(mis)adventures Of A Bachelor Boy - Part 1 (lock-out)

The night of 2001 February was cold and misty. The comfortable warmth of the bed beckoned me as sleep rested heavily on my eyes. Though a hectic day at office, I had successfully completed my work much ahead of my edition deadline.I was a copy-editor in a newspaper organization in Bangalore then, and lived with relatives at Malleswaram. With work for a copy-editor beginning only at 5 p.m. and effectively ending at 1 a.m., it was not surprising that I, like my journalistic brethren, was a creature of the night.If the work hours were uncomfortable, equally uncomfortable was the night-drop facility. A Sumo transported us to our destinations. Thanks, to a 26-year-old guy, who had a habit of falling asleep on the wheel, as he drove the vehicle. However, I found innovative means to stay alive. I sat in the front seat and indulged in inane banter to keep the Tamil-speaking Kannadiga awake, at least, till I reached my destination.It was just like anyother day, when I got down from the vehicle in one of the umpteen crossroads in Malleswaram. I had noticed unusual number of policemen patrolling the streets. I was told me that patrolling had been beefed up following a number of reports of theft from the area.As I began to walk towards the apartment, I cam across two beat constables, who ordered me to a stop on my tracks. One of the constable could barely manage in Tamil. After a couple of attempts and after having waved my journalist's ID card, I was allowed to proceed. I had hardly crossed 20 yards, when I was stopped by another set of beat constables, who unlike the ones i had just seen, seemed to be unusually hostile towards me.My attempts to speak in broken Kannada only seemed to infuriate them further. One of them asked me why I couldn't speak Kannada though I lived in Bangalore. I had the gall to reply that I lived in any place as per my likes, to which, he raised his lathi to strike.Only my quick thinking prevented me from receiving a blow ? showing my journalist ID card. Having convinced them that I was not a cat burglar, I proceeded towards the apartment gates.But my trouble had just begun. To my dismay, I found the security guard on the night shift wasn't the one I had seen in the evening. He had left after completing his shift but had not informed his colleague about my late-night entry.My problem was compounded by the fact that this security guard could neither understand Tamil, English or Hindi. I tried convincing him that I had just moved into the apartment. Those were the days of pre-cell phone days. I waved him my ID, tried to communicate with sign language, attempted to speak in broken Kannada.(Incidentally I had not progressed beyond the point of communicating with anyone in that language except for the basics which involved saying "I am hungry" and "time for food".)Having literally shown the gate by the security guard and with no STD booths in sight in the middle of the night, I found myself on the street with a street dog, a rodent and a few mosquitoes, for company. We were shortly joined by a constable, who could thankfully, speak Tamil.We chatted on topics ranging from Tamil stars to the Cauvery issue to the most popular stars up North well into the early hours of the next day, even as I shivered in the cold, envying the warmth of the woolen sweater worn by the policeman.The nearly five-hour wait finally came to an end with the policeman waving me goodbye and a milkman depositing milk sachets in front of the doors of the apartment around 5:30 a.m.I managed to slip-in, and rang the bell. I hardly remember if I answered the flurry of questions put by my relatives who had woken up by then, or me stumbling into my bedroom. All that I remember is the warmth of the bed and the sleep that enveloped me in no time.