I've realised that things at Prantik (and thereabouts) look prettiest by night. It helps if one can get on a rickshaw. A twenty minute passing through by low ceilinged homes with yellow light spilling out onto the road. Carrom clubs with heads and hands in focus and the rest nothing but dark smudges. Tea stalls with Hurricanes shining through steam from boiling milk. That landscape-in-the-mist place filled to bursting with fireflies at seven. Bicycle bulbs in the blackness, riders silhouetted against headlights further down the road. There's much to be said about the absence of tubelights in general. I never miss it till I feel like reading, and even then I have my phone so as far as comfort goes, light that cocoons is-just-something-else. And no one has a photo of it. Even better.