It is often said that nostalgia is a poetic denial of the present. Yet, for me, a sudden plunge into darkness instantly brings to mind the vividly etched scenes of my teenage years in rural Kerala.

During several Aprils in the past, as water level in the State’s reservoirs hit rock bottom under the relentless summer sun, scheduled power cuts became part of life in our village. While adults accepted them with resignation, for us teenage boys the darkness was an invitation to adventure.

However, for our gang of boys standing on the tumultuous cusp of adolescence, the darkness was never an inconvenience. The evening power cuts provided the perfect cover for our rustic escapades. One of our favourite pastimes was placing small candles atop their hard carapaces of tortoises in the marsh and gently release them. In the pitch darkness, it was a mesmerising sight — the candle flame casting a long, undulating reflection on the water before suddenly vanishing into the deep.

The marsh and the adjoining expanse of backwaters were natural marvels, particularly on moonlit nights. The swaying coconut fronds, glistening with a dark, silvery-green sheen in the cool breeze, could have stirred the poetic soul in anyone. But our surging adolescent energies demanded adventure, not poetry. Our oldest companion, an Army aspirant fascinated by television epics and hunting stories, spent hours fashioning bows and arrows. One evening he declared himself the Jim Corbett of our village. His target was a punctual, nocturnal visitor to our neighbourhood: a brown fish owl. In our culture, owls are regarded as harbingers of ill omen and their haunting hoot was believed to foretell a death in the village. Their upright stance, forward-facing eyes and stealthy movements heightened their supernatural aura. This particular bird would arrive stealthily, perching on the low branch of a large cashew tree that leaned over the water.

Our plan was simple: hide near the tree trunk, wait for the bird to land, flash the torch, and allow our resident Corbett to take an aim at it. We took our positions early. When the bird finally arrived, the evening air was so still we feared it might pick up the sound of our thumping hearts. After a tense minute, my friend nudged me. I switched on the torch. In the sudden, sharp beam of light, two large, unblinking eyes stared right back at us. Unbeknownst to us, the owl had been observing our clumsy movements all along.

As the bird bobbed its head, the arrow was released. The owl fluttered away into the darkness with an angry screech.

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