The Lament of the Mahogany Door on the Twenty Second Floor
A short story by Niranjan Sathyamurthy
There was this curious door on the twenty second floor of a residential building. He didn’t hear or see much most of the time and neither did he speak except for in occasional creaks and groans. He wasn’t very old. He was in the prime of his long age. At least until the builders would come to tear his home down. But that wasn’t anytime soon and so that didn’t cause him any grief.
The door was the pride of the house. He was crafted beautifully by a curious craftsman who had died soon after finishing this one door. He stood tall, seven feet high and much broader than any of the other doors in his building. While they were those modern doors, he was made from the sturdiest Mahogany and was panelled with intricate carvings of flowery patterns (identical on the front and the back) that he very much liked. A shiny brass door-knob and a shiny knocker that hung from a brass lion head’s maw adorned his frame on both sides.
He liked to sleep most of the time as he had no one to talk to. And that was his only grief. Although, beautiful as he was, the builders had fixed him wrong side out at the entrance to his house. While all the neighbouring doors faced the inside of their houses, he alone was fixed facing the hallway that was boring and empty almost all the time.
Occasionally a neighbour or two would leave open their doors while they ran an errand and at these occasions the Mahogany door, wide awake, would creak and groan to the open doors that could now talk to him, and rejoice at the company he had. They would creak back in turn coveting his sturdy frame and beautiful panels with their intricate carvings. Moments like these were absolute bliss for the Mahogany door who longed the company. But these moments were hard to come by and quick to pass. So, our friend, the Mahogany door would creak a silent prayer to his dead maker and go back to sleep.
Sometimes, while asleep, he’d hear bits and pieces of the human conversations that took place in the almost always empty hallway as he liked to call it now. Human tongue was confusing for him with their many different sounds. He liked the creaks with which he spoke to his kith and kin (on rare occasions).
But he did not like to alone and longed to be set right some day so he could finally hear what the family inside spoke of. He knew who lived inside from when they came to the hallway. There were two little humans who were always laughing and he enjoyed listening to them. Yes, he knew laughter. His neighbouring doors, taking pity on him, had educated him on it (among many other things).
The two little humans had two caretakers; ones that they called a ‘mother’ and a ‘father’. He couldn’t tell the difference between the two yet. He liked listening to their conversation about travelling and the outside world and yearned to learn more about it.
One fine day, the Mahogany door’s lament was heard and his prayers, answered. The humans living inside had noticed that the peep-hole was on the wrong side of the door and had summoned another human to set the door right. The new human had, painfully (for the Mahogany door), extracted the door and with the help of five other humans had finally set it right. Bearing the pain, the Mahogany door rejoiced. Now he would never feel lonely ever again.
Day and night and night and day the door creaked happily to the windows and other doors. Few of them answered and some of the replies were unfriendly. But, nonetheless, the Mahogany door creaked on happily. He learned a lot of things from the humans.
In time he came to learn that the little humans were offspring of the larger humans and could now identify the ‘mother’ and the ‘father’. He also learned that the little humans (children, he called them now) were not always laughing but were noisy most of the time and did not let him rest. But he didn’t complain. He creaked away, night and day and day and night.
This break from loneliness was like ‘a shot of heroin’ (an expression he’d heard the father whispering to a black rectangular object that had a curling tail) for him.
While the Mahogany door spent his time happily learning the ways of the humans and rejoicing in their company, the humans in the house grew tired of his creaking; night and day and day and night. They discussed to themselves about getting a new door; one which was smaller and didn’t creak as much and keep them up at night.
The few friendly doors and windows in the house warned the Mahogany door to creak less. But the Mahogany door in all his joy and glory paid no heed to the warnings they creaked and turned a deaf ear to them (another phrase that he pick up).
Soon enough, more new humans arrived and putting the Mahogany door in pain, they pulled him out. Thinking that they were going to put him back as he originally was the Mahogany door momentarily felt sad but sadness quickly turned to panic as he was carried away down the stairs held up by the six humans that had removed him from the entrance. He could not creak and call for help nor could he creak and cry.
He could not creak at all anymore and as he was carried away he watched some other humans carry a new, smaller and modern door to replace him.
The Mahogany door, now unable to creak whether happy or sad or in anguish, was carried to the woodwork shop and to an object that kept rumbling angrily at the Mahogany door.
‘They are going to feed me to that rumbling monster!’ the Mahogany door wanted to creak in despair. But alas! He could not and as he cried to himself, his final lament, he was fed to the shredder, his seven foot tall frame and all, that tore him down to little pieces and then, the Mahogany door was no more.
Thus was the lament of the curious Mahogany door that once lived on the twenty second floor.
(Author of this story is also the author of a Harry Potter Fanfiction
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Dear Niranjan,
Your writing style is very good and your narrative ability is superb.
Please continue to write whenever you feel creatively inclined.
All the best.
Anand T.P.
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