It was a terrific scene. That is why I remember it so vividly even today though it happened decades ago. It came back to my mind like the flashback we see in the movies when I happened to spot an old-fashioned table fan in a television show the other day.
The fan was almost like the antique piece, most of it made of brass, which we had in our house. In fact, that fan was the villain of the piece that caused all the chaos and grief in our big family one evening. Due to some fault, the electric current was running through the fan's body frame that gave shock to whoever touched it.
Somehow, the fault was not attended to and the fan remained in constant use. Being aware of the problem, the users in the family took adequate care not to touch it. (I have no hesitation in admitting that lack of awareness compounded by sheer carelessness was responsible for this lackadaisical attitude.)
Throughout that day, everybody in the family was engaged in the clean-up operation to give a new look to the house in preparation for a big event. The special occasion was the birth of the first great-grandson that had given my grandfather, head of the family, and others a much-awaited occasion to celebrate.
A music and dance programme and the inevitable daawat (community feast) were to follow. So the preparations were elaborate. Everybody was in a joyous mood.
Now, about the culprit fan. For a long time, it had been serving from the top of a wooden table placed in a corner, perhaps as a half-hearted precautionary measure to avert contact with the fan. To switch it, the plug attached to its long cord had to be taken through a window to an adjacent room where the socket existed.
Our mother asked my younger sister, then aged about eight years, to shift the fan to some other place. By then, our youngest brother, about six years old, had already gone into the room to switch on the fan to get over the humidity of that late August afternoon.
Loud shriek
Just when my sister lifted the fan with both hands, our brother plugged it on. The little girl let out a loud shriek. She tried to get rid of the fan but could not. She fell on the ground, her little palms clutching the heavy fan tight on her chest. The wings of the fan seemed to be trying to move but were held back by the little palms.
Thinking that the little girl had collapsed under the weight of the fan, our mother tried to lift the fan but she also got caught. Now she was also shrieking. As seconds ticked away, my sister fell silent. Mother's right arm became numb and gradually she also became silent and unconscious.
The shrieks attracted others in our large family. Seeing two "dead" persons, others started crying. There was chaos. Thanks to the presence of mind of the mother of the new born, she dashed into the room and pulled out the plug.
Fortunately, my uncle and my cousin, bother doctors, who had just returned from their clinics, rushed in. The little girl was lifeless with no respiration and pulse. She had turned blue. Her eyes were half open and so was her mouth. But our mother was slightly better.
After getting lot of artificial respiration and pounding on the chest she came back to life. Mother was also brought back to normal. All the chaos subsided, the shrieks stopped.
Within a few days, the fan was given away to a scrap dealer. But even today its very thought or sight brings back the horrific memories of that fateful day.
That little girl is today a grandmother. But when she sleeps, her mouth and eyes remain half open - a grim reminder of that tragic day.
Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.
