We briefed this as the most Bengali of summer ordeals translated into Kalighat's caricature language: the power cut as a domestic stand-off rather than a technical fault. The single best decision was hanging a slate-blue ceiling fan across the top of the sheet, blades drawn motionless, so the whole picture sits in airless heat before you even read the figures. The husband is built the patua way — a slumped, boneless mass of belly and shoulders in a singlet, hand-fan raised, sweat falling as a row of small painted drops — while the wife stands composed with a lit candle held high, one finger pointing at the useless fan as if he might fix it by being scolded. We kept the palette cool and grey on purpose, with the candle flame the only warm chrome-yellow note, so the lone light reads as the picture's pulse. No meter, no switchboard, no appliance gag — the satire lives in the bodies and that one accusing finger.