Analogikal

Well hello there. It has been a while. To all those who kept asking me why I haven’t been writing, Do you guys really read this stuff? Also, thank you for feeding my sense of self-importance. Well the reason why I haven’t been writing is, I have been having a very low key 2016. No road accidents, No chicken pox, No bed bug attacks, No disastrous Tinder tales, No narcissistic colleagues; well there may be some, but none worth mentioning here. This uneventful year has taken away all perceived first-world problems in life which constantly served as fodder for my deluded verbal diarrhea. But, All that changed… When the electricity nation attacked!

I love my country. All Indians are my brothers and sisters.

Wait, that’s the pledge. Sorry!

I love my country and it’s rich diversity and lack of systems. Much better. This is the customary disclaimer to ensure that my post is not considered, racist, anti-national, anti-Modi, anti-Semitic, anti-vegan etc. I issue a blanket apology to all the sensitive souls who might take offense to anything I might say in the course of this post. Now that we have the pacifistic apology out of the way to keep up with the troubled, sensitive times we are dealing with, let’s get right down to business.

Pitbull goes “ooooh… yeah… I’m screaming Timber”… Completely spoiling my workout plan. I could sense my flexed muscles go back to sleep, much like how I felt while watching Danielle Radcliffe starrer “What If”, the only what if about that movie was “What if they could narrate a story with the protagonists having little more chemistry than an overcooked potato and a ganja smoking shark”. I decided to abandon the workout and proceed with ironing my shirt. Why? you ask? Because it is 2016 and men can iron shirts! And that’s when it happened. There was a sudden change in the ambiance. The artificial breeze that kissed the globules of sweat on my wannabee Greek god body came to a halt (*sarcasm). There was utter silence as the toaster suddenly popped open throwing out under-toasted bread and the induction cooker came to a halt screaming bloody murder. I deduced that the electricity had gone, whispering “Elementary my dear Watson” in my head. Well, this wasn’t news by any means. To say HSR has power troubles would be to say that Rahul Gandhi is deranged underdeveloped man-child or I have commitment issues. Truly an understatement.

I brushed aside the lack of electricity, much like Donald Trump does with secularism and inclusion and decided to proceed to work. After a long day of work I always look forward to getting back home to my boys. I know they would be eagerly waiting for me to wake them up and play with them. Well, all my players in FIFA do need their daily training. I painfully climbed the stairs to my place. After a long day, the walk up to the beautiful terrace apartment I call home, feels like a journey across middle earth to Mordor carrying Fat Ass Gamgee on your back. Upon opening the door, my deepest fear was realized. There was still no electricity. Nothing to worry about, my mind whispered. The line must have tripped because of overload or my awesomeness. All I need to do is climb down five storeys and switch it back on. Voila! That should do it. To my horror, I realised that the fuse was missing. “Somebody stole the fuse” I whispered in my head. Immediately another voice screamed, “Nobody stole the f’in fuse, you forgot to pay the bill you Dumbass!”. I agreed with the second voice. It sounded more accurate, in tone and content. I thought of sleeping on the ground floor along side the one true love of my life, my bike. The fear of overgrown mosquitoes and swallowing a cockroach in my sleep fueled my climb back up to my apartment. I paid the bill like a good citizen and promptly hit the bed dreaming things would be better when I wake up in the morning. I mean, why not? They had been prompt in disconnecting the electricity, they should plug it back in as well, right? WRONG!

Morning came and all was gloom and doom. Not as gloomy as the US election race nor as doomy as Coldplay’s new album. But there was no power, still. I looked up online as to how I can address this. Surprisingly, BESCOM had a “contact us” page. I thought they would have bank account details for potential bribes, but they actually had a contact number there. If you think that is awesome, wait! There is more. They answered the call on the first ring, and said “Good Morning, How may I help you?” I’m still sleeping, I thought. But no, I could not believe how far technology had changed our life. Before, you would have had to call them, then plead them, Then walk down to the office, then wait in line as they played minesweeper or tetris or chhota bheem depending on the time of the day and the shade of their mood; then if you are lucky, after sacrificing your first born you would get resolution. I felt so much at ease when the executive at the other end reassured that the power will be restored by the time I am back home that evening. What a pleasant experience I thought to myself. Finally “Achhe din” are actually here. All that gloom and doom and Arnab Goswamy is just works of the boogeyman I reassured myself.

