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  The managing committee, which normally was pretty efficient in resolving matters related to plumbing or setting out rules about how late people could party, looked clueless. The meeting room was packed, with more than half of the sixty or so people there standing and the four-member committee was sitting facing them, looking at each other, waiting for someone to begin.

  Finally Mrs Khatri, the silver-haired retired teacher who was the head of the committee, began. ‘We have no new information to share, but it’s important that we stay calm. We sent someone to check the surrounding areas and also go to the Powai police station and he has just come back. Let’s hear what he has to say.’

  One of the guards walked to the front, looking pretty intimidated by all the attention he was getting.

  ‘I cycled there, and as far as I could see, every single building is without power, cars aren’t starting and there is no TV or mobile reception. It’s definitely not something only in our area. At the police station, there were folks from Nahar and Lake Homes who had come to see if the cops here had any more information, and it’s the same story there as well. In fact, it seems to be the same way across the city if the rumours are to be believed.’

  ‘What did the police say?’

  I didn’t recognize the man who had asked the question. He was tall, bald, probably my age, and still wearing a rumpled tracksuit that he must have worn to bed. That was part of the problem of living the way we did—most of our waking hours were spent at work or with people at work, and you barely knew the people who lived in the same building as you.

  ‘They know nothing. Their networks are all down and they haven’t heard anything from their seniors. Sounds like the whole city has gone dark.’

  ‘Does anyone know how the electrical grid is set up? Maybe it’s just this part of town.’

  ‘How the hell do you explain the cars? And the generators? And the mobile phones?’

  People were beginning to raise their voices and while I had no desire to get the spotlight, I decided that standing around, speculating and arguing, would not help move things forward. So, I took a step towards the front of the room and faced everyone. I began in a slightly louder voice and brought it back to normal when I’d got everyone’s attention.

  ‘I was at the hospital, and they seem to have figured out how to get one of their generators working. I don’t understand enough about the technology but here’s what they told me.’

  When I had finished sharing what I’d learned, the man in the tracksuit stepped forward.

  ‘I’m Nitish, and I was an electrical engineer. Sounds like anything with a chip or circuit is fried—that would explain the cars. I guess we could try and get our generator to work by bypassing it.’

  ‘Why would that explain the cars?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.’

  ‘I’m Aaditya,’ I said, sticking my hand out, and Nitish shook it.

  ‘Well, the thing is, we’re all kicked about technology and what it does for us, but almost everything we use nowadays has a computer or microchip in it. Our cars, our appliances, even the bloody auto-rickshaws have GPS and electronic meters installed in them. If those are fried, then everything stops.’

  There was an audible murmur as people took that in. Then Mrs Khatri voiced the question that was on everyone’s mind.

  ‘How did this happen?’

  Nitish shrugged. ‘I have no idea, but let’s try and get that generator working before it gets dark. God knows when the power will be back up.’

  I could advise people on whether or not to invest millions of dollars in a venture, could help restructure an organization, could help develop complicated M&A deals, but as Nitish worked on the generator, I realized none of those skills mattered in the least now. He kept at it for several hours, and we had a couple of false starts, but finally, at well after three in the afternoon, a huge cheer went up when the lights in the common areas flickered to life and the elevators began working.

  Anil, the building manager, gathered everyone back in the meeting room where someone had rustled up some sweets that were passed around. Everyone was shaking Nitish’s hand and congratulating him. Nitish, for his part, looked pretty sheepish and awkward at all the attention. Anil instructed one of the guards to turn on the power to the apartments as well. The emergency generator could run the elevators, power lights in the common areas, and the lights and fans in apartments, though not the air-conditioning. However, I knew that choosing to power up the apartments in addition to the common areas and elevators would consume significantly more fuel. The guard was about to rush off and do as he had been asked when something struck me. Quite without conscious thought, I spoke aloud what was on my mind.

  ‘How long will the generator last if we use it for all the things you mentioned?’

  Anil looked at me blankly. He had not thought of it that way.

  ‘Well, the lights always come on soon, so we’ve never had to bother much about that. The longest we’ve needed to run it has been two hours a year ago when the substation had a breakdown.’

  ‘And you’re assuming the lights will come on in a few hours.’

  He stared at me. The thought of anything else happening had clearly not occurred to him.

  ‘Whatever the breakdown is, we have to assume that it will be fixed soon enough.’

  It was Mrs Khatri speaking and I turned to her. Something was bothering me. Back in school, my NCC commandant had told me that every good soldier had an instinct for trouble, that certain something that made him move just when a bullet came his way, or sense when there was an ambush waiting. An instinct that gave maybe a sliver of a second of forewarning—but that was usually enough to save a life in combat. I had been in the infantry wing of the NCC, and he had told me that he saw the same instinct in me. He was another man I had disappointed with my career choice. My decisions may have taken me down a very different path, but those same instincts were kicking in now.

