House-hunting

House-hunting

Jul 20, 2024

Artwork by Arvind Shan (@arvind_shan_24)

“Have you ever looked up at the sky and wondered how lovely it must be to live in a cloud? I have. Until one day, when I finally managed to get on a plane and fly through every cloud in sight. Only to realise that the life that I had dreamt of, existed solely within the confines of my mind.”

Jalebis. I look at the board right outside my bus stop and think, “These letters look like jalebis.”

Of course, they don’t look like jalebis. I’m sure that’s how anyone feels when they arrive in any new city—forced to read signboards. All just to figure out where they are, and where is it that they have to go.

Luckily for me, that isn’t a problem. I had no place to go to.

I check my bag. His name is Jackie. He’s a small black duffle bag with a Jack Daniels logo on it. It was one of those bags you’d get for free from the duty-free shop at the airport if you bought enough bottles of Jack Daniels. So I grab Jackie, the trusty black alcoholic bag of mine, and my stick umbrella and start walking.

In front of me is a sea of auto drivers, and they seem to know every language that is spoken in this country. One by one, they follow me, all while politely snatching Jackie right out of my hand. One after the other they keep shouting in different languages,

“Sir! I’ll drop you, sir!”
“Come with me, sir! I know all the places!”
“Sir! Give bag, sir! My auto is right here!”

I can’t help but wonder how much it is that they plan on charging me for this act of kindness. Curious, I ask them, “Do you know where it is that I want to go?”
The one with my bag replied, “Tell me, sir! I know every place in this city.”
Hearing this I decided to test his knowledge. I tell him, “Take me to my house.”
He asks, “And where would that be?”
I explain to him, “I don’t know. That’s why I’m walking. I need to find a house first.”

Clearly, he seems annoyed. But I understand that he also has dealt with people much more annoying than myself. He tells me, “Where do you want to find your house?”

I tell him I have no such inclinations. All I know is the location of my new workplace. He tells me that he knows a place next to that. I ask him if it’s necessary to stay that close to my new workplace He says, “Trust me, sir. You need to stay as close as you can. You don’t want to get stuck in this traffic.”

I wonder if the traffic is as bad as everyone says. I look around and I see nothing but empty roads right now. He sees me looking around and helps me out, “Don’t worry, sir. The traffic is there. You won’t see it now. You won’t see it only. It’ll come out of nowhere and then you’re just stuck in it. God only knows for how long. Hours? Days?”

Days? Did he say days? I can’t help but laugh at that. He too laughs along with me. I decided I might as well amuse him. So, I ask him the most important question when it comes to such things.

“How much?”
“Give two hundred.”

Give? I love how auto drivers always seem to have an air of arrogance and authority about them. But this might be the first city where I have seen it to such a degree.

I tell him I’ll walk. Quickly he hands Jackie back to me and runs over to another bus. Fresh meat is always better I guess. Especially when you’re not halal.

As I look around, another auto driver shows up and tells me, “I’ll take you there for one-fifty.”

A discount of fifty rupees. I do not know much. But I am sure it’s still too much for the distance. But seeing as how I am slowly losing my value the longer I stand here, I decide to get in. Either way, I do not intend to walk around in this cold. I know myself. I will definitely fall sick if I stay out in this cold any longer. Just standing here is making me sneeze uncontrollably. I try to cover my nose to keep it warm, but I love my trusty alcoholic duffle bag way too much. I don’t know if it’s a habit or not, but I have to have one hand on it at all times. So, I place Jackie to the right and sit looking out on the left. One hand on Jackie, to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.

I asked the auto driver if he too ‘knows a place’. He tells me he doesn’t. However, he does mention that it shouldn’t be too hard to find a room in that area.

I look at all the rows of buildings that fill this city. One after the other, packed like corporate employees in their cubicle offices. I wonder how it would feel to be inside one of these buildings. Would it be like those cubicles? With walls that are tall enough to hide yourself, but also short enough to peep into your neighbor’s cubicle.

I decided to find out for myself.

The auto drops me next to a signal. He tells me, “If you walk along this road, you should be able to find enough places.”