While at work, I could not stop raving about the positive experience I had with BESCOM. I was an instant convert and a devotee for life now. Vehemently defending all things BESCOM. I came home with a beaming expression on my face. Partially because I was sleep deprived and partially because I was hungry AF. I climbed all the way to the top of f’in Mount Kilimanjaro to realize that there still was no electricity. My heart shattered. I felt like that forever alone guy who got stood up for the first date. It was 6 am I remember clearly. As the birds chirped and the sun started shining its bright early rays of morning all I could hear was “Hello darkness my old friend”… But, my faith cannot be misplaced. I knew there had to be some sort of an error. I called up BESCOM again. This time things were different. I sat through the welcome tone which is a cross over between MS Subbalakshmi’s Sree Venkateshwara Suprabhatam, the voice of a dog being forcefully given a bath and the feeling of the text message which says you have withdrawn the last bit of salary for the month. Finally after 12 years of waiting on line, my call was answered and I was reassured that there was an error and they will fix it ASAP. Now ASAP troubles me. But I consoled myself that things can only get better from here. The lack of electricity was not concerning me anymore. Much like Bane, by this point, I had embraced darkness. What concerned me was the rise of the inner control freak in me and the anxiety mobile he drives. I told myself things would be OK and went to sleep with a heart as heavy as Thor’s hammer.

Cut to three hours later. My sleep is disturbed by continuous calls from an unknown number. Yes! It was the BESCOM folks calling to check on the status. What proactive approach said I, fistpumping in my head. The status had not changed, I informed them and with the most apologetic tone he said he will escalate it. That’s good. Escalation is always good when you are a customer.

Two more hours pass by. The control freak had taken over by now. I start calling them every half hour. I get the same response in different voices. “It has been escalated. Will be resolved in half an hour”. By now, the reality had dawned on me. I am still in India. Bangalore is still in India. BESCOM is still in India. I finally managed to grab hold of an AE’s number (Assistant Engineer not Asinine Egghead as you thought). This is literally the conversation that happened:

Polite and desperate me: Hello Ramesh Sir?

AE: Assistant Engineer Ramesh speaking

Desperate me speaking in broken Kannada: I request reconnection of electricity for home. (Notice the lack of grammar and sentence structure? Well this is how my Kannada might sound to an actual Kannada speaking person)

AE: YOU CANNOT CALL ME ON MY NUMBER. MY humble REQUEST  TO YOU IS TO NOT CALL ME ON THIS NUMBER. IF YOU HAVE RECONNECTION REQUEST COME DOWN TO OFFICE AND TALK.

Translation: WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE CALLING AN AE ON HIS PERSONAL NUMBER? SHUT THE HELL UP AND BRING YO BROKE ASS DOWN TO THE OFFICE. COMPRENDE ESE?

Furious Me: BUT

<AE bangs phone>

Helpless Me: <Insert awkward silence>

With a sinking feeling I dragged my beaten ass down to the BESCOM office. After an hour of running from pillar to post to dusty file rack to aged fossils of Megalodons inside the BESCOM office I found an assistant engineer. I started with a Namaskara and short of falling at his feet and doing a “Sashtanga” I was at my polite best. He looked at me and laughed when I told him I had raised a complaint online for re-connection. He looked at me as to ask “What did you smoke bruh? Can I get a hit of that?”. He scribbled unintelligibly on a small piece of paper and pointed towards a building in the corner and asked me to talk to people in that building. Men clad in olive green overalls greeted me there. I spoke to the first one I saw. He seemed disinterested in human interaction. Later I realized that he is a three time winner of the “Not my fuckin job” award.

Trying my luck again I spoke to the customer care executive and when the “escalation” gig played again I had to make a choice. Do I use my puppy face or do I go full blown Gurgaon on their asses. I chose puppy face as the pacifist in me would have disowned me had I been harsh to the help desk executive. I begged them for mercy and pleaded for justice. Then I heard those golden words “I will transfer your call to my Team Leader”. I spoke to the TL and got to know that “Basavaraj” is the panacea to all my woes.

I found “Basavaraj”. all 5 ft 3 inches of glorious pan chewing awesomeness. flocked by half a dozen worried souls who had their power knocked out. I am sure he felt more sought out than that one girl in Mechanical Engineering classes. I smiled at him trying to make a connection. It worked. He said “I am going to these other three places and then I will come to you. I whipped out the tone I keep reserved for performance appraisal discussions with my boss. One that is a mixture of a disney princess, Peekachu, a new born baby elephant and Monsieur Gustav from Budapest Hotel. He said I can wait and he will come save me. He did come. As promised. After 15673 phone calls, Two visits to different BESCOM offices and sacrificing my first born I had gotten the chance to meet “Basavaraj”. When he sat as a pillion on my bike, I felt a pride and joy which I have never felt with anyone else who sat as a pillion on my bike. He whipped open the fuse box, plunged the fuse in to the slot.

Basavaraj said “Let there be light” and behold; There was light!

Foot note: While the experience was tiring and horrid. I was truly impressed with the level of responsiveness that the BESCOM call center showed. By now I have received three calls to check up on the status and to see whether it has been resolved. If only there were more foot soldiers required to fight the real battles.