On how I lasted even when the power didn’t...

Well, this is no sad refrain from Somnath Chatterjee, Saurav Ganguly or even Dayanidhi Maran from my own backyard.

Just my outpouring, when the power snaps in the middle of my REM and refuses to come back. Serves me right for feeling great that the power went off only once in the morning – the mandatory 9-10 AM (it always goes off sharp at 9 but no guarantees on when it will come back!). No power cuts during the entire day. And, the Power Authority in Noida hit back with a vengeance and how!

Alright, I lie in bed, eyes tightly shut but hoping this is just part of a dream (or nightmare?). No, but it aint so. Half an hour later, I nudge a happily sleeping husband to part with his cellphone. It is 3:09 AM. Great. The IPL match ended around 12.30. I bugged Sakthi by insisting on talking about events of the day for another half an hour. I bet he has refined the art of mechanically saying yes, hmm, haa even while asleep. And, barely 2 hours later, there is no power.

I lie in bed with one eye shut – trying to tell myself that it is only to witness the miracle of power coming back at some point. Another 15 minutes (add up please! For the mathematically challenged, it is 3:24!) and I think it is a great idea to check mail and any FB updates. FB has 2 new notifications. Somebody has left a comment on somebody else’s status and somebody (it is a 3rd somebody) has commented on somebody (add up again! It is the 4th somebody now!) else’s photo. Great! Nothing useful for me.

I can understand that other Indians are not as power hungry (see? I can pun even with one eye shut!) as I am and are fast asleep. But, what the hell are my friends in other parts of the world doing now? I mean, somebody (5th somebody) should already be warming the coffee pot in Singapore – an early riser that is. Or somebody (6th – I give up, don’t you guys know to count at all?) in the La Land of the Free and Home of the Brave should be in a micro brewery (support the small guys in a recession), warming a seat there and drinking up beer in some happy hour scheme. How difficult is it to leave a consoling message for me? How cruel!

On to Gmail. Two messages. 1 Message from Satish Chetty on Apple’s Baby Shaker application which is reprehensible (quoted verbatim!). I mean, at this point, I am wide awake to notice polished nuances of an English journalist. Reprehensible? Dude! Just say it – Disgusting, Fuck all, Sucks or something. What is reprehensible? Are you writing down about Silvio Berlusconi’s lascivious remarks to his female cabinet colleagues? Even that is plain disgusting only!

Well, okay. The other one (there is no 7th somebody here, just referring to the 2nd message) is an offline message on Gmail chat from a friend about how he never received my birthday wishes left on his voicemail. I know where this is going. At this rate, my birthday is going to suck big time. What if everybody who forgets (or intends to forget) gives this same excuse?

As you can see, by 3.27 AM, I have had enough and I am pounding away at the keys. While Sakthi lies next to me still asleep. You know, what sounds like a gentle purr while the fan is running at full speed now sounds like an operatic crescendo belted out by Luciano Pavarotti. I am referring to Sakthi’s snore. I gently slap him (alright, I admit it was a little violent but then how much can you deal with in 1 night?) to sush him. He wakes up with a start, sits straight up and says this is why I need power back up (like it is some software application running on battery power on his laptop) and falls back to sleep.

I have a great idea for an Olympic sport - Mosquito bashing in the dark. These mini-monsters are in full swing now, attacking me with gusto. Even as I am lying in bed, one eye still shut (I don’t need to keep both eyes open to write this shit), they buzz around my ears. As if Mr Pavarotti was not enough to assault my ear drums. How difficult can it be to focus and just clap your hands and bringing about the glorious defeat and death of mini monstrous mosquitoes? I congratulate myself on chances of becoming India’s first female gold-winning Olympian. Who knows? With due apologies to Vijender Singh, if a Padma award does come my way, I may even skip the do a la the Indian skipper of the cricket team. Hey, wait! Is that why he is called the Skipper? He skipped the awards ceremony – see? Nay! Deadly mosquito bites don’t reduce my ability for stinging puns.

It is 4:03. I can’t take it anymore. Sakthi is duly woken up from his slumber and shown this inspired masterpiece. Sakthi grunts – good hai. I mean, does he have a choice? No power at home (no reference to his domestic status), a wife who is unable to sleep and vents with words, mosquitoes buzzing in his ear (rather than the hangover from two nights ago) – gotta give the poor guy a break.

On giving poor guys a break, the title of this piece may well refer to Manmohan Singh who lasted as India’s PM despite having no powers. Come on, we all know that Soniaji was the real power!