Kindness in the blackout

The 1971 Indo-Pakistan War is etched in my memory; even for a ten-year-old, the unsettling realities of conflict were ever-present. Life in our defence establishment township transformed overnight.

Shrouding windows with dark paper became the norm, a stark reminder of the unseen threat. Headlights underwent a strange metamorphosis, mostly blacked out, leaving only a sliver for a meagre beam. Air raid sirens frequently wailed, followed by abrupt power cuts that plunged us into darkness.

One such evening, the familiar shriek of the siren sliced through the air as my school bus trundled along. The streetlights flickered and died, leaving us in an eerie twilight. The driver abruptly told us to get off the moving bus. My young legs tangled, and I tumbled onto the sharp baby gravel meant for road extension, instantly stinging my palms.

The usually gruff but not unkind driver helped me up, offering the strange advice to run a few steps after jumping. He then took me to the company dispensary where my grazed palms were bandaged, throbbing dully.

Stepping into the inky blackness, disorientation overcame me. Lost and increasingly frightened, my wanderings felt endless. Perhaps two hours crawled by before the streetlights briefly flickered back on, only to be swallowed by darkness as another siren wailed. The fear, a cold knot in my tummy, finally gave way to tears.

Just as despair crept in, my father's familiar voice repeatedly cut through the darkness. A figure emerged from the gloom: a man in military uniform. Noticing my distress, he reassuringly offered to guide me home. Our trek began, a seemingly endless crisscross of shadowy lanes. In the blackout, every house was identical, a silent, indistinguishable form.

Guided by his anxious calls and torch beam, we finally reached our house. Relief washed over me, quickly followed by a fresh wave of emotion at my father’s panicked face. The sight of a military man escorting his bandaged son clearly caused him alarm. The officer patiently explained, his words transforming my father’s initial worry to profuse gratitude.

Huddled safely at home that night, the pain in my palms was a dull echo compared to the vivid memory of being lost and a stranger's unexpected kindness. The blackout, meant to obscure us from an unseen enemy, inadvertently illuminated the fundamental goodness in people. The gruff bus driver’s unexpected care, the military man’s selfless guidance, and my father’s frantic relief – moments of fear and uncertainty – underscored the enduring power of human connection.

Even in the darkest times, shared humanity can shine through, offering solace and a path to safety and belonging.