Independence

The case of the wooden stick

Prologue

Freedom is a right and it cannot be manipulated. Freedom is an expression, it is a religion. Even if one person finds this piece relevant to his life, my purpose is solved.
All my stories start with my homecoming, so here I go again.
I came home after placements, satisfied with my selection. My parents were happy to see me but soon I discovered that their elation was not directly related to my arrival. We were renovating our house and quite conveniently my brother was working hard and earning his daily bread in a land far, far away. The situation demanded a person to look after the house and supervise the whole process. After a painful process of elimination my parents decided that I was marginally more trustworthy than our domestic help which ultimately led to a unanimous conclusion that I must sit at home. As usual, I tried to carve out my escape route by telling my parents about the importance of my independence and the doctrine of “hanging out with friends”. My mother, I must state, is a great negotiator and my father always nods his head in approval (only when mom is not around...). She extolled her words with delirium and spun such a fine web of deceit that, in between her words of wisdom, I almost made up my mind to dedicate my whole life to human service by offering to look after renovations initiated by anyone and everyone.
Quite obviously, I succumbed to the fine arguments my mother had to offer.
The work started in two days and a dozen laborers stormed the house like backyard gladiators. The harmonic rhythm emanating from the hammers was quintessentially deliberate and the house danced to its tunes with harmony but later my head danced in agony. The work had been going on steadily and was now nearing a stage where its completion was inevitable. Suddenly my mom wanted to add a new thing. She now wanted a room outside the verandah. Essentially the work was piling up. My vacations were going to be ruined!
One day, the “kattae” was lost. (Kattae- a wooden block in Tamil)
The history of Kattae
When security arrangements would be made at my house, my grandparents would be particularly concerned with the verandah. In their opinion it was an invitation for thieves to practice their profession freely. The outcome of this issue demanded a protocol where all decisions should support a calculated and an efficient effort to seal it off. The plan had been to put an iron shed over the verandah, covering it fully and to reinforce it; a welded support had been put in place connecting it to the wall. After this we had put two locks on a swinging door. Finally, we had deployed a heavy wooden door secured with three locks. My father had been quite satisfied with this arrangement as even international borders couldn’t have been so impervious.
The highest authority in our house, my grandfather, had inspected the arrangement and after a careful assessment he had thundered “We need more security. Always make sure that the thief finds an extra obstacle when he tries to enter”. And so he had suggested that a wooden support be placed horizontally on the door acting like a secondary unmovable reinforcement, such that we could place the block whenever we wanted to seal it and to open the door we just had to remove it from its resting place, which was embedded at the extremes, one near the knob and the other close to the door hinges.

The block weighed 2 kilos and had been carved out from solid wood. If I had had to define my perplexity at that moment I would have bluntly said, “If I were a thief, I wouldn’t dare to even look at this house”. When such an arrangement had been sanctioned by my father with complete belief in this philosophy, it had become my divine duty to place the block on the block-rests before going to sleep. In fact, any complacency on my part in this matter had been looked upon with utmost seriousness. If I had forgotten to place the block on the rests, statements like “The thief must have seen that the block wasn’t in place” and”The block is the final hope for our family” and the classic “You don’t care much about your father’s house… How will u take care of your own house?” had been delivered without any delay or apprehension.
My mother had not particularly been interested in the philosophy and purpose behind the existence of this block but out of respect for my dad’s wishes she had chosen to advocate a routine where the block would get prime importance.
The relevance of such a detour from the actual story would be clear very soon.

Revisiting the story from where we had left…
When my ma discovered that the kattae was gone, she became extremely anxious as she knew that my dad would be disturbed. She searched for the block in each room and after failing to find the block she exclaimed “Deyy Narayana, where is the kattae?” in between her attempts to retrieve it. And I simply nodded my head to indicate my helplessness in the matter. “Appa will be anxious””Ask the laborers tomorrow”. After her brief search my ma hit the sack.
My dad entered the scene from the basement after completing the day’s work on his thesis. Instantly, a realization clouded his mind and he rushed into frenzy. “Oh my god! Where is the kattae? Narayana… ask the workers about it.””Where is it?””Don’t forget, ok?” “Where could it be…?”
After repeating these words with much concern he lost interest temporarily and went off to sleep.
The next day, my father questioned the workers about the kattae. They refused to associate themselves with its existence. My dad’s concern deepened. My mother was concerned that my dad was concerned. I was speculating the outcome of this situation. Soon, my dad decided that without the block in place we shouldn’t go for any further construction. “Without the block, it is akin to sleeping with our doors open”. My ma tried to reason with him “But what about other locks and doors?” “What about the shed?” “We are still safe”.
However, my dad was adamant “No, u don’t know, the block is gone and now the thief will walk the ramp in our house.” I was left wondering about this proverbial thief who would do anything to loot our house despite such strict security arrangements.
After this, there were no questions (and no answers either!). The work stopped. Finally, it was time for my return to Nagpur. Before I left for Nagpur, I told my mom that I had a pleasant surprise for her in the verandah and that she should look at it after I leave. There she found the old block, placed majestically on the door!
Yes. I had hidden the block and yes, it had served my purpose.

R. Lakshminarayan

Writers Note:
This edict is fictitious and any conclusions drawn from it have to be objective. I love my family and idolize all my elders. The story is from a very satirical point of view and any speculation leading to denigration shall not be entertained.