Analogikal

Uncharacteristically, my phone was ringing. I say uncharacteristically, because it is quite rarely that I get calls, nowadays. *Cue lonely music. It was Shankar (name changed to protect identity) on the other side. Shankar is from Urban clap. I had requested for assistance with some wiring issues at my place. Well it wasn’t much of an issue. Just that the light and fan would not work together. If the light was on, the plug point would not work. If the plug point was on, the fan would fail to start. If the incandescent light was on and the plug point was off, Voldemort would return. Well you know, dark stuff like that. There is only so much of this, a man can take before he resorts to actually asking for help. In this moment I realised that I had become the characters in the sitcoms I enjoy so much. Cue, ‘Red’ from that 70’s show entering with a handsaw to fix the wobbly table.

Shankar came in all drenched in sweat and out of breath. I always have an apologetic tone while greeting anyone who comes to my place for the first time. I do live on the terrace of a four storey building without elevators. While I have crazy quads and hamstring strength thanks to all the stairs, not everybody appreciates the unwarranted workouts. With my apologetic tone I offered Shankar some water and he was more than glad to lap it up. Step 1 complete. I have established trust. From a very young age, I have enjoyed hanging around handymen while they worked in the house. The way painters mixed their paint or the way plumbers tweaked with their tools or the way electricians made things work or the way my dad did whatever it is that dads do. His affection towards his tools and his handywork had passed on to me as well. While I am terribly inept at making things work half-assedly as he does, I am very much capable of creating my own tragedies.

Shankar fixed the ceiling fan in my living room in a jiffy. In the Bangalore summer, anything that can offset sweat from your body is highly appreciated. Bangalore summer is something I never thought I would hear myself say. When I had come to this place for the first time, ten years ago. I remember how my friend took pride and told me how his brother’s place didn’t have a ceiling fan. Well, gone are those days and when you stay on top of a building which seems too close to the sun, you feel grateful and obligated to the person who saves your ceiling fan. Especially when a lack of it was making Netflix and chill feel like Amazon prime and bare-chest barbecue. Shankar had cleared level 1. The installation of a fresh capacitor had ensured that the oscillatory device governing the air circulation could return to optimum performance, thereby, re-establishing balance in the universe.

On to Round 2: The demon possessed wiring system of the bedroom. Shankar opened up the switched off and tweaked a few things and switched on the fan. Voila! The whole apartment had lost electricity. He gave me a look of bewilderment. This was not reassuring. I had faith in him, much like how I had faith in David Moyes to continue the legacy of Man United and we all know where it took us; the god forsaken Portugese football troll by the name of José Mourinho. Not a significant input to the story, but I had to vent. Shankar reattached some of the wires and tried the switch yet again. To my surprise nothing happened. He seemed even more surprised. He seemed befuddled. His facial expression was quite similar to the one everybody outside of US had when they heard about Trump’s presidency; except for Vlad of course.

I could sense that Shankar is running out of ideas and he was getting frustrated. So I decided to let him in on a little secret. With more apology and remorse in my voice I confessed. ‘Forgive me Shankar, for I have sinned. I had tweaked with the wiring since the switches were blowing out very often’. He let out a sigh of relief and smiled. He said ‘I was wondering what kinda numbskull electrician would wire a switchboard like this’. He was happy that his kind had been vindicated. Also kinda sheepish that he had called me a numbskull. I was glad I got away with being called numbskull. He rolled up his sleeves and got down to work. There was more work to be done in fixing this lonesome switchboard than there was in putting together the wiring of a whole household.

He took his own sweet time in putting it all together. In between he would pause to tell me anecdotes. Stuff like how a whole apartment was burnt down because this dude tried some stuff and did his own wiring. And a story about this guy losing his hand while using a drill bit on their own and another one about how there is this guy who has mixed HIV+ blood in the Pepsi factory and hence he doesn’t drink Pepsi anymore. I got the drift. I should refrain from doing my own wiring or electrical work and stop drinking Pepsi. The next half hour seemed like a scene in an OR. There was more equipment being drawn out than I could even remember. It kinda made me proud that I could do something with a screwdriver which could not be fixed by an expert with an armoury of equipment. Never underestimate the power of stupidity. He reassured me, ‘it takes real talent to screw up this bad’!

After a long sigh, Shankar said, ‘Switch it on, it should work now, hopefully, may be, god knows, whatever!’. His utter lack of confidence was reassuring. To my surprise and his as well, it all started working. He seemed overjoyed. The kinda joy Gotze had when he scored the world cup winning goal, the kind of joy that Archimedes had in running naked around town screaming ‘Eureka’. He had completed the challenge. He turned to me and said, ‘Next time you decide to play electrician and change the switches, at least make sure the manufacturer’s name is not upside down’. While it was insulting, I knew there would be a next time. So long my friend.