"Lenglish!"

Many of us are overconfident, often bordering on arrogance, when it comes to handling the English language. As Amitabh explains in a yesteryear film, “I can talk English, I can walk English, I can laugh English! Aisi English aavey, I can leave the angrez behind!” We could well have tea with the King of England or give even Shashi Tharoor, a run for his money. Such is our sincere assessment about ourselves.

The balloon of pride is burst, the moment we encounter a legal document in English. It could be a “Rental Agreement”, an “Encumbrance certificate” or a “sale deed”. These are 100 pages of utmost torture. In this time and age, it is strewn with words like “witnesseth”. The wording irks you. You feel like questioning, “Are you Shakespeare? Are you Byron? Why would you say “witnesseth”?” The mind does not co-operate anymore, like a recalcitrant and stubborn child, that refuses to drink milk after the first sip!

The document is divided into several paragraphs. Each paragraph starts with the word “Whereas”. Your mind picks on the grammar, “You can use “whereas” only when there is a comparison of sorts. Something like- you can do this, whereas, if you don’t like it, you can do that.” But the legal document has no such connection. Reams and reams of paragraphs start with “whereas”. “Whereas to subject the schedule a property to better use” is the start of the first paragraph. The second para says, “whereas the parties had mutually agreed”. The third para begins with, “whereas the developer has obtained the necessary power of attorney”. How do you plough through this? It is simply hopeless.

If you navigate through “whereas”, you stumble over the next trap- “the vendor hereby covenants”. You need a dictionary now. What does “covenants” mean? What does “vendor” mean? The mind goes on a trip thinking about all kinds of vendors- vegetable vendor, fruit vendor, mango vendor and then, to the varieties of juicy mangoes- alphonso, banganapalli and so on. You have completely lost the plot now.

To make matters worse, there are cross references all over the place.  The document is scattered with “Schedule A”, “Schedule B”, Schedule C” and so on. You flip the pages to and fro, in a frenzy, to put it all together into a cohesive whole, but it refuses to fall in line.

By now, you are reading only the words, having lost all connection with the meaning. The document shows no mercy. “The expression ‘purchasers’ shall mean and include wherever the context so admits or permits their respective heirs, legal representatives, successors, administrators, executors, agents and assigns of the other part.” Pray tell me, what this means!

Sometimes, you employ a legal expert to explain the contents of the document. After all, you do not want to sign anything without “thorough perusal”. How many such films have we seen? The hero is a  gullible bumpkin and signs papers indiscriminately. Sitting in the audience, you feel like shouting, “You idiot! Read the document before signing! That man standing next to you, prodding you to sign, is the villain! He is the villain! Don’t you realize that, just looking at his eyes? He is about to usurp all your money!” You know how the plot unfolds.

Taking a cue from this, you try to concentrate. The legal helper reads the same document, only with more enthusiasm and with an added stress on some words. He picks some random phrases and raises his voice- "the occupant shall not” and “in his capacity as a” and scrutinizes your face. After each paragraph, he gives a little synopsis. To be honest, the sum and substance of his interpretation, has absolutely no connection to what was read out. The text could well have been in Arabic.

The mind switches off.  Soon, you are yawning uncontrollably, while your legal helper is reading away. You wonder where the problem is. Is it a problem of comprehension, or an inability to navigate through the language or both? You scratch your head, trying hard to focus. By now, the mind is all cloudy. The yawns get more frequent. They are now back-to-back, deeper, and longer, to the point, the eyes well up with tears. If you yawn any more, the jaw will lock and stay locked, that too with your mouth ajar! You blink back at your helper, pleading with him silently…to stop this drivel forthwith.

Eventually, you cut him short with a pointed question, “It is ok to sign….no?” He assures you, “Yes, yes! It is all fine! We just read the document together…no?” If only you could tell him the plain truth- “It is as clear as cow dung!”

Anger wells up. Why is legal English so abstruse and incomprehensible? The mind has a ready answer, “Legal-English is not English..da! It is “Lenglish” da, just another word for gibberish da!”

