I have other antiques, too – a toaster, coffeemaker, oven and, of course, the idiot box. Suddenly, they have all lost their purpose. [break]
They have become more descriptive terms, turning my house into a treasure trove of formerly useful machines. The most important item in my old-fashioned collection is the refrigerator.
Why? Because it has now become the notice board, the focal point of my house: the shrine that always has stuck to it a photocopy of the local load-shedding schedule.
This piece of paper is the country’s guidelines on when to recharge its amenities. Countrywide, inverters, cell phones and other charge-driven devices all function on the wisdom imparted by the schedule.
I carry a copy in my wallet at all times, largely to keep track of the time zones. Who says Nepal does not have time zones? I am in Group 4.
So when I have no power (which is most of the time), a quick glance at my trusty timetable – and it really is, generally, dependable – tells me to which part of town I need to travel in order to find some electricity.
Out in the streets, another device, the traffic light, has also become antiquated.
It blinks dejectedly, if at all – the solar panels unable to provide the charge to the batteries in the absence of electricity in the lines 18 hours a day – keeping people on the streets much longer than necessary.
The current energy crisis, brought about by incompetence and vagaries of Mother Nature we are told, is hitting Nepal very hard.
Just as more and more people are purchasing electronic appliances, using computers and buying cell phones, a lifestyle dependent on gadgetry has become increasingly difficult to sustain.
It goes without saying, then, that the economy is in shambles. Factories are shutting down; communications, within and outside the country, is even more difficult than normal; and tourism the largest source of revenue, is plummeting.
And a political environment that is increasingly uncertain and fragile has done nothing to reassure the public.
The reality of load shedding is taking a serious toll on the national psyche.
Tolerance and understanding are frayed; tempers are short all around, everywhere, people note; fights erupt over the most trivial of matters.
This is hardly surprising: living with power outages most of the day, which inevitably engenders a feeling of being cut off from much of the world, plays havoc with the mind.
For now, then, Nepal is under emergency light. And it seems that the country will be forced to plod along under its weak beam for the foreseeable future.
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