A Tale of a Troubled Lamppost

Since when have lampposts begun telling tales, you might ask? Indian literary tradition permits animals and trees to tell moral tales—as in Jataka Tales, Panchatantra, and Kathāsaritsāgara—but never has such honour been bestowed upon an inanimate object.

If lampposts start telling tales, imagine the chorus and the cacophony—choked drains, cratered roads, pathetic municipal parks, dead traffic signals, and such.

Anyway, what’s your problem? Tell us, but be quick and brief. We don’t have all day for your groans and grievances.

Well, I’m an insignificant lamppost in a forlorn lane of a remote colony in the beautiful city of Bhopal. I do not expect you to be aware of my existence or be concerned about my fate. Why would you? You don’t live here.

But I’m troubled, and I’ve heard that sharing sorrow soothes the suffering soul.

What troubles me? The light has gone out of my life. For the last two months or more, I’m suffering in silence like a condemned convict in a solitary, dark cell.

To be candid, I’m a little jealous, too. I see my neighbours glowing bright, pampered and polished, while I languish in obscurity.

Aren’t all lampposts created equal and entitled to equal and fair treatment? Does the municipal authority favour only those in VIP colonies? Would you fault me if I feel like an orphan?

Darkness is depressing, but I also suffer from existential anxiety. Why have I not been en-light-ened? No, I’m not so presumptuous as to seek enlightenment like the Buddha; only a new LED bulb to deliver me from darkness. I don’t seek nirvana, only a bulb. Is that too much illumination to ask?

I worry about Bhopal Municipal Corporation’s financial status. Perhaps I’ve been sacrificed on the altar of austerity—darkness as budget discipline.

Am I temporarily in a dark phase of my life, or have I been marked as unserviceable and permanently decommissioned?

I’m concerned for the safety of unsuspecting pedestrians, many of them new residents of the colony, who are unaware of the regular movement of reptiles on this road, especially in the rainy season after dark. I’ve seen with my own single eye (no, I’m no cyclops) a young python rescued from here, a pair of adult cobras and their brood, kraits, checkered keelback, dhaman, and water snakes.

I’ve seen much else; the teen who fell to his death while attempting a selfie from the edge of the dam, folks who enjoy their booze despite the stench from the cesspool of untreated sewage and melt into the bushes upon hearing the police siren, and a few love-birds who can’t afford a hotel room.

Since your time is precious, and your patience might be running thin, I finish my tale here.

But before that, permit me to submit a humble suggestion for the kind consideration of the municipal authority.

Maybe AI can help. I may simply say, ‘HELP.’ I believe AI can understand spoken language, register my grievance, alert the concerned and track its redressal.

AI may also alert the Municipal Commissioner about all the ailing lampposts of Bagmugalia Extension, the entire Ward 55, and all of Bhopal; and help her track HELP requests pending for more than 72 hours (Call Centre guarantee for resolution of citizens’ complaints), one week, one month, or more.

Until AI comes to my rescue, I remain a forgotten post—waiting for light, waiting for help, waiting like citizens always do.

Yours sincerely,

Khambha No-xxx

(Illegible, the paint has peeled off and the number can no longer be read.)

Location – In front of H 82

Landmark – Near Laharpur Dam

Address – Bagmugalia Extension, Ward No-55

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Postscript: 11/10/2026

Let There Be Light

When summoned to appear before God on Saturday night, Angel No. 55 in charge of street lighting in peripheral Bhopal was a little perplexed. Have I been found wanting, or is the Lord pleased with my performance and has decided to move me to Char lmli, 74 Bungalows, or Shyamla Hills? He wondered.

"Yes, Lord. A-55 is here at Your service.’

‘Why is that lamppost blind?’ God placed His index finger at a dark, gloomy spot on the zoomed virtual map.

‘Oh, that one! It needs a cornea implant, My Lord.’

‘Why haven't you performed the procedure?’

‘I've placed the indent with the Central Stores. Awaiting supply, Lord.’

‘Since when?’

‘Two months, maybe a little more,’ A-55 stammered a little.

God frowned and ordered, without raising His voice,

‘Go, get it done. NOW.’

‘O Lord, It's a Saturday, already dark. May I do it the first thing tomorrow, even though Sunday is a holiday?’

"Now,’ said God, and vanished.

A-55 located the storekeeper with some difficulty, was issued a cornea as an exceptional case, rode the special company viman with a hydraulic ladder, and arrived at the location a little before midnight.

‘Are you H 82?’

‘No, that's the house behind me.’

‘Are you the sad, sulking, stupid streetlight who filed a complaint directly with God without going through the proper channel?’  

‘No, Sir, I didn't. You are our maibaap for all I know.’

The lamppost got it. God had found time to read his story, and had correctly deduced that it was not a satire, but a prayer. A cry for help.

Angel 55 quickly and efficiently performed the procedure. God had ordered, ‘Let There Be Light.’

His obedient engineer who had executed the command with diligence and speed clicked a pic of the lamppost shining and happy and forwarded it to God with a caption: Lamppost’s vision has been restored, in compliance of Your command.

All night long, the lamppost sang the glory of God, thanking Him for His swift justice and infinite mercy, and for sending emergency aid to an ordinary devotee in distress.

Troubled no more, he was as happy as a government employee reinstated after a long period under suspension.

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