You cannot delay anymore. You must sign the legal papers. End of the day, the world runs on hope and trust. Ummeed par duniya kaayam hai!

 

The reconfirmation bug!

When you took the Mumbai Local, you followed a particular drill. The train to “Mankhurd” always started from the same platform at VT station. Still, you scanned the overhead indicator, to confirm the train’s destination. Eventually, after getting onto the train, you asked the man standing next to you, “Bhau! Aye Bhau! This train is going to Mankhurd…no?” The relief was immense once the man nodded in the affirmative. What if you bungled and boarded the wrong train, that too, the one going to Karjat? Better to be safe and reconfirm now, than be sorry later, right?

You never shook off this reconfirmation bug. Later in life, the same drill continued, only in a different setting. It does not matter how many times you have taken the flight to the US. After several rounds of security, by when, your boarding-pass is checked and rechecked umpteen times, you finally board the aircraft. After settling down in the seat, and buckling the seatbelt, you cannot resist asking your neighbor, “Excuse me sir! Hello Sir! This plane is going to America…no?” For a moment, the neighbor is all confused. He glares at you incredulously, as you repeat your question. You can see the alarmed look on his face, as he recoils to the far end of the seat, and orders a drink, to soothe his nerves. You try to calm him, “I am verifying, just in case! Don’t want to take the wrong plane and suddenly find...I am in Iceland!”

The reconfirmation bug bites you well before you reach the airport. It begins the moment you place the passport and ticket in the waist-pouch. On the way to the airport, you check and recheck. “Here is my passport. I am carrying my wallet, my cellphone, and my ticket!” Five minutes later, you dig into the pouch for repeat assurance, “Yes, I have my passport, my wallet, my cellphone and my ticket!”

Reconfirmation becomes particularly crucial after locking the main door of the house. If you forget that vital point, self-doubt can spoil the entire day, even the entire vacation. “I am not sure if I locked the main door!” you suddenly murmur. Like the deadly “Piranha” fish, the doubt eats into your being, midway through the journey. To avoid this crisis, you resort to reconfirmation. If it is a padlock, you take help from multiple family members. The entire family tugs at the padlock, hanging onto it for dear life, to confirm it is locked.

If the door has an automatic lock, the kind that slams shut on its own, reconfirmation requires a different technique. You run from a distance like a fast bowler and slam your body against the main door. The enormous thud, coupled with your body-ache, confirms it is shut tight. By now, the main-door and the lock, are mortally wounded and hang by a tenuous thread, thanks to these violent antics.  Once you leave, burglars can lick their lips and have a field day!

The reconfirmation bug is not a recent acquisition. It was a part of the personality profile, way back in school. “How did your board exam go?” sister asked. “The exam went off fine, but I am not sure if I wrote my examination-number in the answer booklet!” “What do you mean you are not sure?” sister questioned. “That’s what I am saying…silly! I am not sure…IF…I…WROTE…MY EXAM…NUMBER! Don’t you get it?” you enunciated one more time, this time with greater emphasis. From the next exam onwards, all you did was focus on confirming and reconfirming that the examination number was written. It did not matter how you wrote the paper. At least, there was no self-doubt at the end of the exam!

There is no area of life that is exempt from doubt. There is doubt if you took the tablet already, or the recollection of swallowing the tablet, dates to yesterday’s memory. If you dropped the cheque in the drop-box, you wonder later, if you filled the amount field or left it blank!  Among the worst fears, is the one related to the kitchen gas-stove. Well after you are 1000 miles from home, a sudden doubt bubbles up, “I am not sure if I switched the gas off! That’s why I told you, not to hurry me up!”

The Doubting Thomas is not just a Biblical problem. It is a pervasive phenomenon. In the novel, “Around the world in 80 days”, Passepartout, Mr Fogg’s valet, is racked with a similar doubt. “I think I left the gas burner on!” he confesses, well after they have left London, on their way to the Suez Canal!” Tough luck! It will take him 80 more days, to get back to London and switch the burner off, by when Passepartout would have forfeited his entire life’s earnings!