I thank him for this information and step out onto the street. I look to my left, and then to my right. The left looks like it won’t fit within my budget. So I turn right and walk into an alleyway. I turn right at a corner and then another left, past a group of men in their boxers smoking cigarettes outside a small tea shop. At the very end of that alley is a building that reads ‘RajaRajesware Gents PG’. I look up and notice that it is tall compared to most buildings I’ve seen in my hometown.

At the entrance, I find three men seated in plastic chairs, around a small table. They appear to be discussing something. Or probably it is ‘someone’. If you look closely, people have a certain look on their faces when they are laughing at someone’s misery. It’s this subtle lack of happiness in the laugh.

I wait around to see if they will approach me, as I am a young man carrying a duffle bag and waiting at the entrance of an establishment that provides accommodation. Yet, they just ignore me after struggling to even look my way. Since I have no intention of joining them in their fun activity, I quietly decide to just enter the building and check it out for myself. Now I am not aware of the rules in this city, but apparently, that isn’t allowed. I am stopped at the gate by one of the men who was seated. He doesn’t seem too angry. Yet, in a not-so-polite manner, he asks, “What do you want?”

I tell him I’m looking for the owner of the PG. He tells me that he is the owner, Mr. Srikanth. I smile at him thinking about how unnecessary all of this is. I’m clearly looking for a room. I literally just reached the city and am wandering around with my duffle bag. Is there something I don’t know about this city? Do people generally walk around the city with their luggage?

Once again he asks, “What do you want?”

I tell him that I am looking for a room, but ideally, I do not wish to share the room with anyone else. I mention this because I know from my previous experiences of staying at a PG that most rooms are shared. Usually shared between two or three people. Sometimes even more. He tells me that won’t be possible.

Reluctantly, I follow him as he shows me the available rooms.

The first one is on the first floor. As I enter the room, I am reminded of a temple in my hometown. Every time I had to enter the inner temple to stand before the idol of Shiva, I had to crouch a little so that my head wouldn’t hit the roof. I’m sure there is some architectural reason for it, but my aunt would always tell me, “You have to crouch so that you remain humble in front of Shiva.”

Once again, I had to crouch to remain humble. This time it isn’t Shiva and his roof though. It is Ganesh and his underwear. A sky full of underwear. Lying beneath this fragrant sky is Ganesh, my roommate. I mean, he would be my roommate if I do decide to stay here. He sees me and Mr. Srikanth enter the room humbly but does not pay us much attention. He continues to lie there basking in the glory of his creation. I’m sure he’s thinking to himself,

“On the seventh day Ganesh had finished his work of creation, so he rested from all his work.”

I ask Mr. Srikanth if there is any other room available. He tells me there is one more room, but it’s on the terrace. I tell him that shouldn’t be a problem. Quickly, we climb the stairs from the first floor, all the way to the terrace, and walk past some washing machines to reach room C4.

Mr. Srikanth knocks on the door. I realise that this was just the bare minimum decency he could afford. Why? Because he immediately proceeds to unlock the door with his own set of keys. I mean why wait for consent? If you have a key, it can’t be considered as ‘breaking in’. 

Inside is a young man sleeping, and next to him an empty bed. Mr. Srikanth points to the empty bed and says, “That will be your bed. Next to the window.”

I walk over to this tiny window to see what great view it holds for me to witness. Seeing as I was in a big city, one would assume it to be a beautiful skyline. Or at least a poor man’s skyline of some sort of a slum. Sadly it isn’t any of that. Instead, it is just a wall. The wall of the neighbouring building.

I lean over and touch the wall. I laugh at the thought of a window that opens to a wall. With one hand on the wall, I turn to Mr. Srikanth and continue to laugh. I don’t think he could hear this thought of mine. If he could, I’m sure he would have some sort of an explanation for this. An explanation that would evolve from a cover-up to a justification. A justification that would evolve the window from a mistake to a necessity. I could hear him. 

“Sir, window you need no, sir? That window is for ventilation, sir. The air in this room no? The hot air? It will hit the wall and move up. Straight up, sir. Without that wall, there would be no air circulation in this room, sir. The air won’t move. It will just stay there. If you don’t trust me you can check the vastu, sir. We checked the vastu and made it, sir. The vastu told us that we should make a window that opens up to a wall. It’s all there, sir. Vastu is never wrong.”