  ‘Mrs Khatri, you know what they say, hope for the best but prepare for the worst.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  I realized every eye in the room was trained on me. People were in a celebratory mood after the generator had been fixed and I knew that I was spoiling the mood. Still, I had to say what was on my mind. Something that my parents, teachers and bosses had long told me would keep getting me into trouble unless I watched myself. Well, I had committed myself, and so I went on.

  ‘Why don’t we just keep one lift running and all the other lights out till there is sunlight? If the lights come back by then, we don’t have a problem anyway, but in case they don’t, then at least we’ll be sure to have enough juice to last the night and beyond.’

  A couple of people groaned, perhaps the thought of living for a few hours without fans bothering them, but Mrs Khatri nodded, looking relieved.

  ‘That sounds like a fair suggestion.’

  She nodded at Anil and he rushed out of the room with Nitish to get working. With the lift running, it seemed like every single occupant had come down. My neighbours were there as well, and Mr Guha came over to thank me.

  ‘A man came from the hospital and they’re saying things there are more under control. The doctor will be here in the evening to work on a solution. I was really panicked in the morning when I realized my heartbeat was irregular and that the pacemaker had stopped. Thank you.’

  Several of the women had set up makeshift stalls and were serving drinks and snacks. I heard someone grumbling about cooking gas but I didn’t linger to listen further. Children were racing along the pathway leading to the parking area. Someone had brought along a battery-powered CD player and a couple of the younger folks were dancing to some rap music, much to the visible annoyance of Mrs Khatri. I was standing in a corner, nursing a Coke that someone had handed me. It was lukewarm, but that didn’t matter. It felt like there was a party or a carnival on. It’s amazing how people can be when they don’t have a TV to mindlessly sit in front of, or the internet
to surf, or WhatsApp or Facebook to connect with people. Or indeed, in my case, work calls to attend. Without any of those things to do, people were doing what they perhaps did before we got all these electronic crutches—they spent time with each other.

  As the sun slowly began to set and the party intensified, I thought that perhaps, in some ways, the power going was a good thing and it disappearing once in a while like this may actually get people to have more fun.

  Later, that old adage would come back to me: be careful what you wish for.

  It was 6:30 in the evening, and as it began to get dark, I saw renewed signs of worry on people’s faces. Till then, I think most people had not even contemplated the possibility of the power not being back by nightfall. Anil had sent another guard to the police station to see if they had any updates, and when he returned, it was with worrying news. More than half the cops, perhaps concerned about their own families, had deserted the station and left for their homes—some on bicycles and some simply on foot. The few that were still holding the fort at the station had no more idea of what was going on than in the morning, and seemed to be no less panicked than any of us.

  Word did not seem to have spread about how to get the generators working, or perhaps every building did not have someone like Nitish, so only a small handful of buildings had any visible lights on. Those that did had all their lights on, not having been as prudent as us.

  Almost the whole society was still gathered downstairs, though the party had pretty much wound up, and people were sitting around or gathered in small groups. I could see many people pull out their mobile phones every few minutes to see if they had revived. The unspoken question on everyone’s lips was when the power would be back, or when we would get any idea of what was happening, but so far there had been no good news, or indeed, news of any sort whatsoever.

  Back in the NCC, one of the roles we had trained for was to complement the Army and civil authorities in times of natural disasters or emergencies, and one of the first things we were taught was to rally survivors into groups to help themselves. The best way of helping people get over the shock of something unpleasant happening to them is to get them busy, give them a sense of purpose. I walked over to Mrs Khatri and called her aside.

  ‘I think we should send someone to see if we can get some diesel from one of the petrol pumps nearby. There’s one opposite IIT and one near R City Mall, and both are no more than fifteen minutes away on bicycle. If this lasts, we will need more diesel for our generator.’

  She looked at me and I could see renewed animation in her eyes. She may have been caught totally off-guard by the morning’s events, but she was known to have a strong maternal streak, the running joke being that she treated adults in the society like the errant kids she had taught for most of her life, and she was now fully engaged in trying to protect her flock.

  ‘Good thinking, Aaditya. I think we should send two groups out. One to gather fuel for the generator and another to go around all the apartments to take an inventory of what people have by way of emergency lights or torches. In a situation like this, we should pool what we have together.’

  When she proposed the idea for a group to go out looking for fuel, several hands went up, and we had more than enough candidates to choose from. Pandey and his men got four of their bicycles and strapped two large canisters to the back of each cycle. Pandey and I were about to leave for the petrol pump near R City, when I sensed trouble. Mrs Khatri had just proposed the second idea of pooling resources and the man I saw shouting in the car park in the morning had stood up. ‘I’m not so sure about this,’ he was saying aggressively. ‘It’s fine to help each other and all that, but I don’t like the direction this is taking.’

  Mrs Khatri tried to calm him.

  ‘Mr Suri, you know we don’t have lights in the flats, and with night almost upon us, we should see what we can do to help each other. We have a pregnant lady, two newborn babies and two families with very elderly people. They do need extra help, and knowing what our stock of emergency lights and torches is will help us ensure they’re supported in case the generator stops.’

