“I am stepping out right now!” – It was a declaration at 12.30 AM in the cosy hotel room at Kasauli. The combined effect of being surrounded by green hills, fruit wine and the general air of happiness has had its effect on me.
There was a toned down uproar against this declaration. Somebody spoke of the wild animals that might be on the prowl. But no, I was happy and high. Thus, all the protests were snubbed and I walked out.
As I walked down under the watchful eyes of brilliantly shining stars, it felt like walking the red carpet.
Less than a kilometre away from the hotel, I paused for an err… pause. A beautiful house stood there, bathed in blue moonlight, with arched windows and wooden roof. Aha! It was some minutes until my eyes hovered down to the spelling error on the name plate by the iron gate.
Now, a writer can have anything other than a spelling error. So, I picked a sharp-looking pebble, did the required correction, and walked on. And then – much to my shock – was the iron gate again – the error unrectified.
As I muttered under my breath about grammar and all, the theory of “most of the hills stations are haunted” hit me hard. Well, there was no other logical, or illogical, explanation. The 20 minute stretch was covered in hardly 5 minutes, as I tore along the hill to the hotel.
The saner friends calmed me down as I recounted it all, and tucked myself under the sheets. It was only in the morning, under the warmth of the Sun, that the riddle was solved.
It was a simple one – a house with two gates – one for entry and the other for exit.
P.S. – The comedy in consideration was under the effect of some glasses of neat, no neatest, of Vodka and Beer. Don’t ever drink on a trip. It’s injurious to health; plus, horrifying for all the grey matter that’s, assumingly, stacked in the brains.