Doubt and the consequent reconfirmation-bug are essentially…a scatterbrain’s products. The mind focuses on everything, but the job at hand and does not register the imprint of the action. It is rightly said, “We live in absentia!”

The world's greatest festival!

It is polling day.

An enormous crowd greets you at the polling station. You thought you could beat everyone by reaching early. Others have thought likewise. There are multiple lines, multiple rooms, and the invariable confusion. Self-styled leaders step up to take the initiative and keep the flock together. “Everyone! This is the line to room number 4! I repeat, to room number 4 only!”

“Oh! I thought this is the line to room number 2!” someone suddenly wakes up. “Room number 2? You can walk in!” Call it Murphy’s law, the room you have been assigned to, has the longest line. You wonder, how long it is going to take. One hour, two hours maybe?  Some give up too soon, “I think I will come back at noon! I am certain there will be no crowd at that time!” You have half a mind to inject- “Saar! If you go home now, you will never come back!”

“I do not have this paper-receipt, with the room number earmarked. But I have the e-receipt on my cellphone. Is that enough?” someone asks. “They are not allowing cellphones. You need the paper. You can get it outside, at the counter,” is the rebuttal. “They are surely allowing cellphones!  The only problem is, you cannot switch it on!” comes a third opinion, adding no clarity to the situation. “Better to get the paper receipt also!” is the conclusion.

Waiting is not easy. Though the morning is young, the sun is harsh. The line barely moves- as though, you are waiting on a treadmill. A motley crowd mills all around- the young, the old and the overly old. Some are bent with age and can barely walk. They are escorted by their caregivers to the polling room directly. Friends, acquaintances, workplace colleagues- you get a chance to meet everyone. Meeting once is 5 years, isn’t too bad after all.

“This is like Tirupati. At least, at Tirupati, we would have earned some punya for all this waiting!” a stray conversation bit reaches your ear. There is a fitting response too, “This is greater punya, I would say! Yathaa raajaa…tathaa prajaa! You need this punya…so that you can float for another 5 years!”

The serpentine queue moves slowly but surely. Observing people, their body-language, their conversation…keeps you busy. You are now at the threshold of the room.

The din and clatter of the world is left behind the moment you step in. There is a hush...like the silence in an examination hall. Even the sound of the ceiling-fan is magnified several times over. There is one “presiding officer” and a few “poll officers” seated behind tables. Your identity is carefully matched. In a sheaf of papers, he quickly spots your picture, taken 20 years ago, and ticks it off. Another officer waits with the “indelible ink” swab. One part of the mind wants to ask him seriously, “Sir! Is the ink in-edible or indelible? Can I go home and eat breakfast?” Thankfully, you shake off these frivolities. You lay down your entire palm face down, as though, he is about to apply nail-polish to each of your fingers! "Can I choose crimson color...instead of this blue?" you are itching to ask.

All it takes him is one quick swish of the swab. You now wait for your turn...to step into the EVM counter.

Standing in front of the EVM, the focus must be total. The options are many. In a momentary lapse of concentration, your finger may stray, and you may inadvertently press the wrong button. That’s what happened to Kumbhakarna. After enormous tapas, Lord Brahma appeared before Kumbhakarna. A moment of indiscretion cost Kumbhakarna dearly. He wanted to ask “nir-devatvam” as a boon- “may no deva have lordship over me!” At the opportune moment, his tongue slurred, the visarga got transferred to another syllable in the word, and he blurted out “nidraavatvam”- “may I enjoy sleep!” Of course, Brahma gave him no second chance. He readily agreed- tathaastu, “so be it!”, and vanished! All this runs through your mind.

Kumbhakarna’s story is so powerful that you sleep off…right in front of the EVM. “Hello! Hello saar! What are you doing ? Press the button!” an impatient polling officer wakes you up- "Uttishthata! Jaagrata!" You shake off Kumbhakarna’s story. You make the selection decisively.  The EVM beeps, your candidate’s visual appears in the tiny screen and finally, you are done!

Once out of the polling booth, you cannot contain your smile. It is time for a round of selfies with the indelible ink on the finger prominently displayed!

