in that room full of people, and sounds of mirth and laughter, blending with clinking glasses and wayward nibbling at finger food, when the current died the stillness could be cut with stares (and forks)
the crows cawed, mynas cooed, distant traffic roared in the enforced calm
even the heartbeats (if you read and believe this) could be heard
the host left the room (the hostess' smiled a frozen smile but did not budge)
the platoon of servants scurried to find the man - the man responsible to switch on the generator, i could feel the sweat form rivulets and start descending down the nape
after an eternity, oh, in reality about a minute or two, the generator roared, and in seconds our postulations on floods, visits abroad, target killing, designer fashion resumed
the generator's thud a distant murmur now
welcome to the first world dwellers in the third world
it is eleven pm on a mini bus that seats 22, but was carrying over forty sweating bodies inside
on the roof, and clinging to the sides another 30 going home
i wondered if they were wondering -
if their families had something to eat and drink
if they had a little water today...
if it is quiet, with no killings...
if they would make it safely...
to trudge back to work the next day
they have no time to worry about electricity
i throw up
(at the discordance, the disconnect and the dichotomy)
in this absurdistan
and the host kindly inquired
if my stomach was upset