Anything but an open-and-shut case

THIS year, the monsoon stayed far longer than expected. The blessings of rain soon turned into a curse. People found themselves at the receiving end of floods, cloudbursts and landslides that destroyed property and claimed precious lives. City dwellers remained trapped in bumper-to-bumper traffic as their vehicles waded through waterlogged roads.

While the nation was busy tackling the fury of prolonged rains, I faced problems of my own at home. Having retired from government service nearly 13 years ago, I spend a quieter life with my wife. As the gentleman of the household, one of my simple daily duties is to shut the doors and windows at night and open them in the morning. It may sound routine, even trivial. Yet this year, with the endless monsoon showers, even this little task turned into a battle.

Suddenly, none of the doors would close properly and the windows refused to open. The swelling of wood in damp weather had thrown them completely out of order. My wife complained that the contractor who built our house had used cheap timber, that I had failed to supervise his work adequately but had paid him through the nose. The neighbour’s wife, rubbing salt into my wounds, remarked smugly that all their doors and windows were perfectly fine.

I tried my best. Every night I pulled, pushed, shoved and kicked until the doors closed with a reluctant groan. In the mornings, I strained, tugged and twisted to get the windows to open. My arms began to ache, my leg muscles cramped, and yet the stubborn wood refused to cooperate. The dreaded moment finally arrived: the door handle came off in my hand but the door refused to budge.

It was time to seek professional help. A carpenter could scrape the doors and restore order. I rang up here and there, and even made a request in our locality’s WhatsApp group. But carpenters these days are in high demand. None was willing to come for what they scornfully dismissed as a “small job.” Small job, indeed! If they had seen me grappling with those swollen doors, they would have realised it was no less than hand-to-hand combat. I even tried coaxing them with double the labour charges, but no one said ‘yes’. My wife, meanwhile, kept shaking her head at my plight.

I began longing for a change in the weather. And then, one fine morning, it arrived quietly and without fanfare — the pichhwa hawayein, the winds from the west. These dry, westerly winds swept across the region, clearing the skies, drying the dampness and bringing freshness in the air. It was a breathtaking meteorological phenomenon.

Slowly, the stubborn doors and windows began to shrink back to their proper size. They started obeying me again, opening and shutting with just a gentle push. My arms got their rest, my muscles relaxed, and finally peace was restored at home.