by Tejas Nair
It was 5 in the evening and the elevator was parked at the second floor. I made it a habit to take the stairs to my apartment in third floor than use the lift. Not that I am obese or something, but I have not always been of a conforming type. The first floor of our housing society was taken up by a restaurant and the lift’s microprocessor was programmed not to stop at this floor. This article is a direct snipe at two residents who stay in the second and the seventh floors.
The ones in the fourth floor are too ridiculous to write a piece about. I can sum up their activities in a single word: CARELESS!
But about the lift in question, I have seen it parked more in the second floor than I have seen it in any other floors of any other buildings that I have visited in my lifetime. You may feel I am exaggerating, but the following conversation would throw some light into what I am talking about:
“Yeh watchman ko toh nikal dena chahiye!” second floor family member said in an accent filled with vanity of being one of the wives of a millionaire, but she doesn’t know it. The polygamy I mean.
“Arrey missus Mukherjee, yeh wala toh theek hai. Wo pichla waala toh langoor tha. Meri beti ko ghoor ghoor ke dekhta tha… Mauka aata toh uske aankhein noch leti mein… par society ne usse pehle hi use nikal diya… bach gaya bechara…” said a seventh floor resident with even more vanity of her daughter’s beauty, not realizing how ironically she had described the former watchman.
They both had complained the watchman about the flickering tube-light in the lift and had ordered to fix it before they were back and now they were back, They were waiting for the elevator after it had just gone up the second before they pressed the button.
“Mere dono ladke pehle lift use hi nahi karte. Phir maine unhe apne standard of living ke baare mein samjhaya...” she said after a pause, without paying heed to what Mrs. Tirodkar had said.
“Standard? Kaisa standard?”
“Arrey, yeh lift bhi koi chotti cheez hoti hai… Aapne kabhi wo Mrs. Rajviyani ke complex mein lift dekhi hai? Nahi na! Wahi toh, lift bade logoka saadhan hai...”
“Main samjhi nahi!”
“Mein doosre maale mein rehti hu fir bhi mein lift se jaati hu… isse pata chalta hai mere standard ke baare mein… samjhe?”
The elevator had arrived.
“Matlab mein saathve maale mein rehti hu… mera standard aap se jyada hai ki nahi? Bolo!”
Mrs. Mukherjee ogled at the lady who walked out of the lift conversing on her phone, again paying no heed to what would cause a big tiff had she replied.
“Yeh light ab tak theek nahi hua…”
“Hey bhagwan! Yeh third aur forth floor ke bhaadotri lift use kar karke hume tension dete hai…”
The last statement was meant for me. But I sit here wondering everyday how elevator is still a symbol of pride for some when, on the other hand it is still a basic mode of transportation. Lacks of thousands of people use elevators everyday for their convenience, to get to J or M from A or vice versa but the sad reality is that here we have few people who think of elevators as a factor of elevation. Not the elevation to a higher floor in a building but elevation of their bigheadedness.