Doors

The day could not have started at a brighter note, what with the winter sun at its glorious best at 10 in the morning. So it was hardly surprising that things went downhill from there on. Life doesn't really take into account niceties like it was a sunday, and a day before my birthday (for some unfathomable reason, I am more excited on the day before my birthday than on my birthday itself - may be it's the stuff about aniticipation and all that). Anyway, my journey downhill began with the discovery that the missed calls were not missed - none of the three receipients had bothered to call me back. How I wish these modern gizmos didn't have such advanced features - like telling you that someone called up while you were sleeping, and may be you should return the call. Or the features should be advanced enough - the phone grabs you by the ears and doesn't let go till you return the call - basic manners, you see!

The next step down was actually about my inability to take it - I mean, take the stairs down. The knee was still acting like a lover spurned - would send a shooting pain every once in a while to remind me that I had hurt it. Thank God for big mercies - the lift was working. I took the short cut to the bottom (if you are going to fall, might as well get it over with) and started my daily routine of walk. Completed one round, stopped at the corner store for my mid-morning cuppa of tea, and continued on my semi-brisk pace, the injuries of the morning forgotten. And then the bright note (refer para 1) disappeared behind a sea of clouds - all threatening to let loose a volley of raindrops. Welcome at most times, but not when I am out in the open enjoying my company.

Man proposes, Raingod disposes. So here I was, back in front of the lift, having my morning quality time with myself rudely interrupted, but still managing to hold my chin up. After all, there is more to life than walks that get interrupted. How about getting home, putting on the geyser, having some chocos in cold milk while the water gets ready, and then a nice bath? By that time some one would surely miss my call? Hold on bugger, sure there is more to life - but it need not be what you want it to be. So here I am, standing in front of my apartment door, with the same key which has unravelled the mysteries behind several hundered times in the past two years, but now suddenly refusing to do my bidding. I try everything - twist the key, insert it fully and then try to turn, insert it fully, then pull back slightly and then turn, push the door, pull the door, kick the door - everything short of kicking myself because I couldn't see where I was at fault - but the door wouldn't budge.

And suddenly, that seems to be my life story. Doors all around, all closed. Me having a set of keys, but all useless. Me trying to understand what I can do to open a door, but realizing that someone has locked it from inside. Several doors, all leading to happiness and peace, you see, but all locked from inside. My parents, who adore me, but cannot stand each other, and somehow expect me to bring happiness to their lives. The woman I love, and more importantly, who loves me too, but is too bruised by her past to even acknowledge my helping hand. There is nothing for me to do except to accept things as they are - just as I have accepted that even my own apartment won't let me in.

Why do we get so bogged down by the past - and are so fearful of the future? Hasn't the past already gone by, and isn't the future yet to come? And can any amount of avoidance actually help me avoid pain, sorrow, misfortune? And who is to judge that the pain I bear today in order to avoid the pain tomorrow is not actually worse?

These are the thoughts I reflect upon as I sit on the stairs, waiting for the carpenter to arrive, to break open a stubborn door that would not let me in what is rightfully mine (hell, I paid the rent just last week). And then my thoughts move on to more cheery stuff (oh yes, there is always loads of them, if only you would bother to look). A dear friend, someone who has loved me much, is getting married while I am sitting at the stairs - a fresh start to her life. Another buddy is finally all set for marriage after battling parental approvals for more than 4 years. Some one else is taking the first tentative steps towards being on her own after seven years of a confidence-eroding marriage. There is nothing like an end - except in movies (even there we have sequels). Every end is in fact a fresh beginning. And every closed door is just waiting to be opened - if you can wait long enough.

The carpenter has delivered his verdict - lock has jammed from inside, you need to break it, and replace the lock etc. etc. Off he goes to get the tools - his sunday is made. I retire back to the stairs, defeated by the stubborn door, the door that would not open. And then I am reminded of the P's of life - patience, perseveance, persistence - and decide to give it one more try. What do I lose any way? I walk towards the door with purpose (another P of life), carefully insert the key (yet in no different a manner than I have done in the past), turn it clockwise - and hear the mellifluous note of "click". The door yieldeth, finally.

And this is also the story of my life - keep trying, and trying, and trying - till you have the strength to go on. That way, either you will open the door, or you will collapse against it - exhausted, but without regret.