Sadly, he couldn’t hear my thoughts. And to be honest, I am satisfied with my version of his reply.

Tired of my laughter, Mr. Srikanth asks if I like the room. I tell him, I’m going to continue walking for a little longer and see if I can find anything else.

He tells me that I won’t find anything better in this area. I thanked him for this information and decided to catch an auto rickshaw.

As I step outside, I notice that it is cloudy. I can barely see the sun. I look up at the sky worried if it will rain. As I fidget with my umbrella, Mr. Srikanth tells me to relax. He says, “It won’t rain anytime soon. Most probably it won’t rain only. That’s just how winter is in this city. The sun goes into hiding.”

Interesting. I’ve never experienced a winter like this. To be fair, I’ve never experienced winter in general. I could get used to this weather. I stop fidgeting with my umbrella and start walking.

I find an auto parked around the corner. Since I had started my journey from the south of this city, and headed north to reach RajaRajesware Gents PG, I figured I should continue in the same fashion. Mr. Srikanth did say that I wouldn’t find anything in this area. And I see no point going back the way I came.

I asked the auto driver how much would it be to head north. He asks, “How far north do you want to go? Tell me an exact location.”

I tell him how I’m new to the city, and that I don’t know any place as such. Annoyed, he replies, “If you want to go north then I’ll take you to the airport. Catch one flight and go home, sir. Thousand for the trip, and one five thousand for your ticket. Come. We’ll go?”

I tell him I don’t have that much money to spend. Instead, I asked him to head north and to drop me off once it was around three hundred rupees. He looks at me like I’m some sort of an idiot, but regardless agrees. I quickly get in before he changes his mind. Once again, I find myself sitting on the left. Jackie to my right, conveniently to rest my arm. As he turns the corner and exits the alley, I notice that we aren’t moving. I stick my head out of the auto to see what the issue is. In between the rows and rows of buildings, were rows and rows of vehicles. Cars, bikes, auto rickshaws, buses, trucks, and anything else that was legally allowed to be on the road. I look to my auto driver for wisdom. Do I get out and leave? Do we not go north? Is there something else we can do?

No. You do nothing. That’s all you do. Nothing. Just sit there. I want to ask how long will it take for the traffic to clear. But I sense that it might sound like a dumb question to him. The carefree attitude with which he leans back into his seat. The way he hasn’t even bothered to honk once. The fact that he hasn’t even looked at the road. It’s enough for me to know that this is the ‘normal’ for this city and its citizens. And as a new member of this city, I too join in and just do ‘nothing’.

Little by little we start to move. A couple of feet, now and then. Mostly insignificant. Eventually, we reach the traffic signal from earlier and turn right. Only to be met with more traffic. Once again, we just sit there. Once again, it’s time for ‘nothing’.

Of course, it’s extremely hard for me to do ‘nothing’. So, I spend most of my time just looking out the auto. Singing songs to myself, thinking about my Pavizham. Pavizhamalli. My hand still resting on my trusty old alcoholic duffle bag. I wonder where I would place it if she was here with me. In my lap, would be her hand nestled between mine. To burden her lap with this bag of mine would also be inappropriate. I look back to see if there is any space for Jackie. There is, but it definitely doesn’t look very clean. I wouldn’t want anyone to place their bag there. I grab hold of Jackie and turn him around in every way possible. What is the most efficient orientation to place him? I try out every possible option. Finally, I have my answer. I place Jackie upright to the left of me. I lean on him. Gently. For I do not wish to cause him any discomfort. Now on my right, there is enough space for Pavizham.

Satisfied with myself, I look up to realise that we have come far enough to be out of that area. This is even more evident now that I look around. Unlike the area that surrounded the PG, which seemed to have a never-ending supply of men walking around in their boxers, this place seems more family-friendly.

