Only buy Rainbow-brand locks

A mushroom burger is being greedily dug into, when its beholder is rudely disturbed by Klaus Badelt's "He's a Pirate" ringing away shamelessly from his cellphone. I pick up the phone, to be gleefully informed by Dela that efforts were underway to break open my lock, and ransack my room. I slip the phone back into my pocket slowly, and after finishing off the burger like only a first-order glutton can, imagine the horrors possibly being inflicted upon my abode. The bland yellow walls may be adorned in Pepsodent toothpaste, the sober floor in water and leftover Holi colours, the bed rummaged beyond recognition with my very own clothes, which would probably need another dose of ironing. This was going to be bad. I gulped, made a call to Mom, and ordered a Tooti-Frooti. A decently full stomach would probably help digest the carnage better, I thought.

Bhawan days are inappropriate names given to hostel nights, where the hostel celebrates its annually-changing birthday, apparently. Azad's 2009 edition was ebulliently named "Jai Ho!", and two huge flexes were put up to inform passers-by of the same. The guy who suggested the name got a 2-gigabyte USB drive. Talk about the lame game! Now, some years ago, when the whole idea of such gigs was mooted, some over-excited hooligans probably decided to make the occasion even more memorable by decorating the rooms of the residents, like the rest of the Bhawan is. Now, they quite possibly couldn't have found confetti, colourful lights and other such decoratives and thus, very ingeniously, decided to do so with whatever they could find on the spot- boot polish, toothpaste, markers, soaps and shampoo gladly obliged. This tradition went on smoothly, with most finding it less thuggish and more cool, leading to it becoming an integral part of such occasions' celebrations, apart from getting facials and manicures, giving good ol' Govinda's dressing sense some stiff competition, embarrassing oneself on stage, and openly flaunting one's relationship status/ popularity quotient.

AP came along as I trudged back to my room, to offer me moral support in case I broke down on seeing my room's probable condition. I'd made Dela a worried call before we left Civil Lines for my room, and it didn't sound good at all. To be precise, it sounded bad. Real bad. I reached the beginning to my corridor to see debris of a wall scattered in front of my room, floating in the quickly-evaporating coloured water. I took a deep breath, gathered all my courage and mental strength and took heavy steps towards G-104, to find a world of colourful messages on my door. The lock wasn't broken- the room wasn't opened! I heaved a sigh of relief, shouted at the top of my voice and jumped high into the air, exchanging triumphant high-fives with it. Just to make sure, I went around to the other side, to check if that side was broken into, and the answer was negative again! AP went back, and I continued jumping around cock-a-hoop. Coming back to my senses, I came around to reading all that was written on and around my door. My eyes went to the left at the very end, where in an emboldened box, was written with Life boy soap and a Reynolds marker- "Read this first: If we don't get into your room, then nobody does!"...

A master in need, is a baster indeed. Thank you, Dela, for finally deciding to go to the hallowed city of Chandigarh, again.

P.S.- It is a bloody brilliant lock. Sorry, again, for the broken hammer, Scuttling Shuttler.

P.P.S.- I know who was and who wasn't there. Thanks for the heads-up, all the same, everybody.

Footnote- A baster in need, is a master indeed.

(Late edit) 1:22 p.m. A ten-rupee note, a classy application and a loud, valiant battle later, I'm finally back to G-104. Thank you, again, Dela. Also, thanks to the Sassy Sage for pen, paper and green paper.