ere comes summer and the annual transformer explosion — a spectacle that rivals a teenager’s 18^th birthday. In a corner of the residence that shall not be named, this event has become as predictable as the upcoming knee-high Converse trend, though far less welcome.

It starts off with the flickering of lights, transitions into sudden darkness, followed by boom. There goes another transformer, leaving everybody in an agony.

You might think such a regular occurrence would warrant a public holiday by now. If we can give days off due to the torrential monsoon downpours, why not mark the day our electricity supply goes up in sparks? It can be the perfect time to sip chai (piping hot even during the sweltering summer heat) on one’s terrace, impromptu sessions of Ludo or Monopoly (because no power means no internet or TV) and neighborhood bonding over stories of blackout woes.

But fear not. Thanks to our frustration, we’ve become trendsetters. Enter the era of solar panels — shining rectangles of tempered glass cover with anti-reflective coatings marketed as hope against electricity woes.

Tired of sweating through summer nights without air conditioning? Sick of thinking if the qurbani ka gosht will survive in the freezer through this outage? Solar panels appear to be the trump card in this cycle of darkness and despair. However, the government recently announced that the switch to solar energy is driving up electricity costs for everyone else.

Alas. It seems that no matter which way we turn, our pursuit of a cooler, brighter tomorrow comes with a set of wattage woes. Oh, let’s not forget the batteries. Sure, they store energy when the sun shines bright, but do they last forever? Of course, not. It’s like buying a goldfish — fun for a while until you realise they need constant care and replacement every couple of years.

One anecdote stands out: the saga of three kids and their parents seeking refuge in a car with the AC blasting during a 12-hour blackout. It’s the modern family camping trip — minus the barbecue and amateur astronomy.

My favourite part of the spectacle is, hands down, the rooftop charpai migration — a stereotypical, desi response to both the joys and woes of electricity in Pakistan. When the weather is pleasant and the moon is shining bright, you’ll find people rushing to their rooftops and sprawl comfortably on charpais under the open sky. It’s a scene straight out of a movie: family members chatting over cold glasses of Jam-i-Shirin, children swapping ghost stories by torchlight (since, of course, their iPads ran out of battery), and elders reminiscing about the good ol’ days when load shedding barely existed.

Amidst the turmoil, one anecdote stands out: the saga of three kids and their parents seeking refuge in a car with the AC blasting during a 12-hour blackout. It’s the modern family camping trip — minus the barbecue and amateur astronomy. As for me, well, my electricity always has a knack for disappearing the day before something crucial is due to happen — a final exam, a meet-up with friends, you name it. It’s almost as if the transformer has a devious sense of timing.

So, this piece is dedicated to you, dear electricity crisis, with your seasonal blackouts and resilient citizens. Yes, the transformers have a habit of going boom, but we’ll find ways to amuse ourselves in the flicker of each blackout.

The writer is a student based in Lahore