I Unlocked the Door for a Dead Woman / Chapter 1: Jugaad and Locks
I Unlocked the Door for a Dead Woman

I Unlocked the Door for a Dead Woman

Author: Ishaan Chopra

Chapter 1: Jugaad and Locks

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At lunchtime, with the corridor empty and the security uncle snoring, I slipped a toothpick from my pocket, knelt by Flat 1404’s door, and gave the lock a gentle nudge—just enough for the toothpick to snap and vanish inside. No one saw, and I whistled as I pasted my yellow card above the doorbell.

My fingers pressed the bright yellow card onto the wall, the fevicol leaving a faint, sharp smell that mixed with the leftover aroma of someone’s tadka. The card had a thick red border and a sturdy lock printed next to the “Griha Pravesh Special” pandit ads and tiffin service stickers. I always made sure mine was right near the bell—impossible to miss, even when the inverter’s dead and the corridor’s in half-darkness.

When residents find themselves locked out, they call me. But before that, they try every jugaad—blaming their maid, WhatsApping their spouse in Bengaluru, fiddling with keys, cursing softly under their breath—until finally they dial my number with a tired sigh.

That’s how I keep customers coming. In this city, being a locksmith isn’t about waiting for opportunity; sometimes you have to jam the door yourself. Sabko apna dhandha chalana hai, yaar.

Except tonight, someone called who shouldn’t have been able to call at all.

Sun na—after years in this business, tonight was the first time I felt truly unsettled. What happened next, not even my wildest dreams could have prepared me for.

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