I am a
stairs person. No, it is not because I am health conscious and I revel in inner
joy of burning a few calories. Instead, the reason is elevators hate me. It may
sound bizarre but it is true. Initially I thought it was just another elevator breaking
down. What if the elevators you use
regularly, at work or at your apartment building, breaks down leaving you at
the mercy of the stairs? Not just in one city but over multiple cities? Then
you know it not just a coincidence but the revolt of the elevators.
Last
week on a Monday I was on the way to work. I took the elevator. The elevator started
making grumbling noises and the passengers collectively commented on the noise.
I was happy that I was on the way out. Anyways on the way back I realized the elevator
is down and I am supposed to take the fire exits. Obviously we were not
provided with the keys to the fire exit at the ground level exit or to the fire
exit at our floor. We spent an hour outside the apartment till a gentleman
going out of the apartment let us in with his keys!
It was
all fine as our home is on the first floor. Wait, I go to office the next day
to find out that the elevator in the vice-chancellery building of the
university is under repair. Too much of a coincidence eh?
This was
not the first time the elevators have been nasty to me. It has happened before
when I was in Mysore (and later in Singapore as well). I was this naive, young thing who totally believed that the
monthly pay check and space to call my own is synonymous to independent woman!
This
was something I wrote sometime in 2008 based on a real-life experience. I’ll
let you get a glimpse of my younger self.
A mundane weekend in Mysore:
I, on
an average Saturday mid day, resemble a walking super market with a minimum of
five bags (filled with assorted things
vegetables, fruits, milk, ironed clothes and anything you can think off…)
I get
off from my home with a single task in my mind so that I end up only with a
single bag when I come back. But Women!!!God made them with shopping in their
blood and eyes meticulously trained to read the “SALE” board in any language…And last Saturday I ended up with more
bags than I could handle…
As I
heaved up to the entrance of my apartment I lavished myself with a triumphant
smile ...Voila I reached home without breaking a single cover and picking up
things from road…:D :D…
The elevator
in our apartment was a piece from history. It had giant retractable metal doors
and resembled the ones you regularly see in horror movies ..As I waited for the
elevator and I read the instructions on the left hand side wall…
“Elevator keys to
be used by authorized personnel only…”
Did
you ever know elevators had keys? Even I didn’t…Now that it has been documented
and pasted for public reference those keys should exists…
I put my stuff in the elevator’s floor
and hit my floor number..wait wait…and it stopped…Great…I pick my packets and
..EEEEEEEEEEKSSSSSSSS I’m hanging between two floors…The elevator is stuck
between my floor and floor below….I hit the alarm and stop buttons…They blink
at me remorselessly..There is no electricity I realize…
I keep
my packets down..Do an “appadi podu” dance feat for 10 seconds…
(But then I remembered all
stories about people dying in lifts and lifts that crashed when power
came…Brrrr Brrrr.)
I
revel..I’m stuck in a lift…for the first time…I call up my mom and my friends
and let them know about my “elevated” situation...My mom suggests that I rock
the grill and scream for help..I tried…I cried HELP!!!!!!!!!!! In all filmy ways and tunes…
(I wanted to try BACHAAAAAOOOOO
KOI HAI BACHAAAAAOOOOO...then I felt it was a little too dramatic)
Then I
whistled and my mom scolds me over the phone...”Girls are not supposed to
whistle…”
(I wanted to ask her “Oh Gyaan Devata, are boys allowed to
whistle???”)
But 2
secs after my shrilly whistle went out my neighbors daughter came looking for
the source…
“Hey..me
stuck here..Can you tell the security guy that I’m here…”
I tell
my mom about the little rescuer girl…Then the Don of our flat (An aunty who runs everything there, a very
helpful being) whom we lovingly call Ground Floor aunty and security guy
comes…
They
smile at me or are they suppressing a laughter…Hmmm I flash a happy smile and
wave from down under….
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| Image Courtesy:Google.com |
There
in the security’s hand is a long thin cylindrical metal rod .I strain my head
to watch my rescuers in action…
(“Elevator keys to be used by
authorized personnel only…” the words flash before me like a warning…)
He
puts it into a key hole in the wall and turns it left and right with little
success…After ten minutes of directions from the lady outside the lift and the
lady inside the lift he quit …”Aagalla
madam..”
(It’s not working Madam)
GF
aunty opens the outside door to demonstrate the lever in action to him and I
open the inner doors to the lift…They both look at me wondering what this
little monkey is upto…I throw my packets onto my floor..I pray to Aamir khan of
Ghajini for strong arm muscles and hoist myself out of the lift…Phew I’m out…I
smiled at my rescuers who are still struck by the monkey like antics of the girl
next door…
I
learned two things
- Elevators do have keys
- Buy only what you can take home by stairs
I only
had two regrets
- I wasn't stuck with a handsome guy with a background music “hum tum ek dibbe mein bandh ho..”
- My rescue team didn't include a Tom Cruise look alike that would’ve stretched his arm to lift me out and said “Main hoon Na”
P:S:
My roomies comment :”I thought you go to gym regularly..Then why take the
lift???”
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I've not edited this piece much. I wanted it to be just the way it was when it was
written. It does take me to that era and to the girl I was.
Boy, I
did use a lot of full stops and unnecessary emoticons. Nevertheless I think I
like her for her spunky spirit!
