The Letter "Esssssssssssssss"

My name is spelt as “Esssssssssssssssssss-a-u-m-y-a

Twas the time when the milk teeth was a vanishing brood, and power cuts were the order of the day. The candles would be lit, and they would bring forth light (not enlightenment as is evident)As you don your mask of innocence, and say the letter “S”, the family would watch on in dark glee as the candles fluttered, before dying out in the wind….”OOOPSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!”

I remember hearing with awe the fact that a powercut in Mumbai made it to National News! This morning, as I beat the morning yawns and legged it to the office – I was told that there had been an unexpected power outage, and we were welcome to go strolling in the park till power was restored – unless of course we had some work that did not require a computer! A generation ago that would have meant work as usual. But for us, it meant childlike glee!

Off we went gallivanting around town, picking flowers and sipping coffee before our world turned dim by the arrival of bright lights. Sadly, there were no candles to say the letter ‘S’ in front of.

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4 thoughts on “The Letter "Esssssssssssssss"”

  1. A day without power is a National Holiday! It happened in Dubai last year- no power for a whole day! Life came to a standstill- chaos at the airport, people came down 75 floors down the stairs and nearly collapsed, traffic signals were down, ATM’s won’t work, supermarkets wrote out bills….it was such a mess! Where we grew up, trees would break power lines in the monsoon and we used to live perfectly normal lives for weeks without power! Talk about technology overtaking your life! Children now think candles are only used for birthday cakes and of course for the ‘ssssssssss….’

  2. what a change from our days. There are times I was thrilled if ‘current’ (that is what we call electricity isn’t it?) goes off, since that gives us an opportunity to skip studies and go and play. But I hate when it shuts down during rainy and humid chennai nights. The days I was up in the night hearing the sound of my father using the “visiri” (hand-fan) lives only in my memory now.

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