How creatively did we spend our time during power outages in childhood?

I was born in Bangladesh in the late 1980s. However, when I was old enough to understand my surroundings, I became aware of several issues. Frequent power outages were one of them. They occurred so often and lasted so long that people would sometimes find themselves without electricity for half the day. When the power finally returned after an hour or two, people would sarcastically say that the electricity had not gone— it had just decided to take a little vacation.

Back in those days, we did not have IPS systems or rechargeable lights. Therefore, to cope with the darkness at night, we had to rely on kerosene lamps and candles of various shapes and sizes. I have heard numerous stories of people who studied by the flickering light of a lamp or candle and later went on to secure top government jobs.

However, we often spent our time during power outages in more creative ways. Family members, especially the younger ones, would split into two teams and hold singing competitions either on the balcony or up on the rooftop. When one group finished a song, the other would start with a new tune, beginning with the last letter of the previous song’s final word. Meanwhile, the male members would go outside to socialize with friends, chatting about everything from global politics to the prices of daily essentials.

I can still clearly recall how we would place our hands next to a candle or lamp to create different shapes—dogs, rabbits, turtles, birds, and many more—projecting their shadowy dances onto the wall whenever my mother lit a candle during load-shedding at night. This form of art is referred to as “hand shadow puppetry.”

You know, back in those days, most of us—especially the younger crowd—would pour melted candle wax on our hands and then attempt to put out the flame with our thumb and index finger. We genuinely believed we were doing the most courageous thing imaginable. Now, looking back on those moments, I cannot help but giggle at how wild we were.

When the power came back, my siblings and I would compete to see who could blow out the candle first. On moonlit nights, we would gather on the rooftop, share stories, reminisce about our carefree childhood, and burst into laughter over our silly past adventures.

Power outages at night in the village, especially during the winter season, gave us experiences that no amount of money could buy. The entire village would be submerged in darkness, and it felt as if we were wrapped in a cozy blanket of silence. We could only hear the chirping of crickets and the flickering of fireflies dancing in the jungle. Sitting on the steps of the paved wharf, soaking in the serene atmosphere, was the kind of experience that money simply cannot buy.

The women in the family would gather in the courtyard to gossip while the young men perched on the railing of a pole built across the canal, chatting away until the power was restored. Even though I will never get those days back, but I can cherish the memories for the the rest of my life.