The idea for this piece didn’t come to me in my sleep, nor did it come to me while I was on a walk around campus (I am yet to explore Krea’s perimeter walk btw), but rather it came…or I’ve been told of this idea in conversation with someone I consider a friend.
“I was washing my face, and you know how in the movies they splash water on their face? I couldn’t. Because I was worried about my floor getting wet.”
That made my friend, and eventually me, wonder: what stuff do you do in the movies that seem plain dumb and tedious in real life? So I set out to find out.
Imagine taking a hot shower with your right hand stretched out and all five fingers on the wall in front of you. You’re staring at the ground. Steam starts blowing off of you. And then you look up. Run your hand through your hair. You see how cool that sounds? For the purpose of this piece, I tried replicating it. My elbow never felt this strained and cramped, but for the love of the scientific method, I persevered. I then looked up, my hands running through my hair. My cramped hand hurt. I opened my eyes. Hot water got into my eyes, so I tried rubbing them. My soapy hands burned my eye, so I swung my arms around, aiming for the tap, or at least where I believed the tap would be. My arms may have swung a little too wildly for comfort, so I slipped and fell down.
Boom.
Not too heroic.
But then again, it begs the question: was it dumb because I replicated it in the worst way possible? Or was it because it genuinely doesn’t make sense? I needed to put this to the test. There was only one way to do it. It was the single most used on-screen trope that 10 year old Siddharth ate up!
“Daya. Darwaza todo.”
It had to be. And I knew the exact door to do this to as well. The door to one of the stalls in the Acad washroom. Sturdy enough for me to actually make an effort. Weak enough to give me a strong god complex.
Friday, 28th of August 2026. 6:03 pm. I step foot in the washroom. It’s cramped. I expected there to be more space to swing my leg and stomp the door down. I close one of the doors. I check all the other stalls to make sure no one is witnessing this historically scientific reenactment. I whisper to myself-
“Daya…”
And with one swift kick from my left leg, the door swings open… and comes back just as quick. Crashing into my knee.
KAPOW!
“OU–”
Someone walks in.
“Heh…heh.”
I play it off well. They look at me, as if I’m a blabbering baboon. They walk past me into one of the stalls. I smile. Sheepishly. And I just walk out.
After all this, there was one thing that I was still yet to try out.
Imagine trying to forgive someone in the movies. The music swells up, you meet them in front of the airport passenger boarding area. You yell their name out. The flight number is called out. There is silence. And then you hug and make amends. Cut to a black screen. No one apologizes twice. No one has to see the other person’s face while they decide whether to believe you. For the purposes of this piece. I tried that too.
But I just couldn’t imagine it.
You see them everyday. They laugh with their newfound friends. You walk past them during dinner, second guessing if you should raise your hand. Or wave at them. What if they don’t wave back? You’d end up looking dumb. Your hand stays down, so does your head as you walk by. Until one day, they’re right in front of you. And you can’t do anything but wave. Not because you can, but because they chose to wave first. So your hand goes up. The ends of your mouth widen in an attempt to make them feel seen. To feel like their gesture reciprocated. The wave, in no way, is a plea for forgiveness. But waving back does lighten the mood.
So every time you see them, wave at them. Smile. Sheepishly.
Not too heroic. But maybe, just maybe—