Mr. X’s AC remote was a relic—faded buttons, a cracked LCD screen, and a stubborn refusal to work for anyone but him.
His grandkids called it "Dadaji’s Magic Wand."
Because when he pressed the power button, miracles happened.
The Secret Code
Not the temperature or fan speed settings. No, Mr. X’s remote did something else entirely:
His wife, gone ten years now, had always hated the cold. "Why do you keep this old thing?" she’d sigh, swatting his hand away from the controls.
The Granddaughter’s Experiment
Little Arundhati stole the remote one sweltering afternoon while Dadaji napped.
She pressed ▲▲.
Suddenly, she was standing in a misty hill station—no, the living room was the hill station—breath visible in the air. A young version of Dadaji laughed nearby, wrapping a shawl around a woman whose face looked… familiar.
"Your hands are icicles, Reema," Young-Dadaji scolded. "This is why we live in Chennai!"
The woman—Grandma?—stole the remote and pressed OFF, her eyes bright with mischief.
The Last Charge
When Mr. X found Arundhati, she was clutching the remote in silent awe.
"It remembers," she whispered.
He smiled and took it back. The display flickered—BATTERY LOW—for the first time in decades.
That night, he pressed every button one last time, filling the house with phantom winters until the remote went dark forever.
In the morning, Arundhati found it on the puja shelf, nestled between Grandma’s bangles.
Still warm.
