A Candle in the Dark

I remember days from my childhood when we neither had Inverters nor Emergency lights!

One summer night as I sat reading I heard the clouds begin to rumble and grumble! The wind rose and in no time was a roaring banshee! I walked to the window of the living room and saw the branches of the Neem trees and the Chinese Honeysuckle swaying crazily! Suddenly, the sky was lit up by a huge zigzag flash of lightning and was followed by a loud clap of thunder! The light in the room gave way to complete darkness! Power Failure! Ahhh...!

Like the blind mice I walked around in the dark bumping into furniture! Ouch! I stubbed my little toe against the sofa and limping finally reached the shelf that housed the candle and match box. In the dark I ran my hand along the shelf till my fingers without eyes located the matchbox. I struck a match and saw the candle. Quickly I lit it and breathed a sigh of relief! Darkness is scary!

By now it was pouring outside and the wind howled at the trees and through the skylight of the house. The curtains flapped at the windows. The tiny flame of the candle flickered, almost died and then revived again. I hurried to the window and shut half of it. As I turned I saw the furthermost corner of the room was a jumble of dark shadows and faint light. The shadows danced as the flame flickered. The closer the object to the flame the larger was its shadow. I walked to the sofa and sat down mesmerised by the little tongue of fire. But my fascination was outdone by that of the dull grey moth. He flew in from the bougainvillea that grew beside the window perhaps and now flapped his wings crazily as he circled the flame. His shadow on the wall looked large. I remembered Sylvia Plath talking about the candle being a liar and lost interest in it (You see I don’t like liars much!). I curled up on the sofa and picked up my book (I still remember it was a Nancy Drew mystery – The Password to Larkspur Lane) and got engrossed in the thrill of pretty larkspurs and passwords like ‘singing horses’ and the likes.

The next time I looked up the candle had grown shorter having consumed itself. I remembered my grandmother singing the riddle ‘Little Nancy Etticoat in a white petticoat, and a red nose; she has not feet or hands, the longer she stands the shorter she grows!’ and smiled. The weather had become pleasant and the howling wind had subsided to a gentle breeze. The downpour had changed into a steady pitter-patter of raindrops. The lighting and thunder had rolled on and did not sound or appear so terrifying. I appreciatively inhaled the fragrance of the wet soil, the flowering jasmines and honeysuckle. The sound of dripping eaves was soothing music to the ears! The flame of my candle valiantly flickered in the breeze and then stood tall again! The shadows, now longer still danced about eerily and merrily. The moth had decided not to make a nuisance of himself and perched on the curtain which gently moved in the breeze.

I looked at the clock... no electricity still! Already two hours had elapsed since the power failure! As I wondered if I would have to sleep without the fan tonight, the tubelight blinked and came on just as a strong gust of wind blew out my candle! It went out, smoking in the glare of the electricity fed tubelight! The guttering candle so significant in the dark lost its worth...