Constable Mukherjee looked with disdain at the house looming before him. He was in the middle of a chess match when a call had come in about a neighbour who was in the habit of throwing exorbitant overnight parties with blaring music. Irritated at not being able to finish a winning game, he pounded on the door. "Police! Open this door at once!"

A faint voice answered from inside. The door opened and Mukherjee found himself facing a frail old man in his sixties with an oxygen mask on his face, suggestive of a suffering from some obstructive pulmonary disease.

"Mr. Kalprit Chauhan?" The old man nodded.

Mr. Chauhan had moved into this house five years ago, after he lost his wife in a car accident. His son, a soldier, had been killed on the line of duty last year.

But he was a tough man, who chose to enjoy every remaining moment of his life rather than live in isolation and depression. "If I don't laugh, I will cry," he used to say. "I choose to laugh."

Unfortunately his neighbours didn't appreciate his exurberance and unconventional ways of living, maybe because he was breaking the stereotype of a conventional old man's retired life. Additionally, they seemed to be envious of his vivacity and his most prized possession, an Olive Gold Harley Davidson Street Bob, which he used to take out every morning for a ride. He valued it with his life, becuase it was a gift given to him by his son.

He now looked feebly at the two constables, wheezing as he removed his mask to talk. "Yes, can I help you?"

Constable Mukherjee's eyes darted across the living room, which he could see from his position in the doorway. It was empty, the entire house was silent. If this old man did throw a party, he would have to be a wizard to make it disappear from the constable's sharp eyes.

"How can I help you?" Mr. Chauhan asked him again.

Sweat trickled down the constable's forehead as he became red with bewilderment. "Sir....aahh....I thought....I mean...we got complaints that there was a late night party in this house and it was disturbing the neighbours."

"Son, I can't even walk properly without help, does it look like I am in a condition to party?"

"Yes sir....I mean no.....we are extremely sorry to have disturbed you sir, we were wrong. Goodnight sir." Mukherjee mumbled as his cheeks flushed and he grew redder with embarrassment, and he left shamefaced. He cursed the neighbours in his mind for having him humiliated  as he drove back to the police station, determined to file a report against them.

Waiting until the constable was out of his sight, Kalprit closed the door, removed his mask and whistled. Out came a group of boys from hiding with cans of beer.

"Uncle what an amazing performance! You should have been an actor, you fooled them again!" They exclaimed.

Kalprit winked.