Street lights arrived in Thalassery around 1943. You had to buy a connection to the house, so by 1947, we had electric lights in the veranda, the corridor and Achan's room upstairs. The 40 watt bulbs didn't do much, so Achan also had a small lamp clipped to the headboard of his bed, by which we both read.

   Naniedathy cooked with firewood and debris from the coconut palms, which smoked a lot when lighted. This was a fallback when we ran out of firewood. Krishnan, the rickshaw wallah took me to school and later, Usman, who had T B and coughed a lot. The first car owner on the road was my father, it was a small second-hand Morris minor, with a sliding panel in the roof for when it got too hot in the car. When it rained that panel let the rain in.

   Life was paired down. In all of Thalassery there were four cars and these were owned by doctors. There were no supermarkets -- fish and meat were sold in a covered hall in the centre of town; often the fishermen or women brought it to our houses for sale.

   The carbon footprints were barely visible. Now, we have two cars in the driveway and lights blaring in empty rooms all over the house. In our small way we have all contributed to the looming climate catastrophe. And listening to the 'leaders' at the COP26, I cannot imagine anything much is going to happen.

   In our house, we are going to use the car less, not leave lights on in empty rooms. Maybe organise a rota so that our children share cars to school, with families down the road. Another thought: we could boycott companies who are carbon-profligate by not buying their goods. The only place we can persuade business is in their wallets. During the Freedom Movement in the forties in India we had some success with not buying imported goods. This was piecemeal, more gesture than a major event. But gestures are important too. Perhaps this is a battle which can only be won at street and family level.

   I wonder what the young ones will do next. Greta Thunberg is quite a force.