It was a hot and sweaty night in May. Everyone in the neighborhood was somehow surviving with ACs, coolers, and fans. People had just managed to fall asleep when suddenly, there was a loud "thump"—the power went out. It felt like someone hit the "pause" button on life. At first, everyone just turned over in bed, thinking maybe it was a dream. But when the bedsheets started sticking to their backs and sweat started flowing like a river, they realized—yes, the electricity was really gone!
The first scream came from Sharma Aunty’s house: “The damned power is gone again! They won’t even let us sleep!” On the other side, Mr. Gupta smelled a conspiracy: “This is all the government’s fault.” The mosquitoes, however, were celebrating—like someone had handed them the keys to a treasure chest. Suddenly, the whole neighborhood was in chaos. Some ran to the terrace, others dipped their feet in buckets of water, and one guy even tried to climb into his fridge.
Mobile batteries were already dead thanks to all-day WhatsApp University classes. Now, the torch was off, Instagram was down, and peace of mind had also disappeared. Kids, drenched in sweat, were whining “Mumma, give us the fan!” while their mothers were busy fanning themselves with newspapers, trying to create their own little thunderstorms.
Dads escaped to the roof, hoping to catch some “cross ventilation.” But the terrace was already full—rooftops had become public summer relief camps. Downstairs, Verma ji turned on his old radio and played vintage Bollywood songs, trying to distract people from the misery.
Even Tommy, Gupta ji’s dog, was restless. Soaked in sweat, he first scratched the door and then leaned over the balcony—as if he was hoping someone from the electric company would fly down and rescue him. Rumor spread that Sharma ji had written a letter to the electricity department. But the letter was less of a complaint and more of a “love letter” filled with boiling anger, blaming everything from the power system to the milkman.
Gupta ji declared the outage to be part of an “international conspiracy.” According to him, China had hacked India’s electricity so that we’d all roast in the heat . Verma ji immediately forwarded this theory on WhatsApp, and within an hour, it had reached 17 different groups across the country.
The kids turned the whole blackout into an adventure. Some sat under trees telling ghost stories, others hunted mosquitoes with torches, and one boy was even counting drops of his own sweat like a competition.
Meanwhile, Sharma ji’s son Rohan tried turning on his laptop. Just as the screen lit up, the battery gave its final message: “Shutting down.” His scream sounded like he’d missed the World Cup final.
At the street corner, people gathered to discuss the million-dollar question: “When will the power come back?” Some said “in 2 hours,” some “by morning,” and one elderly man declared, “Only when the transformer is reborn.”
In the heat, even Rekha didi stopped putting on her herbal face mask. The sweat was mixing with turmeric and lemon, making her look like uncooked curry.
By 4 a.m., the neighborhood had gone silent. Everyone was too tired to even complain. Then suddenly—thuk!—the power came back! At first, no one believed it, but when the fans started spinning, it felt like souls had returned to bodies. Kids danced with joy.
Sharma ji shouted, “Long live the electricity department!” and immediately added, “But I’ll go visit them tomorrow and ask—what took them so long?”
But one thing was clear—on the next hot night, this drama would repeat. The power would go out again, the mosquitoes would party again, and the whole neighborhood would turn into a live theater once more.
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