The fiddler of Kodihalli and other stories

His son Satish was trying to land a date with his colleague and muse, Suma. The last forty five minutes of wooing over his cellphone had merely yielded "Can we do it some other time? I have guests coming over today." Satish knew this was just a way of checking how badly he wanted to meet her. He was ready to woo for another hour if needed. His battery was running out. So he ensconced himself near his bed, got the charger running and continued, "Hey Suma, you'll get bored with relatives dear, I'll be so much more fun, don't you think?" Swathi, his sister was tapping away on her laptop, responding to scraps she had received on her Orkut page.

And thus it was, that Sunday morning. An urban nuclear family of four - each absorbed in splendid isolation. Until the power cut, that is. Unable to satisfy the burgeoning demand, the troubled power company had initiated a load-shedding programme. The communication from its PRO had been printed two days back in a two inch by one inch block on page seven of the daily newspaper. The Sastry family had missed this nugget of information. Disquiet descended on the house as the TV screen went blank, Swathi's budget laptop popped up a futile notification saying "attempting to reconnect" not realizing that the modem was dead, and Satish's cellphone emitted a plaintive beep suggesting that it was very low on battery as well.

In about five minutes, after uttering their respective curses, mother, son and daughter found their way into the living room, the father joining in from his newspaper reverie to assess the situation. For about fifteen seconds they generally looked at each other not sure how to deal with the sudden interruption of their activities. Then son picked up the newspaper that father had temporarily set aside. The marooned father decided he'd go have his bath. Mother went to the kitchen hoping to finish cooking before power returned. Then she could watch her channel in peace. Suma was the only one left without a plan of action. Why can't the modem run on a battery like the laptop, she thought? Then she remembered, "Hey brother, I want to buy a wireless internet card, which one do you suggest?" The reply came from the kitchen, "Swathi, you are addicted to internet. Come help me a bit with the cooking."

An hour later in the Sastry home, power supply was still not restored. Satish was practising chords on his year old guitar. Shivarama Sastry was sorting books on his antique book rack. Swathi was adding ground spices to the brewing sambar under the tutelage of her mother. In due course, lunch was ready and the foursome settled down to eat. Father noticed that daughter wore a new hairstyle. "When did you change it?" "Oh, its over two weeks old." replied Swathi. "Amma's hairdo is way more stylish." teased Satish. Swathi ignored him. Then came the suggestion that comes with unfailing regularity when an Indian family with a grown up son sits together to lunch. "Satish, I want you meet this girl. Very nice family." "Please amma, I am not going to marry for another five years." "Don't be silly, your father will retire in two years. We are growing old you know." "Don't worry", replied Satish "I'll take care of myself."

At the back of his mind though, he was a little disturbed. He knew that his father was going to retire, he did not realize that it was only two years away. Not that it mattered so much. They were decently off, both he and Swathi had jobs and his mom had recently taken voluntary retirement from her bank officer job. But still, it seemed like some responsibility was being put on his shoulders before he was quite ready. "Appa, how is the sambar? I made it." beamed Swathi. "Really? Very good. Just like how your mom makes it"..As the luncheon drew to an end, Seetalakshmi concluded "Thanks to the power cut, we all had lunch together like a real family. Otherwise each one will have it at their own time and along with a cellphone, laptop or TV."