An enormous sense of pride and achievement runs through your being.  It is a feeling of being “part of the process”, a feeling that you are an “active contributor” to the world’s largest democracy!

Laughter and its variants!

They say – laughter is the best medicine. Medicine is mostly bitter, but thankfully laughter comes in different flavors. At one end of the spectrum, are those that laugh as though they are consuming medicine. It is a carefully, calibrated laughter- it flows in a trickle, in ounces and teaspoons, just this much...and no more!

I watch comic films wearing such a laughter hat. “Didn’t you understand the joke?” my wife typically asks, scrutinizing my grave expression. “I did understand the joke. That's exactly why I cannot laugh!” Stand-up comedians should be thankful that I am not in the audience. By now, they would have lost all self-confidence, and banged their head on a concrete wall, watching every joke fall flat, with not a ripple registered on my placid face!

At the opposite end of the spectrum are the popular comedy shows on TV. The anchor normally employs a laughing sidekick to liven up the show. The sidekick has just one job- to laugh at the drop of a hat. For every innocuous comment from the anchor, the sidekick claps his hands and laughs uproariously. “I went to the market and bought potatoes!” the anchor comments. The sidekick repeats the sentence- “I went to the market” and breaks into a bout of convulsive laughter to the extent he can’t complete the sentence!

Watching him, we get irritated, “This is too much! They must have fed him "bhaang" or Laughing Gas! No wonder, he laughs for the silliest reason!”

Rakshasas and asuras are known for their special laughter, called “atta-haasa”. They must have a great sense of humor. The moment they make an appearance, on TV or in dramas, they break into an evil laugh, for no palpable reason. Asuras are trained to laugh in a low baritone, in the “mandara sthaayi”. Atta-haasa of this kind typically starts with the syllable “eee”.  Soon, the “eee” breaks into a gurgle, and swells into a sumptuous round of “ha-ha-ha”, so much so, the entire place reverberates with their booming laughter!

Today’s generation replies on social media with the ubiquitous “LOL” and “ROFL”. I have always been tickled by ROFL- “Rolling On the Floor Laughing”. Someone replies with ROFL sitting in a train. Think about it- one moment, they are sitting on the side-berth, all normal. They read your whatsapp message, and the next moment, they go rolling down the train’s aisle! How do the co-passengers react to this spectacle? And imagine multiple people on the train, all replying with ROFL. Soon, the train will resemble a "mini-Tirupati", with dozens of folks, rolling over each other, doing a veritable “anga-pradakshina”, down the train’s aisle!

We had a teacher in school, who often said, “Don’t loaf! If you loaf so much, you will cry later!” We took the sentence at face value, with a practical message- “Don’t loaf around and waste your time. Later, you will regret it and cry!” Only towards the end of the year, we deciphered her peculiar pronunciation. She actually meant, “Don’t laugh! If you laugh so much, you will cry later!” It took us an entire year to understand her hidden message. Laughter is a double-edged sword. Laugh too much, and it will come back to bite you later!

Laughter comes in several styles. In one, the person is laughing, but not one sound emerges. Only the eyes crease into a straight line, the face turns red, and the shoulder rocks. He is like a volcano, the lava is smoldering, but it is all bottled within.  After several minutes elapse, suddenly, out of the blue, the volcano explodes, into a round of resounding laughter. There are others who laugh with their mouth closed- so much so, each laughter bout is a snort, much like a bull, snorting through its nostrils. In some cases, the laughter is high-pitched, “peals of laughter” as they say, like the laughter of hyenas. It can be scary, especially at night. And still others laugh so much, that they hold their sides and plead with tears in their eyes, “Don’t make me laugh more! Please!” In such extreme cases, the laughter ends in a hiccup. With each hiccup, they laugh still more, leading to more hiccups. It is a vicious cycle that knows no end. No wonder, my teacher instructed, “Don’t loaf!”

We are told laughter is a 100% human response. Animals can express all emotion- they can show affection, they can cry (we are told), but they cannot laugh. And who has come to this conclusion? Humans have decided for animals that animals cannot laugh! Think about the irony. Who knows? Animals may be intently watching humans make a fool of themselves.

