As I may have mentioned earlier, we moved house (our thirteenth since we got married) the end of this June. It was a flat almost identical to the one we were living in, and in the same housing complex, but with some additional features introduced by the owners, who had lived there for several years before they decided to move to Texas.
Since they had moved in to this apartment complex several years ago, when it was on the outer edge of the civilised world, they were very safety conscious. The main door had the builder's mortise lock, a bolt for a padlock, and a big safety lock with two latches. The outer, grill door had a steel frame and netting, plus a mortise lock, and a bolt on the inside. The skylight above had a stainless steel grill.
They then handed me a bag full of keys to the various cupboards and cabinets and drawers to the house. There were drawers in the dressing table that could be locked, cupboards in the kitchen, sections in the store room: a truly overwhelming number of keys for a couple whose worldly goods mostly consist of books, music and cushion covers!
Our young landlords had done a wonderful job of adding storage space to the house. In the storeroom/ servant's room, they had built a huge shoe cupboard against one wall, and an ironing table with storage drawers against the other wall. The master bedroom had a huge shelf/sideboard with many small cabinets built into it, and the guest room, (formerly their children's room), had a big desk cum bookshelf occupying one wall. Many of our books were no longer homeless, and our movie collection now saw the light of day.
The morning after we received our set of keys to the house, our kids dropped in and wanted to see it.
(The landlords had left late the previous night, and had left one set with one of their relatives).
Wielding the bunch of house keys, I marched across with two kids and a friend in tow. The steel grill door was double locked, and opened with two turns of the key. The safety lock opened with two turns of the key, too. The key turned in the builder's original lock, but I couldn't extricate it. My younger son, (who is also known as Terminesh on occasion), tried pulling it out, but the key broke in the lock. We could push open the door and enter the flat, and then wondered what to do. My daughter sent her driver to get a locksmith, and he came back shortly with a Sikh locksmith who extracted the broken key.
We decided that the grill door was safe enough in a building and society with plenty of security, and put both latches of the safety lock in a neutral position, since we decided that we didn't need more than one lock on our front door.
That was Door/ Key episode 1.
A couple of months later we had house guests. My aunt had undergone knee replacement surgery, and my uncle was going to visit her in the hospital. I happened to be running a temperature, and on this particular morning was not able to get up. My maid suddenly comes and scolds me that the stuff I had kept in the small room has fallen and jammed the door and it can't open. I had propped two or three large paintings behind the door of the store room, and in some mysterious way they had fallen down, blocking the door completely. The spouse and the uncle tried desperately to move them, but to no avail. Somehow the maid got a hand in, and managed to lift the heavy frames enough to manoeuvre
the door open, bless her. I promptly put the picture frames between the dryer and the steel almirah, where they could do no further damage.
So that was Door Episode No. 2.
When I told my good friend O about this, she narrated a similar episode in their house, where the ironing board got wedged between the door and a wardrobe, and could not be moved. Someone actually climbed down from the terrace to their eighth floor window, removed the pane of glass in the skylight, and entered and opened the door. Thank goodness we didn't have to do that. (The next day the maid's arm was badly swollen, but thankfully she recovered soon.
Once my aunt was home from hospital, we had many visitors coming to see her. One of them was her granddaughter, who had flown in for a day to meet her beloved Dadi! The spouse and I decided to get some rasmalai and dhokla from our local shop, and left the house with my niece watching TV and Chacha and Chachi following their normal routine of morning exercises. We didn't even think of telling the young lady that our place was very safe, and that our just closing the steel grill door was more than enough. When we came home, we opened the steel door, but the wooden door wouldn't open. Chacha threw down the house keys for the RE to retrieve, but the door still wouldn't open. Chacha tried attacking the lock with hammer and screwdriver, but to no avail. The RE went to get a locksmith. I went upstairs to O's house and asked her to keep the rasmalai and dhokla in her fridge. I sat down and drank some water. I was somewhat terrified, because the front door was proving to be impregnable. Even cutting open the grill above didn't seem possible or practical. The carpenter came and sat around uselessly. The RE returned with the locksmith, who seemed to be the original Sikh chap who had come some months ago! Within seconds the door was open, to our collective relief. The locksmith spent a good couple of hours de-activating and removing the latches from the safety lock.
That was Episode No. 3.
The fourth episode was comparatively milder, but potentially much more dangerous.
Last year we had visited the Blind School Diwali Mela (for the first time), and among other purchases had bought a bamboo and coconut shell mashaal.
I used it last year, and this year, once again, it was in the little corner between the front door and the wall, although outside a different apartment. On Diwali I placed a glass candle holder on top of it, and lit a large candle inside it, and all was well. On the day after Diwali, I lit the wick inside the coconut shell (there was a good quantity of wax), and a couple of tea-lights outside the door. When I opened the door the next morning, there was a blackened mess where the mashaal once stood. It was only when we got back from our walk that O pointed out how lucky we were that our electrical wiring didn't catch fire: the switchboard with the doorbell and entry light had melted and was quite de-shaped. This wasn't quite a door episode, but since it was in close proximity, I guess it qualifies!