The auto stops near a small family restaurant. I get out and pay him exactly the three hundred I promised. I sneak a look towards the restaurant to check if they would serve some black tea. I quickly realised that the thought of tea without milk had never even crossed their minds. Before they notice me noticing them, I walk away. I look around for a tea shop, but I can’t seem to find any that serves black tea. Tired, I walk back to the restaurant and ask them if they have anything to drink. The lady at the restaurant offers me a cold glass of water. Disappointed I settle for a glass of tea-less iced tea. As I consoled myself, I looked up to find an old lady who seemed to be very angry. I continue to watch her. For some reason, her anger seems to be directed at me. Her eyes were almost piercing a hole through my face. I walk over to her and ask her if I did something to upset her. She looks up at me shocked and asks, “Where did you come from?”

Perplexed I asked her what does she mean by that. She smiles and replies, “I didn’t see you only. Sorry kanna. Paati is old no? I can’t see very well. I’m actually looking for my grandson. He told me he’ll help me switch on the motor.”

I tell her that I can help her. She smiles and doesn’t even bother to ask me again. She just grabs hold of my hand and drags me to the building behind her.

On the ground floor of the building, there is no specific entrance as such. You open the gate and there is a door to the apartment on the ground floor. Beside the door is a staircase that leads to the two floors above it. Beside the staircase is just enough space to park a car. Between the staircase and the parking space, is the motor. Or so she says.

“Kanna. Paati can’t see very well and the switch is too high for me to reach. Can you check if it’s on?”

I do not know where to look, to ‘check’ this. Usually, it’s the big red switch. But there were many big red switches on this wall. Some of them were lit up, and some were not. I looked back at her and she just appeared to be angry once again. She raises her hand and points vaguely in the direction of all the switches. This helps me in no way. I flip one of the red switches and immediately she asks, “Is it on? Did you switch it on? Can you hear the motor?”

She doesn’t know this, but I have never once seen a motor in my life. I do not know how it looks. How it sounds. All I know is that it’s always hidden somewhere. Back on my farm, it was hidden inside one of those single-door cubicles. It’s the universal hiding place for all things that common folks have minimal knowledge about. Only people with ‘tools’ go in there. Your plumbers, electricians, and other ‘tool’ folk.

I always told myself I should take a look inside and see how everything works. But every time I would think of doing it, something or the other would get in my way. I guess my failures have finally managed to catch up to me. And now my lack of motor knowledge is going to be exposed. The struggles of helping people.

In a desperate attempt to save face, I look around but can’t seem to find anywhere a motor could be. I realise I have to act like I know what’s happening before she asks me anything else about motors. Quickly, I look down and notice that I’m standing on a metallic lid on the floor. I figure the motor must be down there. I open it up and try to look inside. Of course, I see nothing. But I do hear something. I breathe a sigh of relief. I look up at Paati and tell her with a big smile that the motor is working. She smiles and says, “Thank you kanna. Sorry if Paati troubled you too much okay?”

I tell her it’s my pleasure to help her and start to leave. Suddenly I hear her voice, “Kanna. What are you doing walking around? I haven’t seen you here before.”

I tell her all about how I am trying to find a house, and how I have been travelling around looking for one. She asks if I have come alone. I nod my head. Before I can say anything she once again just grabs hold of my hand and starts walking up the stairs. As we are climbing the stairs, she tells me, “I don’t live here, but I have this one apartment in this building. You take a look and see if you like it.”

I tell her I can’t afford a place like this, to which she replies, “It’s only thirteen thousand. But if that’s still too much, we can figure something out.”

I hear her. Not clearly. Yet I tell her, “No Paati, I can’t afford that. Thirty thousand is too much.”

I see the look on her face. I realise I’ve said something wrong. The look on her face is one of confusion. I can hear what she must be thinking. Something along the lines of,

“I know I can’t hear very well, but did this boy say thirty or can he also not hear very well?”

Seeing her confused face, I too start to form a look of confusion. To help us both out, Paati decides to repeat the amount, but this time in her mother tongue, “Thir-teen thou-sand. One-three.”

I hear this and realise that I can’t hide the smile that’s come across my face now. Quickly, I tell her that I want to see the room. She tells me to wait here on the second floor while she gets the key to the room.

After a couple of minutes, I hear Paati calling for me, “Kanna! Come down for a minute.”
I head down to the first floor. She isn’t there. I think to myself, “Maybe she is down on the ground floor.”

