Things that we remember: Part one.

One the dirty road across from the train station, last night's rain has left Amritsar a giant mud puddle. Literally a hole in the wall with holes in the walls, the greasy restaurant serves up one dish cooked on the side of the road. There is too much butter on my naan, a brick for each piece. Shivering in my damp clothes that couldn't dry overnight after getting caught in the flooded dark street the night before, I watch Jon watch a guy try to plug a lightbulb, hanging from the verandah, with the bare wires directly into the poorly constructed power outlet standing on the chair the whole time. So, after moistening these bare wires, he sort of, almost confidently, sticks then in, one wire into each hole. After a spark, power flicker and a yelp, a lot of laughter follows. And the lightbulb does not light up. Dazed but not defeated, he rests for a minute and then fiddles with the wires again, maybe getting rid of burnt rubber, getting ready to try again. A small crowd of men has gathered and cheers him on. He tries again with the same results, except now the laughter is louder to go along with the growing crowd. This time he has to sit down. We thought he had given up, but e goes back to the wobbly chair. He is scared but determined. This time he's got it figured out. But again it doesn't work. With three minor electric shocks, the lightbulb remains unlit.