Locked Out in Blue Flowery Shorts

It was a lazy Saturday morning. I rolled over in my bed and gazed absently. My Andheri flat was bright with the sunlight bouncing off the white marble flooring. "Bright Andheri" flat. Oxymoron don't you think? The eight feet long pink curtains shone and swayed happily in the morning breeze, resembling flowing streams of freshly churned strawberry milk shake. Through the open window, that was most of the wall, I saw the white and grey pigeons bobbing about near the green and yellow money plant, behind them was the powder blue sky .....most surreal..most perfect! It was heavenly being snuggled up in bed, soaking in the beauties of a perfect morning!

I trotted out humming to myself, blissful and content. Being on the fourth floor, and built for great light and cross ventilation, the apartment was as breezy as ever. I was enjoying the wind in my hair and did a little ballet all the way to the front door. One of my best buddies was staying over the weekend, we had plans and the day ahead looked great. The morning crossword would be the cherry on the icing.

So I go out the front door, stoop to pick the paper, shift my weight from foot to foot, and skimming through the headlines, slowly turn to see the giant door charging at me with all that the wind had in it. BANG!!! In about a split second the wind had swung and slammed the door shut on me, clicking the automatic Godrej lock in place.

It took me a moment to register what had happened. The gravity of the situation sank in. Very slowly. I took stock of the situation. I was locked out of my home in a worn flimsy white tee, dark blue flowery shorts exposing two and a half weeks of unwaxed hairy legs, wind tousled shaggy hair, bathroom slippers and a threateningly increasing urge to pee.

Thank you my creator. I was not only locked out of my home, but also out of my dreamy Saturday morning. Rather nightmarish I should say. For immediate attention, my "working speedily" mind processed two priorities. One, find place to pee. Two, get the door opened.

Priority one. Two options, I could go to one of the neighbors, introduce myself and plead permission to use the restroom and be laughed at for the rest of my stay in that apartment complex OR ....OR.....OR...go to the easily accessible terrace just one floor above mine. Option one required too much explaining and trampling of self esteem. I took the aerial route.

The terrace was a soccer field. The sun shone on every square inch and there seemed to be no hiding place. I was standing in the middle of the vastness clawing my shorts like a scruffy urchin. There were the white pigeons that were looking too. It was a tough decision to make.

And so, on that glorious Saturday morning I eased myself in the bright expanse of the chip tiled terrace floor. It was peaceful, clean and liberating. The gratification brought a smile to my face.

That done, I bounded back the stairs to face the large, unforgiving front door. I had to get keys. My set was on the other side, duplicates were with a cousin three hours away, and the flat owner was in another district! Several ideas swam through my head. I even considered hanging down the terrace and swinging myself in through the large windows. Finally I decided the best solution had to involve minimal public interaction and threat to life.

I took the lift down to the ground floor, called out sheepishly to the security several times. Fortunately he appeared soon enough. Not sure how to react to scruffy looking fourth floor female occupant in little clothing, he studied the walls and staircase railing for a few seconds. Then I recounted the situation in one quick breath and requested for a key maker to be brought over at the earliest possible.

He disappeared quickly, relieved that our awkward little meeting was over. Back on the fourth floor, I plonked on the steps and read the Saturday Times. The root cause of all the mess. The crossword stared at me seductively. There was nothing to write with, and my fingers were itching to put the words down. My ears pricked up at every sound in the lift shaft. I waited and waited for the key man.

After thirty minutes of reading the paper, playing on-the-spot created one man staircase games, occasionally popping out the terrace door to scare the pigeons, and reading some more paper, the two men finally arrived. Security walah dropped him off and hurried away. Key man quickly got to work. After an agonizing twenty minutes, cold, hungry and eighty five rupees short I was inside my home!!! It never felt sweeter! I quickly called the usual suspects to share details of the traumatizing episode. Mother and close buddies.

The friend was fifteen minutes from my home, and of course I told her how incredibly lucky she was to be landing after the worst was over.

Soon she called to say she was at the ground floor but that the lift wasn't working. Now, this friend had a slow healing ligament tear in her left knee. Managing four flights of stairs wasn't going to be easy. She called again. Talking on my cell phone, I stomped out of the door, thinking to myself how the lift was perfectly fine when the key man came, and that he must have not shut the door properly.

I was two paces away from the door when I froze in my tracks. The lift carriage chimed open at the fourth floor and the great wooden door slammed shut behind me!

For the second time in two hours I was stranded locked outside of my home in precious little clothing! I mean this was a conspiracy. Man and his unnecessary inventions. Automatic door locks! Whoever would have wanted that I wonder! Actually, I just couldn't come to terms with JUST how stupid I was being that day. It must have been the overwhelming natural morning beauty and all that jazz! Thank God, the world is less beautiful on normal days.

And so for the second time I stared in disbelief at the door. It was better this time though. I had a friend to while away time with, a tested and tried solution to open the door, and no urgent incoming nature calls. Within half an hour we were yet again facing each other. The "KEY MAN and the master slammer of doors". Sure enough, he put his super powers to use, vanquished the door and made off with another eighty five.

Yes, there have been several friendly suggestions and jibes since then. Hang an extra key around your neck, hide one under the door mat, leave one with the neighbor and so on. Of course I did none of that.

That Saturday, I simply sent a menacing mental message to the door. Shut me out again and you will be unhinged, cut up in planks and sold by the kilo in Crawford market. I have never been locked out since.