As I am about to go down, I hear Paati’s voice calling out to me. Not from below, but from right behind me. I turn around to see Paati stretching her hand through the window of the neighbouring building. She is holding a pair of keys in her hand. As she hands me the keys, she says, “Kanna. You take these keys. Go up and check that room. See if you like it. If you do, I’ll get it cleaned and you can move in as soon as we find an auspicious date.”

I am in this new city, and I have no place to sleep. No place to call my home. And just when I think I have found one, I’m told that I have to wait once again. Why? Because I can only move in on an auspicious day. Why does it have to be auspicious? So I can live there without anything bad happening to me? But where do I stay till then? I can’t afford a hotel room. Not even the cheapest one. At this moment. I barely have any money on me. And even if I could, I still wouldn’t stay in a hotel room. Every day I spend in the comfort of a hotel room is an extra day that stops me from stepping out and looking for an actual house. I know how it goes. I have been through this before. This isn’t my first time in a city. This isn’t the first time I’ve been house hunting. I know if I stay at a hotel, just like last time I will run out of money and eventually I will be thrown out of the hotel room. With no other options left, I will have to sleep in the office secretly. Brush my teeth before everyone arrives. Wet my hair just enough that it looks like I took a bath. Wet it too much and I’ll just feel the dirt that’s built up from not taking a bath. Then I have to save up. Save up as much as I can. And I won’t have the patience to save up enough for a good house. I will pounce at the opportunity of moving out. To where? Anywhere. Anything that has four walls and the space for a bed. I might even settle for three walls. Just another shithole that I have to survive in.

I can’t help but laugh at the thought of all this happening once again. How waiting for an auspicious day to move in, will be the reason a lot of bad things will happen to me. But I tell myself, I can worry about it once I’ve seen the room. Pulling me back to my reality is the image of this sweet old lady behind the grilled bars of her window. It’s adorable how she is stretching her hand out from one building to another. This itself is a whole other kind of funny. Unable to control my laughter, I asked her what she was doing there. She tells me, “This is my house kanna. I live here in this building. If you like that room, that will be your house. Then you’ll live in that building. We will be neighbours then.”

I shake my head in agreement and laugh as I run up the stairs. As I open the door, I realize that it’s got two bedrooms. What would I do with two bedrooms? It would be a different matter if I had a friend. We could share the apartment. We could even get some nice furniture. Maybe a pair of recliners. Lie in it all day and eat pepperoni pizza. One for each. It would also be the perfect way to watch some football or maybe even some sitcoms. But by myself, two bedrooms is one bedroom too many. Once again, I tell myself that I can figure something out. This is too good of a deal to pass up.

But as I walk through the apartment I realise that it’s extremely dark. It’s only then I realise that the windows are once again, just decorative. Every window I open just leads me to a wall. Until I open the biggest window in the apartment. The one in the living room. I open this to find a tired woman, just washing some dishes. She does not appear to be as surprised as I am. She sees me, and without missing a beat, goes back to washing her dishes. I can’t help but laugh at this too. I assume people in this city must be used to moments like these. Once again, the right thing to do is just ‘nothing’. I don’t think this will ever be ‘normal’ for me. I think of asking her if she is having a good day. I realise how stupid it might sound because I can see her face and she looks extremely unhappy. I also don’t know her well enough to ask her what’s wrong. But I really want to. I know that my day would be better if someone asked me if they could help me out. They wouldn’t really have to help. They would just have to ask. That too would be enough.

Before I can do anything, she finishes her dishes and goes to attend to the old man who is coughing like he has pneumonia.

If someone happens to open a window that leads to my house, I will definitely ask him how his day is going. Once I start living here, I have to make sure that I never become indifferent to seeing strangers look into my apartment. Especially the ones who are new to this city. The least I can do to make that awkward situation a bit better for everyone would be to do that. Just talk. Start a conversation. Just get to know one another. I come from a place where you spend some part of your day talking to your neighbours. I come from a place where I have seen neighbours cut ties with each other for silly things. Silly things such as building a house, where one of the windows slightly peeps over the wall of the neighbouring house. I’ve heard them fight,

“How could you build that window? Did you not think it would be an invasion of my privacy?”