Is there a particular God of Door Things who can help? (We have a Ganapati outside, and one just inside, who seem to be sleeping on the job). Do let me know!
Since they had moved in to this apartment complex several years ago, when it was on the outer edge of the civilised world, they were very safety conscious. The main door had the builder's mortise lock, a bolt for a padlock, and a big safety lock with two latches. The outer, grill door had a steel frame and netting, plus a mortise lock, and a bolt on the inside. The skylight above had a stainless steel grill.
They then handed me a bag full of keys to the various cupboards and cabinets and drawers to the house. There were drawers in the dressing table that could be locked, cupboards in the kitchen, sections in the store room: a truly overwhelming number of keys for a couple whose worldly goods mostly consist of books, music and cushion covers!
Our young landlords had done a wonderful job of adding storage space to the house. In the storeroom/ servant's room, they had built a huge shoe cupboard against one wall, and an ironing table with storage drawers against the other wall. The master bedroom had a huge shelf/sideboard with many small cabinets built into it, and the guest room, (formerly their children's room), had a big desk cum bookshelf occupying one wall. Many of our books were no longer homeless, and our movie collection now saw the light of day.
The morning after we received our set of keys to the house, our kids dropped in and wanted to see it.
(The landlords had left late the previous night, and had left one set with one of their relatives).
Wielding the bunch of house keys, I marched across with two kids and a friend in tow. The steel grill door was double locked, and opened with two turns of the key. The safety lock opened with two turns of the key, too. The key turned in the builder's original lock, but I couldn't extricate it. My younger son, (who is also known as Terminesh on occasion), tried pulling it out, but the key broke in the lock. We could push open the door and enter the flat, and then wondered what to do. My daughter sent her driver to get a locksmith, and he came back shortly with a Sikh locksmith who extracted the broken key.
We decided that the grill door was safe enough in a building and society with plenty of security, and put both latches of the safety lock in a neutral position, since we decided that we didn't need more than one lock on our front door.
That was Door/ Key episode 1.
A couple of months later we had house guests. My aunt had undergone knee replacement surgery, and my uncle was going to visit her in the hospital. I happened to be running a temperature, and on this particular morning was not able to get up. My maid suddenly comes and scolds me that the stuff I had kept in the small room has fallen and jammed the door and it can't open. I had propped two or three large paintings behind the door of the store room, and in some mysterious way they had fallen down, blocking the door completely. The spouse and the uncle tried desperately to move them, but to no avail. Somehow the maid got a hand in, and managed to lift the heavy frames enough to manoeuvre
the door open, bless her. I promptly put the picture frames between the dryer and the steel almirah, where they could do no further damage.
When I told my good friend O about this, she narrated a similar episode in their house, where the ironing board got wedged between the door and a wardrobe, and could not be moved. Someone actually climbed down from the terrace to their eighth floor window, removed the pane of glass in the skylight, and entered and opened the door. Thank goodness we didn't have to do that. (The next day the maid's arm was badly swollen, but thankfully she recovered soon.
Once my aunt was home from hospital, we had many visitors coming to see her. One of them was her granddaughter, who had flown in for a day to meet her beloved Dadi! The spouse and I decided to get some rasmalai and dhokla from our local shop, and left the house with my niece watching TV and Chacha and Chachi following their normal routine of morning exercises. We didn't even think of telling the young lady that our place was very safe, and that our just closing the steel grill door was more than enough. When we came home, we opened the steel door, but the wooden door wouldn't open. Chacha threw down the house keys for the RE to retrieve, but the door still wouldn't open. Chacha tried attacking the lock with hammer and screwdriver, but to no avail. The RE went to get a locksmith. I went upstairs to O's house and asked her to keep the rasmalai and dhokla in her fridge. I sat down and drank some water. I was somewhat terrified, because the front door was proving to be impregnable. Even cutting open the grill above didn't seem possible or practical. The carpenter came and sat around uselessly. The RE returned with the locksmith, who seemed to be the original Sikh chap who had come some months ago! Within seconds the door was open, to our collective relief. The locksmith spent a good couple of hours de-activating and removing the latches from the safety lock.
That was Episode No. 3.
The fourth episode was comparatively milder, but potentially much more dangerous.
Last year we had visited the Blind School Diwali Mela (for the first time), and among other purchases had bought a bamboo and coconut shell mashaal.
I used it last year, and this year, once again, it was in the little corner between the front door and the wall, although outside a different apartment. On Diwali I placed a glass candle holder on top of it, and lit a large candle inside it, and all was well. On the day after Diwali, I lit the wick inside the coconut shell (there was a good quantity of wax), and a couple of tea-lights outside the door. When I opened the door the next morning, there was a blackened mess where the mashaal once stood. It was only when we got back from our walk that O pointed out how lucky we were that our electrical wiring didn't catch fire: the switchboard with the doorbell and entry light had melted and was quite de-shaped. This wasn't quite a door episode, but since it was in close proximity, I guess it qualifies!
Is there a particular God of Door Things who can help? (We have a Ganapati outside, and one just inside, who seem to be sleeping on the job). Do let me know!
