Riding down Poonamallee High Road on a Sunday morning does have its perks. For starters, you can actually take a leisurely glance along the stretch on either side, without straining your eyes to see through the gaps in the traffic in order to spot your destination. On this particular morning, while most of the city was still doodling under the covers in the hope perhaps of a piping hot mug of bedside coffee, I was on a mission with a deadline. The task was to find something ‘unusual’ or rustic, even ironic. However, after a week of no such ‘sighting’, simply transit, this reporter decided to leave it up to fate. If it could work for Potter at an all white ‘King’s Crossing’ in some sub-conscious realm, when death was so close, well, there had to be something in it for us muggles.Not too far past the sole Bharath Petroleum bunk after the Anna arch, sits a rather quaint display of old fashioned teak doors. The white board on top reads ambiguously: City Doors. And the place’s 63-year-old owner, Mohammed Ali is pleasantly approachable, considering his lack of clientele. He openly states, “Business is not doing so well, with inflation charges affecting raw materials and labour costs.” Mohammed had three people who handle the workmanship involved, this includes cutting these structures down to size, smoothening the sides and varnish. Unfortunately, hand carving the designs on the front is not feasible anymore, he admits. “If one man was to do this job manually, it would take more than 15 days,” he says. “But when it is done by a machine, it takes eight hours.” This change came over about in the last decade, apparently.Taking a peek inside, there are piles of wood everywhere and it takes me a few moments to spot the windows he has told me about, that resemble the setting of something out of an old Hollywood movie. Vivian Leigh in Gone with the wind would have actually done well, saying to herself “Tomorrow is another day”, through this very window, rather than on the stairwell (if I remember correctly). But in his 40 years of managing the shop, Mohammed reveals that no ‘interesting guests’ have graced the inside of his door enterprise, which, interestingly, has no door. Incidentally, he mentions, “Rose wood is not allowed by the government, so the only pieces I have are second hand. But teak is very popular and we also have Malaysia wood and Nagpur doors.”He is in a hurry to leave, but poses for the pictures and makes us promise to give him a copy of this write-up once it is out. It is now 10am, and the bustle of traffic gets louder, a clear signal that the city is now wide awake.I head home towards my door, heavy and varnished, behind which waits a frisky mongrel puppy, black as soot. She shrieks with delight, at the jiggle of keys outside, and a ‘door’ — now means so much more than art on wood.
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