Slev's News From Nowhere

"Want to take a walk?"

Bikram, 15 year-old academic- supreme and son of my host family, already knows my answer.

I spring up from my bed and slide my sandals on. The stars are eager to be out - the sun has barely set and already the night sky is alive with a blanket of twinkling lights. The power in the village is not due to be turned on for another half hour and the darkness is perfect for stargazing and strolling unnoticed. The opportunity to walk through the village without drawing attention to myself (I'm the only white person here) is too good to pass up.

I pull up my hood as we walk down the hill. Bikram greets the locals - how he can identify them in the black night mystifies me. I almost trip over the speed-hump as I stare up at the heavens. Bikram giggles but says nothing. Through an open door on my left, I see a young lady and her daughter eating dal- bhat by candlelight. The sight makes me smile. I look ahead, and see more candlelight flickering in the shop fronts. The soft, dancing lights are both eerie and inviting. I inhale the spring air deeply through my nose and think of home.

As we pass the school, a flash of lightning flickers from the next valley. Bikram assures me without prompting that the thunderstorms never make it as far as Jogimuri village. As we change direction, the flashes continue, illuminating the whole valley. The delicate rumbles of thunder echo around us. What a show.

"The electricity has come early," I joke. The smell of food drifting from the houses interrupts my thoughts and begins to whet my appetite.

We begin to head back to the house. I raise my arm to shield my eyes from the blinding headlights of an oncoming motorbike. As my eyes readjust to the darkness, I hear the excited cheers of children in the distance. Before I have chance to wonder about the source of their pleasure, the answer becomes visually apparent. I glance at my watch. The electricity HAS come on early. Artificial lights have transformed the village in front of me. My heart sinks. The magic is gone - modernity prevails.

We quicken our stride home, with nothing but steaming dal- bhat on our minds.