One fine day, when humans finally succeed in their self-destructive ways, much like the mythological character "Bhasmaasura", all the monkeys and elephants and hyenas will assemble in the open, and break into a collective laugh. 

After all, he who laughs best, laughs last! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The fort at Gingee

A few months ago, we did a 10-day trip around Karnataka. As we drove long distances each day, I had a specific job at hand- to sit beside the driver, Mr Murti, and engage him in conversation. That way, we were sure, he was alert and attentive at the wheel. The following is an account of one such conversation piece, reproduced verbatim.

“Murti saar, in all these 25 years of driving, have you had any paranormal experience?” I suddenly asked, to break the lull in the conversation. “What do you mean by paranormal experience?” Mr Murti asked, all puzzled. I spelt it out, “Something unusual…something inexplicable- involving spirits and ghosts, the kind we see in the recent Kannada film ‘Kantara’!”

Mr Murti thought for a moment, “Yes, I had one such experience. We were driving close to the Gingee Fort.” “You mean Gingee, that place in Tamil Nadu?” I asked. “Yes, the same Gingee!” Mr Murti clarified.

I knew Gingee (pronounced “jinji”). I had passed by the place many years ago. From Chennai, as you drive towards Tiruvannamalai, you take a turn to the right, just after Tindivanam. Gingee is on that road.

The word “Gingee” has an esoteric ring to it! Just intone the word “Gingee” repeatedly- it has an unmissable oddity, both in its wording and sound! In Tamil, it is called “Senji”, but trust the British, to come up with a twisted, Anglicized version of the name called “Gingee”!

The fort at Gingee arrests your attention.  You cannot drive past it nonchalantly. A gasp of “wow” escapes your mouth, and your eyes turn wide with wonder. The landscape reveals a gentle roll of the hills. Seated on top of a rocky hill, not too far from the road, is the Gingee Fort. Ramparts of the fort are still intact and well preserved. There’s the king’s fort on one side, the queen’s quarters on the other, and the road slices right through the middle of the ruins.

It was this Gingee Fort that Mr Murti was referring to. Murti saar continued, “It was dead at night. The driver-side window was open. While driving past the fort, I felt as though someone slapped me on my cheek from the window!” Mr Murti’s face turned pale. “Slapped you on the cheek? It must have surely been the ghost of a primary schoolteacher!” I joked. Mr Murti did not respond. He was caught up in his recollection. “I felt some enormous force was pushing the car from the opposite direction. I tried to accelerate. I couldn’t. Some power was decelerating the car, so much so, it was slowing by the second and coming to a halt. I was mortally scared. But I had some presence of mind. Immediately, I closed all the windows, pressed the accelerator at full throttle and hurtled past the place. Soon, things became totally normal!”

Mr Murti’s narration made my hair stand on end. “What was that?” I asked. Mr Murti explained that his experience was later corroborated by others. It was apparently common knowledge among drivers- either you totally avoided Gingee Fort after sunset, or if you had to drive at night, you ensured that the windows were shut-tight, and you never slowed the car.

“You do not have to believe me!” Mr Murti added, “Just search for Gingee-Fort and ‘mysterious incidents’ on the internet!" "Several drivers were not as lucky!” Mr Murti trailed off.

The topic was too spooky. I shifted the conversation immediately to Cricket and other irrelevant things in life. In a week’s time, the trip was over, and we were back home.

Once home, I had to read about Gingee. Somehow, in school, it had never figured in our history textbook. The fort has stood for over 800 years, (renovated multiple times), from 1190 AD onwards! Its occupants were many, in a reign of successive kings. Shivaji, in his time, called it “the most impregnable fort”. Over the centuries, the Marathas held the fort, followed by the Mughals.  It was captured later by the French and finally by the British! The “Battle of Gingee” and the “Great Carnatic wars”-all that action happened right here.

The fort at Gingee…like a silent sentinel, it must have witnessed such tumultuous twists and turns in its long and checkered history. What voices…what stories…from a dim and distant past…lay captive within…echoing through those stony embankments and rocky hillsides?