I remember these words as I am brought back to this city, and back to my present once again by Pneumonia Uncle’s pneumonia cough.

I look out the window to see if I can catch a glimpse of Pneumonia Uncle, but I can barely see him. To be honest, I can barely see anything. Ignoring the fact that these windows are of no use, they also happen to be some of the tiniest windows I have seen in my life. Not just this building, or the neighbouring one. All the buildings in this city seem to have tiny windows. I should ask someone about this.

As I step out of the apartment, I look back one last time. I look back at my imaginary roommate and me. We are just sitting in our recliners and figuring out what we should order for lunch. We’ve eaten too many pizzas. Maybe we should try cooking something. I wouldn’t mind doing the dishes. I say my goodbyes and quietly lock the door. I don’t want to disturb us.

I go down the stairs and hand the keys to Paati. She asks, “Did you like the room kanna?”

I don’t know how to tell her that me and my roommate are already living there and that I do not wish to ruin their happiness. So instead I tell her that I am going to speak to my friend. I tell her that maybe she might like the room. Which friend? I don’t know yet. Hopefully, I make some friends soon. Someone who might be looking for an apartment with two bedrooms. She smiles and tells me, “Here, take Paati’s number. You can call Paati anytime you want okay?”

I save her number on my phone as ‘Paati’. I know at some point she did mention her name, but I can’t remember. I do feel bad about it, but she too refers to herself as ‘Paati’. Plus I’ve always wanted to know a paati. Why? Just so I can always call her Paati. Even though I didn’t find a house, I’m happy. Happy that at least I found a Paati.

As I head down the building, I realise that it’s been raining. I look outside and realise that the area is completely flooded. I open my umbrella and quietly start walking. The water manages to come up to my waist. I hold my umbrella in one hand and hoist Jackie onto my shoulder. As I walk in this fashion, I see a man sitting on his balcony and smoking. I ask him if it’s always like this. He says, “I mean it is monsoon season. And yeah … most of the city is underwater when it rains. Although it’s not because the rains are heavy. It’s because the city is too crowded. Where will all the water go?”

I don’t blame the water. I take up much less space than the water, and yet I am still homeless. I think to myself,

“Sorry water, you’re gonna have to do ‘nothing’ for a while, like the rest of us.”

Slowly I start to walk through this water traffic jam until the water is barely up to my ankles. As I’m walking, an auto rickshaw pulls up next to me. I do not ask too many questions. I get in and tell him to head south. He asks me where, and I try to explain it to him. I tell him how I need to go back to that traffic signal from where I started this house-hunting journey. He doesn’t ask too many questions, so I assume that he’s understood everything. I check to see if Jackie is okay. I know from past experiences that he can handle a little rain. But you can never be too safe. Luckily, everything seems fine. I once again put Jackie upright to my left. I make sure to make myself comfortable. Why? Because even after all this time, we haven’t moved an inch. And by now, I knew what the appropriate thing to do was. Nothing.

I watch the roads overflow with rainwater. It only makes sense as this city is landlocked. That was one of my biggest issues coming here. I knew I would miss the sea over here. But if I knew they had these rivers here, I wouldn’t have waited for so long. Just a city full of people sailing through these urban rivers in their auto-rickshaws. What a pleasant monsoon activity. Although, I doubt that it’s the monsoons now. It’s too early for that.

Scared that I’ll get river-sickness, I divert my thoughts back to Pavizhamalli. She would have loved this. Not the flood part necessarily. She would have loved the excuse to sit at home and watch the rain. She would make some hot chocolate for herself, and sit by the window to draw. Or at least try to, until she realises that she just wants to nap.

The thought of taking a nap is dangerously putting me to sleep. I stop leaning on Jackie and sit up straight. I tell Pavizham to take a nap by herself for now and place Jackie to my right. Outside it has stopped raining, yet the traffic signal is nowhere in sight. I asked my auto driver how much longer it would take. He looks back and shouts, “Sir! Do you think I want to be here stuck in this traffic?! I want to go home, sir!”

Brother, I only asked you how much longer it will take. Where is this anger coming from, brother? I guess I will just have to go back to doing what everyone here does best. Nothing.

