Keys have a life of their own

 I truly feel that suitcase keys lead a mysterious life of their own and are masters of disappearing acts and epic annoyances.

Fully aware of their importance, they seem to vanish just when I need them most. It's as if they wait for the perfect moment to launch their disappearing act, watching me frantically search pockets, bags, and every improbable spot. They’re in on the joke, probably laughing somewhere, knowing they’ll eventually be found — but only after a full fifteen minutes of panic. 

These extremely annoying little metal minions, which have, over the years, become part and parcel of my life, seem to have signed up for some kind of chaos marathon that makes my old head spin.

 I’m not sure about my extended family, friends, ex pupils or colleagues, and how you circumnavigate this wicked conundrum, but I have two bags of keys in the cupboard, each weighing about two hundred and fifty grams, and each an enigma of mismatched locks and even worse, misplaced memory. 

And who decided that every lock, on every suitcase, should come with three miniature keys on a miniscule key ring? I now have a collection that rivals any hardware store, yet none of these “handy” keys match any suitcase I’ve ever packed. So here I am, rattling bags of keys like a portable percussion instrument, totally flummoxed, but secretly convinced that the keys are plotting their next move.

Believe me - keys are no longer just passive objects; I am convinced that they positively possess evil personalities. They seem to enjoy going missing at the most inconvenient times, hiding in the deepest recesses of miscellaneous bags and often vanishing – never to be united with their mother lock! 

Airports, of course, are their favorite stage. I’ve become a regular attraction at security checks, thanks to my not one, not two, but three sets of keys that I must carry when travelling to my hometown Pune. My wife and I have a full set each, and then we carry one extra set as a backup, in case any of us misplace our original set.  The officials must think I’m running a clandestine locksmith operation or probably something with a more sinister twist. With three sets of “Pune house" keys here, a set of Dubai house keys there, and a few suitcase and carry-on luggage   keys in the mix for good measure, it’s something of a weird key carnival, in my little leather satchel.  

I thought I’d be clever using combination locks with codes to avoid the hassle of keys, and so the last time we travelled, I purchased a few of these ‘life savers! Genius, right? Wrong. I now can’t recall the code numbers I carefully selected. Somehow, a thousand four-digit combinations are stored in my brain, none of which seem to open my locks.

 So now I have those permanently locked combination locks lying around as well. 

In the absurd theater of my life, my keys are the stars of a comedy show, and I’m just the poor audience member stuck at the door, begging for entry