In August 2018, I moved into a small apartment in Powai, Mumbai. It was a cloudy day, streets damp due to rainfall from the night before. Every coordinate in the vicinity was consumed by a constant cacophony of vehicle horns and screeching traffic. In the small town I grew up in, my ears were tuned to the sound of crickets and cuckoos. This sudden change of pace made me anxious. A nerve within me perpetually urged me to keep up and contribute to the discord. With teary eyes, I bid goodbye to my parents and moved all my stuff into a cozy room that I was supposed to share with another girl.
I didn't realize how light a sleeper I was until that night, when my roommate embarked on her regular night trail to the kitchen, rummaging through a stock of fast food. Settling on her bed beside mine, she began munching on a bag of chips while conversing on the phone in muffled tones, with a friend I presumed. As I failed to drift away to sleep, I decided to move and set up my habitat in an unperturbed nook of the house. The very next day as decided, I moved to the living room (my intolerance clearly knew no boundaries).
My territory in the living room was outlined by a steel almirah, graciously sold to me at a subsidized price by the previous occupant. My enormous navy blue Dubai trolley bag (that I have been living out of ever since graduated high school) stayed put next to the almirah in the middle of the room, leaving just a small passage for others to enter my living space. Feeling rather satisfied with this setting, I proceeded to buy sea-green floral curtains to divide the room generously between my humble refuge and an assembly of overflowing shoe racks. However, multiple episodes of being walked in on while changing made me realize that they only served as an aesthetic element.
I was rather proud of coming back to this setting each night after work and finding someone fleeing out of my nook in a rush to give me my privacy. Little did they know that I unwillingly shared this intended privacy with Pinku - the mole-rat who loved startling me in the most unexpected of moments. Leaving the space empty for more than 8 hrs would give Pinku an urge to attempt a hostile takeover by hiding next to my pillow. He would then find the right moment and jump over my head, making my heart come to an agonizing halt for a few microseconds. It seemed unfortunate that I had lived a wholesome 23-24 yrs of my life just to speak of Pinku as the only bastard to have ever made me squeal... oh, that bastard Pinku (a rather unflattering name for someone with his charisma).
My space was left deserted most of the time as I was seldom home during the day (mostly fearing Pinku's unsolicited company). At night, every flatmate who came in staggering through the front door after 1 am was either perceived as a robber or even better - Thanos (looking for an infinity stone) and was greeted with my panic-stricken shrieks of - "Oh no! He has the tesseract!"
In my chaotic little dump, I felt like a queen. I relished my poha and chai for breakfast and I walked out the door every day in my swanky power outfits and classy nude pumps. Ruminating on the deep conversations I had with Laxmi aunty (who so graciously kept me fed), I would gaze out of the rickshaw on my way to the office, wind slapping my cheeks as I admired Hiranandani architecture.
I found myself narrating my conversations with Laxmi aunty to my friends, as we sipped green tea (or any other nasty concoction the coffee room offered). She left her own chaotic home at RA colony every morning to step into mine, cooked me breakfast, packed my dabba, and religiously dished out the latest gossip from some wealthy Hiranandani house on the block - "That Gupta bhabhi's son is very handsome! He is such a good boy, never leaves his room! I think Mayuri and him will make a wonderful pair!" I always chuckled and made a mental note to inform Mayuri about her prospects. I think I never did though.
There are tons of things I never got to do. One night, Pinku got caught in a sticky trap drizzled with peanuts (greedy fellow that he was). I woke up to see him writhing and squeaking, struggling to break free. Laxmi aunty marched in and tossed him into the garbage bag and dusted her palms. A few weeks later, I packed my bags to go home for the weekend and never came back for months (thanks to the pandemic).
Looking back, I know that I can never be 22 or 23 again or see Laxmi aunty or Pinku ever again. But I will always be proud of having lived that life, of calling it one of the happiest phases of my adult life.
Interesting :)
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