My First LED (Story)

My First LED (Story)
Written by: Sunil M S, Moothakunnam

 

The bulb glows. The word "Profit" always had a magnetic effect on me. Profit easily tempts me.

The other day, there was an article in the newspaper that spoke highly of the "profits" LED bulbs would fetch by saving power. Our nation is power-short. Power saved is power generated. I was easily swayed by the article.

I had never bought an LED bulb. I got ready to test the waters, though I had guessed that, for buying an LED bulb, I would have to pay through the nose.

Making sure there was a good amount of money in my pockets, I went to the local electrical shop, and boldly asked for an LED bulb. The shopkeeper, a friend of mine and a sweet guy, handed me a beautiful packet: SURYA NEO LED Lamp. The packet was marked "9W".

A 40 watt incandescent bulb would cost only a little more than the paltry, minimum bus fare of seven rupees, but will gobble up so much power that you will gape at the electricity bill. In comparison, this LED lamp will only nibble at power, and produce much more light than a bunch of gobblers. After all, that was what the newspaper article had said.

Cool.

"Lasts up to 15 years": the LED packet said.

Vow! 15 years! That would outlast even me, and might even remain as a bright memorial for me when I am gone.

That thought simply bowled me over. I must definitely buy this.

I turned the pack around a number of times searching for, you guessed it, the price. Sometimes they print the price in micro size, especially when the price is mega-sized.

Seek, and ye shall find: I found it, and I caught my breath: 499 rupees! For just one bulb! "So much!" I blurted out.

The shopkeeper-friend was ready for this. "Oh, no, no. Only 320 rupees."

I am quick at calculating discounts. A discount of 179 rupees: A whopping 35 percent; that was huge! Another shock for me, but a pleasant one this time.

The shopkeeper now looked sweeter. "Plus two year guarantee," he added. An icing on the cake!

Though the price after the discount was nearly twice my estimate, I wasn't going to let go such a high discount, and a bulb that was going to be my own memorial.

I emptied all my pockets, and heaved a sigh of relief, when the notes and coins added up to 320. The magical 35 percent discount of 179 rupees was all mine, finally.

It was dusk already, and the lights were getting switched on.

I came home, heart thumping, fearing to hear her exclaim, "What! You spent 499 rupees for a mere bulb!” and her usual affront, “Have you worm-trouble?" She doesn’t like money being spent like that.

Without her seeing it, I replaced one of the CFLs with the LED, and switched it on.

Ha! Bright light. THIS IS the light, I said. This is the real light. It was so bright. But soothing as well.

Seeing the unusual brightness, she came into the room, and easily noticed the new bulb. She often uses a magnifying glass for reading, but wherever there is any trouble, she doesn't need any glass to detect it. For such things, she has a nose nosier than CBI Sethurama Iyer's.

She easily discovered the price on the packet, and, true to my fears, exclaimed, "499 rupees! Just for a bulb!”

It must have terrified the new bulb; it shuddered and, the next moment, promptly went off!

The room became dark. When an unusually brighter bulb goes off, the room will look darker. A humble CFL was still burning in the distant kitchen; the power hadn’t failed. The trouble was with the LED bulb, for sure.

She demanded, "What happened to YOUR bulb?"

Cursing myself, I switched the LED off, and after a few seconds switched it on. Luckily, it shone again, to my relief. But, the relief was short-lived: after one-and-a-half minute, it went off again.

"You have been duped! 499 rupees gone", promptly came her merciless verdict.

I protested: "Only 320 is gone."

“Haven’t I told you a thousand times not to fall for discounts?” She demanded. "They offer discounts when the items are really bad. Everybody with common sense knows it." Though she seldom goes out, she is more well-versed in popular marketing techniques, though it’s me who does most of the shopping.

"There is a two year guarantee too." I tried to defend myself, but felt weak.

"Of what use is the guarantee, when the bulb won’t shine for even two minutes?" She would have made a brilliant advocate, had she not chosen, by mistake obviously, to be my life-partner instead.

Desperately, I switched the LED off and then on. It shone again. But in less than two minutes, it went off. I mechanically kept repeating the process until she firmly banned it.

"Go, return it tomorrow itself, and get the money back,” she commanded. “And do tell him not to cheat people like this.”

I kept silent. Was I cheated? The guy was a real gentleman. I had known him for decades. I couldn't believe he would ever cheat. After all, he was not the manufacturer of the bulb; he was only its seller.

There was another bulb in the room: an old CFL; I switched it on. It shone readily, but, after the bright light of the LED, the CFL looked dim.

"See. This CFL was more than enough." She declared majestically: "What was the need for wasting 499 rupees?"

I didn’t have energy to correct her again. I wistfully looked at the LED, now dark and gloomy.

"Won't you return it?" She persisted.

“Yes”, I said with a heavy heart. I hate returning things. She knew it.

After a couple of hours, by now thoroughly dejected, I switched the LED on for the last time, before repacking it.

The bulb glows.

It suddenly shone and lit up the room.

It was beautiful. Its light was much more comfortable than other lights, especially for reading even in the distant corners.

It was sad that it will go off any moment. It was a tragedy, that such a good bulb can't last even for a couple of hours.

They should test every bulb for at least 24 hours, and only then should they release it for sale.

"It will go off soon.” She cautioned. “Switch it off. It’s of no use. Switch on the CFL," She ordered. “LED is a fake,” she declared.

It was as if the LED bulb had suddenly realized that its prestige was at stake; it wasn't going to take it all lying down. It took up the challenge, it seemed, and determinedly shone and shone and shone.

It shone, without a hitch for hours together. With a new-found enthusiasm, I kept reading under its soothing, milky white light, even after she went to bed.

Meanwhile, I tried to guess what could have caused the trouble at the beginning.

I found its operating range, mentioned on its pack: 140V to 280V.

The initial trouble had happened at around 7 PM. The voltage at that time must have been lower than 140. Not enough for the LED to shine continuously. So, it kept going off after every couple of minutes. By 9, the voltage must have climbed back into its range, and helped it shine without any hitch.

The lesson: enough voltage is essential for an LED.

So, the fault was not of the bulb; if at all, it was of the Kerala State Electricity Board, who, promising 220 volts throughout, had actually given less than 140.

The bulb proved that my local shopkeeper-friend was not at all a cheat. I didn’t have to return the bulb. Also, the money spent was not a loss.

I was happy.

Well past midnight, I switched off the LED, and went to bed. She was asleep. I shook her gently.

“What?” She hates being woken up in the middle of the night.

“The shopkeeper is not a cheater,” I announced in that you-were-wrong-I-was-right tone of mine. “The LED is a good one; it shone for hours. Smoothly.”

It was now her turn to be silent. She turned to the other side and slept!

sunilmssunilms@rediffmail.com