The Keys

The food was good. The food was always good. It was about a 15 minute walk from home; the name of the place was Hong Kong. Not the city but just another small restaurant located on a busy street in the middle of a bustling Calcutta. And what drew us there time and again was the special style of Chinese cooking which can be found only in India.

By the time we finished, it was around 10.30 pm. We decided to walk back instead of hiring a cab. It was a pleasant summer evening. My brother walked a few paces ahead of us. He’d had a small argument with Dad over dinner.

Halfway back, Mom asked Dad if he had the house-keys. He shook his head; he remembered my brother leaving the house last. I called out to the newest ‘suspect’. My brother replied in the negative too.

Now we started getting worried. We hurried back to the restaurant. They’d closed down for the night and we waited for at least ten minutes, before someone finally answered. We explained the situation. Surely it had fallen under the table or something. However, the staff couldn’t find it. What?! My brother went in to search under the tables. No luck.

Now it was past 11 pm. The only other spare key was inside the house itself. Locksmiths wouldn’t be available before next morning. The ever worsening reality of the situation began to dawn upon us.

My Mom asked my brother whether he was sure about not having the keys. All he could manage was a sarcastic comment. After all, if he’d had the keys in the first place…..

Mom suggested staying at a relative’s place for the night. Dad wouldn’t have any of it; he was still mad as ever. Nobody pushed the issue. There was only one option left: to break down the door.

My brother and I walked fast. We went to get help. As I walked, following the obscure shadows on the ground cast by the dim street lamps, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of excitement creeping in. To a fourteen year old, it seemed like a challenge. An adventure. A quest!

By the time we got back with reinforcements – a couple of family friends who stayed in the same neighborhood – Mom and Dad were standing outside the main gate. This gate, which led into the driveway and which was our main entrance to the second floor of a two storied house which we owned, was a big metal gate with a thick padlock on it. The toolbox popped open and out came the hammer.

After ample doses of hammering, a couple of stares from passers-by and endless questions from inquisitive neighbors, the lock’s stubborn resistance came to a sudden halt. Now only the upstairs door stood between us and certain victory – a well deserved rest and a good night’s sleep.

By now pretty much everyone was tired of the hammer and prepared their shoulders for one colossal assault. Timber…! It worked. The door gave way with two thrusts and we were in.

We sat down. Mom made tea and we discussed the ordeal in detail. Every time we recounted the events of the night, previously skipped details seemed to come to fore. After half an hour or so, we decided it was high time to go to bed. Some people went home. Others were relieved just to be home.

My brother went to change into his night clothes. As he went to hang his jeans, something fell from the pocket onto the floor. With a clank!

Note: Assignment - a piece based on a family experience. Oh what fun it is to write....
P.S. This is my 50th post! YAY!