Any takers…for a leisurely stroll around Gingee, late at night? Who knows, you may catch the tinkling of anklets and the jingling of bangles. And perhaps, spot a lady draped in flowing white, rocking on a swing, and the yesteryear song in the air- "Ayega…ayega…ayega…aanewala…ayega...” Who knows?

Any takers?

Money is more important than education!

When we were in 7th standard and had just entered the echelons of the “Secondary block (7-10 grades)” in school, we were exposed to a “debate” for the first time. The topic was “Money is more important than education”. Green House spoke “for the motion” and Red House against it.

We sat in the audience, palms cupped to the cheek, eyes fixed on the 10^th standard gladiators, as they battled it out. It was indeed a clash of the titans! As a Green House student, it was amply clear- on which side of the topic, I stood.

Debating involved a peculiar style. You started your speech with a flowery address, “Respected chairperson (and made eye contact with the principal), members of the jury (and looked at the judges), my “worthy” opponents (and glared at the other House) and my dear friends (and smiled)!” The Green House speaker felt there was no debate at all. It was an “open-and-shut case”. The topic was a “statement of fact”- yes, money is more important than education. What is there to say? You need money to get education. And through education, you eventually want to make money. When both the path and the goal was “money”, what was the debate about?

The argument was clinching- as though the debate was over before the first ball was bowled. Further, he taunted the Red House speakers, “My worthy opponents, did you join this school for free, by any chance? Ask your father! Ask your mother! How much of “hard earned money” was spent on your education! And still…you dare say, money is less important?”

It was now Red House’s turn. Defending education was an impossible task. Red House folks spoke in a pompous monotone, “My dear friends, may I ask…may I ask a basic question? What is education?  Education comes from the Latin word “educare”- to nourish.” All this was too cerebral for us and was met with a round of yawns. The speech sounded like a sermon from a pulpit, as though great-great-grandfather was preaching, wearing a Dadabhai Naoroji cap and stroking his white, flowing beard.

The crux of the Red House argument was this- Education was the “summum bonum” of life. (By the way, what does summum bonum mean?) We are humans because of education. Remove that, and we will all be animals! (This sentence was met with a round of catcalls, but that’s a different matter!) Also, education need not be considered as “pursuit of knowledge” alone. Learning any basic skill is education. And only through that skill, you can make money.

The next Green House speaker tore into Red House’s argument- dismissing it summarily as “baseless and puerile”.  (By the way, what does “puerile” mean?) “Gentlemen! he is twisting the word “education”! By giving it a different spin, he is not sticking to the framework of the debate. The topic is about “formal education” and its importance with respect to money. He concluded with a phrase that has stayed with me to this day- “Red House’s argument has no footing whatsoever- it is like a post-dated cheque on a crashing bank!”

The speech was met with a thunderous applause from Green House. Shouts of “Bravo! Bravo!” rent the air. No one knew what a “post-dated cheque” meant. It didn’t matter. That one phrase was enough- like a sledgehammer, it struck Red House right on the head. Serves them right!

As the debate proceeded, it was unclear what was going on. Education depended on money and money depended on education. It was a chicken and egg problem of mutual dependence, with no clear-cut exit strategy. The speakers were confusing themselves and the audience with them. “Yaar, he is scoring a self-goal yaar, by praising money, when he is supposed to praise education!” the audience giggled and discussed among themselves.

The results were about to be announced. We waited with bated breath and prayed fervently, “Dear God! Please God! This one-time God, let Green House win!”

Red House won!  We were shocked, "How did Red House win? They were blabbering and bleating “meh-meh-meh” like goats! How could they win? As usual, Red House cheated and won!" Red House folks erupted- jeering and thumbing their nose at us, rubbing salt into a festering wound! Teachers had a tough time, restraining boys from opposing camps who caught each other’s collar and came close to fisticuffs! Tension and emotion ran sky high.

Let’s face it- the judgement was partisan and unfair. After all, the judges were teachers who “colluded" with Red House. As educationists, how could they allow money to win over education? We smarted under that loss.  Like Javed Miandad’s last ball six nailed India, Green House snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. We couldn’t look at Red House folks in the eye for a whole year.