After a while of browsing through my mind, I had finally figured out which song would be perfect for this moment. But before I could start singing, I noticed that we were nearing the traffic signal. I told my auto-driver to stop wherever he deemed suitable. I did not wish to annoy him anymore. I pay him whatever he asks for, even though I am running low on cash. I grab my umbrella, and my trusty old alcoholic duffle bag and start walking towards the traffic signal. I know that if I head east from here I will be back next to RajaRajesware Gents PG. I look to the west and wonder what lies there. The last time I looked there, I had more money in my pocket, yet I was sure I couldn’t afford anything there. Right now, that feeling is even more absolute.

Suddenly, a man on a motorcycle stops next to me. I assume that he noticed that I had been looking around aimlessly. He asks, “Where do you want to go?”

I tell him I’m just looking for a house. Immediately he lets out a laugh and tells me to hop on. He says, “Hi. I’m Leslie. Leslie Ramachandran. I’ll show you a nice house.” 

I don’t question it much. I need all the help I can get now. He takes a right from the traffic signal and starts riding west. Around a hundred meters or so, he takes a sharp turn right. Next thing I know, we’re riding past a cowshed. An empty cowshed to be specific. Why is it empty? I don’t know. Where are the cows? On the road.

The roads in this area are so narrow. The buildings aren’t really tall here. But the roads are so narrow, and the buildings are stacked one after the other, that they appear to tower over you. Somehow Leslie navigates past the cows, through the traffic jam, around the potholes and stops at a building. I promptly get off of the motorcycle and look around. A street full of noise. Cows, vegetable vendors, butcher shops, street food stalls, and an endless sea of vehicles. All honking in their own unique ways to get someone’s attention.

“Sir?”

Sir? Who is Sir? I look up to see Leslie looking at me. I realised that I hadn’t introduced myself to him. But he didn’t have to call me, sir. I mean he is just helping me. He sees the confused look on my face and ignores it. He says, “Follow me.”

Once again, I do not question the stranger who has asked me to follow him to an unknown room. Quietly, I climb the stairs one by one. All the way to the third floor. Leslie opens the door to this apartment and walks in. I follow him once again. No questions asked. Just a stranger that I met on the road, with a key to an empty apartment. Suddenly, a gust of wind blows through and just carries me away. Up until then for some reason, it felt like the sun was trying to burn me alive. 

But the wind didn’t last too long. It went away just as it had arrived. And I was back to the apartment on the third floor. As I looked around I noticed that these are the only windows I’ve seen all day which aren’t tiny. I remember that I had meant to ask someone about the windows in this city. I turn to Leslie, and just as I am about to ask him, he answers another question. One which I wasn’t too bothered by. That was until I heard the answer.

“The rent amount for this apartment is twenty thousand rupees, sir.”

I don’t say anything but the look on my face is that of shock. I don’t have to see my face to know this. It is so evident that I can ‘feel’ it. Leslie too understands the expression. Unlike before, this time he doesn’t ignore the look on my face and immediately proceeds to explain the absurd amount.

“This is a corner room in a corner building, sir. Do you see the windows? There are three big windows in the corner. You get a lot of light. Look outside and check the other buildings, sir. They’re all packed between each other. All those windows just lead to a wall or another window. That’s why it’s more expensive. You’re paying for the light.”

There it is. Leslie had answered the question that I had been meaning to ask all this while. You pay for ‘light’. It’s only then I realise that ‘light’ is a commodity in this city. Which basically means, that if you’re poor you don’t get any light. Which is shocking to me. Why is something that’s just ‘there’ a commodity? Nobody ‘owns’ sunlight. It’s for everyone. Well for everyone except for those that live in this city.

Regardless of all this, I walk around and try to see if this is a place that I can call my home. A brand new apartment, with a nice balcony, a big hall, and windows on all sides. Yet something feels wrong. I feel like I’m in an oven. I asked Leslie if there was another floor above this. He replies, “No. This is the top-most floor. That’s why it’s twenty thousand rupees only. The apartment below is identical to this one. But that’s twenty-one thousand rupees.”

I look at Leslie and smile. I ask, “Is the extra one thousand to keep the room cool?”

