The Unlocked Phuchkas
Phuchkas are undoubtedly one of the most mouth-watering snacks that we get in India. Though it is recognized by various other names, such as Panipuri and Gupchup, its fan-following remains the same across the states. Of late, even my son has become fond of phuchkas.
Those having an automatic door locking system would agree that it’s more of a menace than a helpful system. There’s a constant threat of finding yourself locked outside of your own house in a very uncomfortable state. I recall, once one of our neighbors had stepped out just for a minute to keep the garbage outside his flat, and the door slammed on his face. It was early morning and he was in his night dress, without the keys, mobile, or purse. You can well imagine his plight.
We, on the contrary, had managed to avoid such a situation for over a decade, until that eventful Sunday evening when we had planned to go out for a Phuchka treat.
It was past 6 PM, and my son was still downstairs, playing with his friends. So I told my wife that I would go downstairs and send him up. I hurriedly went out and found my son but it took him some time to gather his belongings, and by the time we could go up, my wife had come down. As fate would have it, she had come down without the keys, thinking that the keys were with me. Tension started brewing!
Though we had been careful for all these years, we always knew that this situation will hit us some day, and so we had made some arrangements. We had kept the alternate key near a window and kept it slightly ajar. So, I knew that we have a workaround but we’d still need help since our flat was on the second floor.
Usually, some of our housekeeping staff used to be around all the time, and I was sure that they will be able to get the keys. To my surprise, I learnt that they had stopped staying overnight inside the complex. When I narrated the issue to a security guard, he quickly brought the ladder under our flat, but clearly stated that he won’t be able to get the keys as he’d get caught on the CCTV. So, despite our sure-shot workaround, we were left stranded. Even the ladder was long enough only to reach the roof shade of a car-parking under our flat, not up to the second floor.
As I was staring at our window helplessly, suddenly the task seemed do-able. I don’t know where I got the confidence from, but in a matter of minutes, I found myself climbing up the ladder to reach the roof shade. I felt so light, as if I was used to do such stunts regularly. The balcony grills of the first-floor flat were tailor-made to let me climb up and reach our second-floor balcony. That was pretty easy. However, the target window was still around six feet away from the balcony. I stretched myself to the fullest.
For a 40-plus IT professional, stretching office hours is daily business, but stretching between the balcony and window of a second floor flat is no mean task. Aground, my wife stood in awe, while the security guard kept chanting, “Sir, please come down, else you will fall.”
I paid no heed to his requests and kept searching for the key with my left hand while the other three limbs supported my fully-stretched, X-like posture. In a desperate attempt to get the key, I pushed aside a rack, and then I could feel the key to success. I collected it and put it in my pocket in a jiffy. When I reached the car shade and threw the key down, it resembled a boundary fielder making a valiant effort to successfully complete a catch and throwing the ball up again.
The security guard was happy that I had come down without hurting myself. My wife was completely awestruck by the fitness, agility, and bravery that I demonstrated right in front of her to get us out of trouble. All this while, my son was extremely tensed. He was running around to calm down himself. Unfortunately, he missed watching my stunt and neither did we capture it as a video. Years later, this blog will probably help him relive those moments and visualize what he didn’t see.
After coming back to our flat, we washed the tension off our faces and went for the ‘unlocked’ phuchkas, as if nothing significant had happened.
