There’s nothing quite like a nice, juicy mystery to get the boys’ hostel excited. The last time I remember so many theories flying around was when a kleptomaniac stole cash, cell phones, watches and hard drives worth tens of thousands of rupees. The culprit was eventually discovered and brought to justice. This time, it’s something even more serious.
Since last Sunday, two out of the six loo cubicles in the second floor toilet have been locked.
From the inside.
The first theory was, of course, that someone had hanged himself in there. But this explanation had its skeptics. What are the odds that two people would commit suicide on the same day in adjacent cubicles? Very slim. Again, why would anyone choose a loo cubicle as a suicide venue? Loo cubicles have their virtues, but they leave much to be desired in the way of cheerfulness and hygiene.
Anyway, the Suicide School of Thought has now been conclusively proved wrong. There is a narrow gap between the partition wall and the ceiling (hereinafter, “the gap”). Tall people have peered through this gap, and pronounced that there are no bodies. We have groaned in disappointment and moved on to other theories.
The Supernatural School has its own set of explanations. Some believe that the ghost of the Pink Lady, who for a time terrorised residents of the fifth floor, is now plying her trade on the second. Others babble wildly about people flushing themselves down the toilet, spontaneous combustion, dematerialisation and little green men. But no true investigator ever admits a supernatural explanation.
That leaves the field open for the Pragmatic School, who point at the gap (see picture below) as the key to the mystery.
The Gap Theory is indeed plausible. But consider for a moment what our mystery man would have to do to accomplish his feat. He would have to enter a cubicle, lock the door, scale a seven foot wall possibly using the commode and the window ledge for support, wriggle through the gap, drop seven feet down into the next cubicle, lock the door again, scale the wall again, wriggle through the gap again, and eventually drop to safety.
So this gives rise to a new set of questions. Who would do such a thing? And why? Was it one of the cleaners, trying to reduce the floor space he had to cover each day? Was it a late-riser who had to wait in the bathroom queue every morning and now wants everyone else to wait in line? Was it a resident of some other floor, jealous of the incredibly cool second floor, and trying to despoil our standard of living?
The morning queues grow longer, speculation grows more intense, and toilet goers grow ever more frustrated. But the locked doors are telling no tales. Silent and enigmatic, they stay as locked as ever.
I came on as left winger. Had a rather indifferent game, I might add.
From the sidelines, I watched our girls’ team play. We gave them half-time instructions and outlined strategy. As always, they gave us a patient hearing. As always, they went back on the pitch and played exactly as they wanted.
On Matchday One, therefore, I was by turns a consumer, competitor and spectator. Where does that place me in the Pythagorean scheme of the Universe? Pithy aphorisms are all very well in their way, but they tend to oversimplify things. Maybe our man should have stuck to more universal truths like the square on the hypotenuse.
