(Over-) Charge of the ‘Light’ Brigade

          In my childhood, I knew about two ‘charges’: one was in Lord Tennyson’s poem, ‘…Of the Light Brigade’ and second was connected to the plusses and minuses that the physics master wrote on the board whilst teaching chapters on electricity.

          I could once recite from memory all the verses of the above poem. Since I left primary school, I remember only this bit: ‘half-a-leak, half-a-leak’.

Let me explain to those chronologically challenged (=young), that the charge mentioned in the poem wasn’t like charging your phone, ok? That charge was more like the bull in a China shop. Please note that a China shop had nothing to do with Made in China goods, but glassware. This was before Chinese umbrellas and torches came into our lives. Any further details will be provided by your English teacher. Or a neighbour/relative who has studied in a convent school. Also: a ‘light’ brigade isn’t about bulbs or weights. It’s a term borrowed from military lexicon.

          The second ‘charge’ was something to do with electrons, positive and negative, which our dear, frustrated Sir drew on the board whilst we compared the size(s) of our yawns.

          Today, we’ve added more meanings to the word. ‘No charge’ can mean no energy in the battery of a mobile/cellular-phone or no money in its pre-paid account. Solution to the former involves plugging instrument into electricity point and latter… go to nearest cigarette-vendor and buy talk-time.

Of course, charge can be a part of ‘as guilty’ if your name is driver Salman Khan or Ramalinga Raju of Satyam and the Court says so.

But I digress. This week I’m referring to ‘charge of the light-bill’. I found a yellow-banded computerized communication from the Electricity Department inserted in the grilled gate of my rented abode. Clearly printed on good quality paper, it informed me that from Nov ’14 till Feb ’15, I had consumed so many units that I’d have to pay five-digits worth of rupees, closer to the one-third-lakh mark. I felt ill just trying to put my finger on the number. I re-re-read it to make sure I wasn’t part of a nightmare.  Usually, our bill is in three digits, closer to zero than to thousand. I must have been a reptile in my last life, for I don’t suffer the heat if the windows let in breeze. And I use direct solar energy for reading and stuff, so full-day use of electrical appliances is naught.

I didn’t wait for Shri Husband to return home. I phoned, guessed from the tone that he wasn’t busy or irritable, then read out the bill details to spoil his mood.

As always, he asked (his favourite question when he knows I don’t have an answer): “How can that be?”

I tried to remember whether I’d left geyser+fans+all-lights+pump+television+washing-machine+oven on all-together, all the time, for three months. My memory fails me at times like these.  

As always, I replied: “I don’t know.”

Horrid silence after that.

We sorted out our moods after he came home and after dinner sat together to do some math. Our calculations said that even if I’d been consistently, highly irresponsible day and night through the period mentioned, the load would still have been much, much lesser than what was mentioned. Gloom descended upon us (quite literally, as we used only minimum lighting to start making amends without delay) as we checked our bank balance through the (still neutral) internet. Kind neighbours prepared us: “You may have to pay-first-discuss-later with the ‘light-authorities’ in the Electricity Department.”

Thanks to a mid-week ‘off’, I could charge to the ‘light-office’ only after forty-eight hours, at the ready for a quarrel, or at least an argument with some official or other. I wasn’t going to be overcharged for something I hadn’t done, never have, never will... I rehearsed my points in my mind as I stepped into the Electricity Department’s office. (I carried with me all KYC documents with photo-copies, just in case. These days I carry that file with me everywhere. The Aadhar card, too, in spite of what the Supreme Court said about it not being compulsory; in some places in Goa, there’s a lag in comprehension.)

When I pointed out the discrepancy in my bill, to my utter surprise, everyone in the department was enlightened (pardon the pun), polite and helpful. In fact, they seemed quite charged up with helpfulness. The clerk at the outside-desk guided me to the correct people. The office looked like someone in charge had had it tidied. The counter-girl readily agreed to the mistake, asked me whether I’d taken the current reading myself, checked if it matched with the linesman’s squiggle and sent me to the billing section to collect a new, corrected bill. Up on the first floor, the young man at the computer keyed in what she’d written and sent me back in a couple of seconds with a fresh printout in my hand.

The episode was inconvenient, yes, but humans make mistakes as do new software. But there was no ‘khichpich’, no ‘hungama’, nothing to grumble about. I’ve passed the good word around that the Electricity Department is customer-friendly. Quite a few people have got erroneously inflated, not-so-light bills, and are on their way to get those wrong light-charges rectified.

Watching them go, I got reminded of ‘Charge of the ‘Light’ Brigade’.   

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