I’m no stranger to feeling my way forward in the dark. Spending five years in an un-electrified village (with a chronic shortage of candles and kerosene), living out the years since with daily power cuts, having only weak Indian batteries in my flashlight and frequenting outhouses at midnight (due to multiple mugs of chai) have provided me with ample practice in the aforementioned art. Despite having this niche expertise, it is still uncomfortable to find one’s self driving along precipitous Himalayan roads at three in the morning with the headlights... off. The discomfort approaches alarm when it is compounded by the fact that there is a man bleeding to death in your back seat. Driving slow would mean to risk his death. Driving fast would be to risk everyone’s. In such a situation, one can’t help but ask themselves once again, “How did I get here?”
