And when she looked at her mother, in the flicker of the burning candlelight. Hot liquid wax melting down the intensity of a quivering yellow light. Her mother lay beside her swiping the sweat of her forehead using the material of her cloth, the same way she used to wipe her hands off her sari when she was a child. A girl.

On the wall, she could see her shadows forming patterns. Her mother's hand swirling in a motion fanning off the heat, cooling the sweat. She lay sidewise with her back to her daughter facing the bald television screen. Sweat pooling down the material of her blouse from her armpits.

Waiting for the current to return. Lying on the bed Suchi inched towards her, wanting for her, momentarily hugging her. Her mother gestured to move her hand away, telling that it was too hot. That now she was too old.

Suchi, just for the moment comprehended the amount she had grown. The autonomy she could exercise, the privileges she bore. That how she had grown out of those load-sheddings, those perpetual waits. That now she had another life to go back to. Another house to claim her own. Unlike her mother, who by now had fallen asleep. She had the ability to leave.