The next year, all the houses were shuffled. Some of us, Green House students, now turned Red. And once you got a coat of Red, the worldview changed. Obviously, education was more important than money! What was the debate about?

Where are the keys?

Over 15 years ago, we had just moved into the new flat. On one of the first days, we found ourselves locked out! “I thought you had the keys!” my wife said. “I thought you had the keys!” I retorted. Many a happy family has thus been marooned, the culprit being the main door fitted with an automatic lock.

You have exactly 2 choices- break down the main door, or have someone get into the home, in stealth mode, through the window. We think our homes are safe, secure, and out of bounds from nefarious elements. All it took the security person, was one leap from the neighbor’s flat to our restroom window. That done, he entered our flat and let us in! So much for our “notional” sense of security.

We immediately made friends with our neighbors. We gave them a set of keys for safekeeping. But what if the neighbors are on a holiday and we get locked out? We gave another set of keys to the housemaid. What if the housemaid is also away on that fateful day? We needed still more “redundancy”. Now, everyone on the planet has our housekey. Yes, this way, we will never get locked out again!

Housekeys are slippery fellows. You stuff it in your pant pocket on your way to the office. In the evening, just as you are about to enter your flat, you feel your pocket, and he’s gone! Where did he go? Where did he go? You dig your fingers deeper into your pocket- the front pockets, the back pockets, just about everywhere! He has slipped away. You cannot describe that feeling- the panic, the helplessness, the futility of it all. The brain is totally foggy- from where will you start your search?

Some stories have an unusual ending like the twist in an art film. Your wife lets you in- and you mumble, “I don’t know where I lost the housekey!” She replies, “You never took it to the office in the first place! It is still by the washbasin!” Sometimes, after coming home, yes, after coming home, you cannot find the key. This takes the cake- you used the key to get in. And now, the key is gone! The ridiculousness of it all taunts you. A room-to-room search is conducted, combing every nook and corner, shelf and drawer. The key is nowhere. The entire home is upside down- if ever there was a key, it is now likely buried deeper in this debris.

And guess where you found the key eventually? No! Not in the restroom or inside the refrigerator! It was still inserted on the main door lock! I doubt whether this is oversight- I sincerely believe keys have a life of their own, and a morbid sense of mischief too. They tip-toe out of the house just to send you on a wild goose chase!

One thing about keys- they are faithful to the core. Only the houseowner knows how to operate them. A thief has no hope in hell of entering the house, even if he has the key. Every key has its special character, a quirky behavior, known only to the master. In some cases, the key must be inserted the other way, with the teeth facing up. In other cases, you need to insert the key midway, give it a little jerk, till you hear a click. Thereafter, you can open the door. Miss that vital point, and you will be twirling the key endlessly.

A single key, without a keychain, is like a bachelor. He’s too wild, and given his wayward ways, you are sure to lose him very soon. Sometimes, he tunnels his way down your pant pocket. You come home, and find a tiny hole in the pant pocket, and sure enough, he’s gone! “Why would you carry a single key, without a keychain? That’s surely asking for trouble!” you are asked repeatedly.

Keys with keychains have other issues. You develop some bad habits along the way. You get into a habit of twirling the keychain, as though you are wielding Lord Vishnu’s discus. It looks stylish all right, but at the most opportune moment, just when you are leaning over the embankment, with a raging ocean below- you twirl the keychain, and this one time, out goes the keychain along with your key…into the swirling water! Your eyes bulge, your mouth is ajar, and you let out a strangulated yelp, but there is little more you can do! At least with a single key, this accident wouldn’t happen!

Way back in college, I once got locked out of the hostel room. I forgot to carry the key, and my roommate had locked the room and gone off. He returned much later in the evening. He said, “You know what? I never carry the key with me! I leave it every single day under the locked door!” In his excitement to demonstrate his innovative solution, instead of pushing the key towards himself, from underneath the doorsill, he ended up flicking it the opposite way. The key now lay several feet inside the locked room! Now, there were 2 fellows locked out, and 2 sets of keys…both inside the room!