chill in the air was unmistakably being replaced by vacuous heat with each passing day now and as I shepherded my newfound acquaintance, I felt tiny beads on my neck. The roads matched my love life in vicissitudes and the fact that the campus was born off the guts of the Aravalli range seemed significant than ever before. But much to my delight, soon I saw the bright lights of his hostel approaching. Suddenly this feeling of deep satisfaction overtook me; in fact I could almost feel smug expression overtaking my face. After all, for however much trivial, I had been useful in helping the less fortunate. My eyes have actually helped a fellow member of the race overcome his handicap…even though for a short time. As I increasingly fuelled this feeling with even greater sounding words, and felt headier with each passing moment dripped in the wine of altruism, the hostel gate arrived.

Then, suddenly, it happened. Like the solar eclipse, which takes the crow by complete surprise, a power cut presented itself in its total darkness. Not expecting one during this time of the year, a faint ‘shit’ escaped my lips. Though I had come to this hostel a number of times, the delightful maze of umbra and penumbra in front shook me up a little. Forcing my eyes, I stepped ahead with his hand in mine…

The first stumble was actually the lighter one, with a grand one around the corner. It was then when he said-“ Let me take it from here…now you are in my territory”.
He suddenly gripped me and started walking with a confidence of a young boy walking the streets of Kolkata on a ‘Bandh’ at 12 noon. And sure enough he negotiated the bends, the turns and the stairs with consummate ease before leading me to his room and offered a seat…the tables had turned on the Messiah.

The night was unusually bright with a power-cut that persisted for the next four hours.