The Candle

Chroma Housing Society stood next to the Central Polis Mall . Around 9 pm the rush on the Airport Road was clearing up , with only heavy traffic visible.  The balcony of Apartment Number 208 on the fifth floor was illuminating with colourful LeD lights and diyas . It was a housewarming dinner by the Ashok's . They had bought this house a month ago and had shifted just a week back . Inside the 3BHK  apartment , the rooms were decorated with flowers and rangoli at the entrance. The balloons all over the place were the hard work of their daughter Riya. The centre of attraction were the imported scented candles at the edges of the hall , which vaporised the whole house with its exuberant smell.  Three other families were called for the dinner that night. Everyone was busy discussing plethora of topics  shares market , foreign education , interior design, fashion etc. Suddenly there was a power cut and all the lights went out.  “ Ah ! Not the right time ”... Mr. Ashok sighed , "Excuse me, I'll come in a moment ” and he went downstairs .  

Others sitting at the dinner table looked utterly distressed at the situation and they   suddenly started talking about the necessity of alternative power options in housing societies and the unbearable weather these days . Riya was moving around the house in a quick manner , she glanced at the scented  candles which were burning , the child was left thinking about the radiance the candles were emanating filling the whole hall with light..  

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Shyama stood there in the kitchen , preparing rotis for the big family get together.  Power cut was a big problem in her place of residence these days. But thankfully , with God's grace their economic conditions had improved and now they had an inverter as well.  She went about gracefully with the everyday task of hers in the kitchen making it look easy. From the window in front of the stove she could see the slum outside their locality , where women were cooking food on clay stoves and going on with their work with the help of candles . Shyama suddenly remembered the hard times their family faced , when before the inverter they used to rely on candles.  Shyama stood there looking down at the women who were sitting together and enjoying this much needed time after another day of hard work.  “ Mummy ” Shyama's ten year old son giggled “ see the roti is burning like coal ”. Shyama at once took it off the Tawa , and felt the effect of the burnt coal on her fingers.  She then shook her head and went on with her rotis as the guest started arriving .

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It was the harvesting season and Raju was just  returning with his father from the fields. After school , 12 year old Raju joined his father who worked as a daily labourer in a landlord's farm to help him out and get some extra money to help the family.  It was getting dark as they reached home . Raju had to finish his homework . There was no power still in Burhanpur which remained aloof from the notion of “100% Electrified India” , which the politicians boasted about sitting in New Delhi . He asked his mother “ Where are the candles ?  Her mother pointed towards the one in the room that was already in use.  She replied sternly “ I asked you to get some while on the way back . But you didn't , this will get over in some time.   Now go wash your hands and come sit I'll serve dinner. ”

Raju's face turned pale  , he immediately picked his school bag and took out his notebook and started with his homework . “ Beta have food first ” , the mother insisted . But the boy  was already busy writing in his copy , sitting near the candle which was slowly dying away. Raju went ahead with his homework , with one eye on the candle every now and then.  His father looked at him from a distance and felt proud at his son's effort. Raju had just finished writing half a page when the candle went off . He screamed “ No ” . His father got up and said  “ Don't worry Beta I'll ask for a candle from the neighbours .”

  Raju sat there observing the darkness , building his morale and  the inner mantle to make things better someday. “SOMEDAY” .

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