  Mr Suri just shook his head, standing his ground.

  ‘It’s not a torch or light I’m bothered about, it’s the principle of the thing. Yes, we all live in one building and should help out, but at the end of the day, we have our own homes and families to look after. This isn’t a communist state where someone can decide to take from one home and give to another because they think they have a greater need. I’m sure the lights will be back soon enough and we won’t need this silliness anyway.’

  A few more voices were raised in his support and Mrs Khatri looked at me haplessly. She was the elected leader of the committee but there was really nothing she could do to force someone to do anything, especially under the strange circumstances we found ourselves in. Seeing her falter, Suri took a step towards her, pointing his finger at her. He was a big man, thick around the waist, but perhaps most of that had been muscle when he was twenty years younger. Mrs Khatri was frail and pushing sixty. She involuntarily took a step back as he walked towards her.

  ‘You can run your committee and pretend to be the leader, but nobody is coming into my home to take my things.’

  You do some things without consciously realizing it, or planning for it. Call it instinct, call it conditioning, but something in me snapped. I stepped between them and looked Suri in the eye. He was big—perhaps just a shade shorter than six feet—but that extra inch or two he had on me would not count for much. I was at least fifteen years younger and in pretty good shape. My eyes bored in on his but I had a smile on my face and I spoke politely.

  ‘Sir, there is no need to get angry. I’m sure we’ll all be fine soon enough, but getting angry at each other will not help.’

  He looked me in the eye for a couple of seconds and then backed away, walking back to his family, muttering something under his breath. I glanced back and saw that Mrs Khatri was looking at me with relief on her face.

  ‘Ma’am, we need to get going to gather that fuel. I’ll take a cycle and go near R City. Nitish?’

  He came over and I asked him to take the second team.

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Because you’re fit and look like you can handle yourself if there’s trouble. Take one of those college kids with you.’

  He looked at me sceptically. ‘Trouble?’

  ‘I don’t want to spook the others, but with the cops leaving the station, no lights, no communication and no news on what’s going on, the wrong kind of people might be getting ideas.’

  He didn’t look entirely convinced but went to ask one of the guards for a bicycle as Pandey and I rode away.

  The last time I had ridden a bicycle would have been some fifteen years earlier, but soon I got the hang of it and was swiftly riding up Central Avenue, followed closely by Pandey. I could barely suppress a smile as he huffed and puffed as he pedalled hard to keep up, but the old Army pride prevented him from asking me to slow down.

  While the morning had seen crowds outside the banks and shops, the road was now deserted and most shops were closed, the employees presumably having gone home to look after their own families. As I approached Galleria, the old collection of shops where people would normally be hanging out at this time, I saw that it too was deserted. We turned right and saw a police van parked near the entrance to the private road that led to our destination, but there were no cops in sight. Most buildings around us were totally dark—either they had not figured out how to get their generators working, or perhaps, as was likely, those generators were faulty to begin with and never been properly repaired. The thought of our building standing out with its lights on in the middle of the darkness as night fell suddenly made me very uncomfortable and I stepped up the pace.

  ‘Pandeyji, hurry up.’

  I think he had also sensed much the same as I, because he started pedalling with a fury, all huffing and puffing replaced by a grim determination. The road to th
e petrol pump was lined with small shops, offices and slums, but all the shops were closed and there were hardly any people to be seen on the road. It was now nearly completely dark since none of the streetlights were working, and all I wanted to do was to pick up the diesel and get back as soon as I could. When we reached the petrol pump, I groaned in despair to find it closed. There was a man near one of the pumps, and he was about to get on a bicycle and leave. I called out to him.

  ‘Please give us some diesel.’

  He looked at me and shook his head. ‘None of the pumps work—they were all hooked to computerized meters and those are all gone.’

  ‘Come on, I’m sure you can do something and fill up the cans I have. I’ll pay you in cash.’

  He got off his bike and came over to me, and now I saw the haunted expression on his face. ‘Forget the gas and get home. Don’t you know what happened at R City?’

  With those cryptic words, he got on his cycle and rode off.

  ‘What did he mean?’ Pandey asked. I looked at him and considered what our options were. We could, of course, try and take some of the diesel, but that would be stealing. Just then, we heard some loud pops. As one, Pandey and I looked at each other. Both of us knew that sound.

  Gunshots.

  The sound was coming from the direction of R City. We rode our bikes back onto the main road and we had barely gone a few meters when I saw the flames up ahead. A fair portion of the mall seemed to be on fire and several people were running around in front of it, silhouetted by the flames. I thought I saw a few men in police uniforms carrying guns, but in the darkness I couldn’t be sure. I felt a tug on my sleeve. It was Pandey.

  ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  We rode back as fast as we could, literally counting down the minutes till we got back inside what we took to be the relative safety of the Hiranandani Gardens complex. It was only when we were back on Central Avenue that we allowed ourselves to relax, but Pandey pointed to a pillar of flame somewhere to our right.