He replies, “Exactly, sir. You’re getting it now. But don’t worry. This heat won’t be there for too long. It’s just there because it’s summer right now. Once it starts raining, the heat will be gone.”

Summer? What? It’s summer now? Wasn’t it just raining a while back? I look out the window. The street isn’t wet. But I can see it. I can see how the river flows here. Once it starts raining, the heat will be gone, and I will be swimming with the cows. Leslie does not wait for my response.

“Sir. If you like this place, please let me know. The owner stays right here. If you pay a token amount, we can book the place for now. Once you move in, you can pay my brokerage.”

I laugh. I don’t think Leslie can sense the helplessness in it. Before he assumes my laugh to be anything other than my helplessness, I ask him what his brokerage is. He says, “One month’s rent, sir. That’s all.”

I barely have enough money to pay for rent, and now I have to pay him as well. I can’t help but laugh, thinking about all the times I’ve helped people find houses and apartments back in my hometown. All the brokerage I could have gotten. All gone. Maybe if I had that money, I could have gotten the apartment on the second floor. Then I wouldn’t have to suffer this heat.

I look outside once again. Why is the street not wet? It was raining up until a while back. It should be soaking wet. Why is it so hot suddenly?

Leslie looks at me and asks, “So do you like it, sir?”

I tell him I’m going to walk for a little longer and then get back to him. He tells me, “Sir, there’s a huge waiting list for this apartment. I have many people who will pay extra for this.”

I hope they do Leslie. I hope they all pay extra for this apartment. I hope you get that extra for your brokerage. I do not wish to rob you of that opportunity.

Quietly, I walk down the stairs. I look out at the street and see the traffic. I do not look for another auto. I just walk. I can’t afford to get stuck in traffic once more. I can’t do ‘nothing’ again. Something about it seems off. I feel I have done ‘nothing’ for too long. How long has it been since I’ve been doing ‘nothing’? I don’t know. I do not look back to say goodbye to Leslie. I just carry on walking. Me and my trusty black alcoholic duffle bag Jackie. And of course, my black stick umbrella.

I walk past the cowshed, and straight out of that area. I do not stop. I can’t afford to rest until I reach where I am going. If I stop, even for a second, I might just get stuck once again in this traffic. And what if it rains then? I will just aimlessly float around in this river, until the current starts to flow. Till then I am at its mercy.

As I walked past these buildings, I realised that I was right. I was right about how it would be to live in them. Just like a corporate employee in his cubicle. Some, where you can peep into your neighbour’s cubicle, and some, where you just hit a wall. And that’s just life here. From one cubicle to another. Nine to five in one, and five to nine in another. Forever trapped in some sort of a box. Trapped with no sunlight. Unless you pay for it. If not, trapped with windows that lead you nowhere. Waiting and hoping for the day you get promoted to a cubicle with sunlight.

I don’t need to do that. I walk to the same bus stop that I got off of. This time there is nobody kind enough to carry Jackie for me. No auto driver who wants to drop me anywhere. I look around and see that there are others just like me. Waiting here with their trusty duffle bags. I wonder how long they have been here. Did they too lose track of time, stuck in the traffic of this city? Stuck doing ‘nothing’. Floating through these flooded roads. These urban rivers. Stuck in the cubicles. Stuck in the boxes they call apartments, that they have built between buildings. I do not know. I do not know if they even realize how long they have been here. They look like they belong here now. Why do they want to go back? Do they not see it? They will go back to the place they ‘used to’ call home, only to realize the sad truth. What they call home is no longer there. It’s just another place they visit when they can no longer tolerate this city. And once they are feeling better, they will be back here. Yet, this city will never be a home. It is incapable of it. The city knows it. Yet they still don’t get it.

I pace back and forth waiting for a bus to come. I do not have time to empathize with anyone. I only wish them the best. I need to leave before I get stuck here once again. So I continue to pace back and forth. Up and down the road I go, until I see a bus approaching. I see the board on the bus. It reads ‘നാട്ടിലേക്ക്’ (Nattilekk). That’s the one. I toss my bag onto the bus and jump on.

The job that I got isn’t important. If I’ve understood anything about this city, they won’t even realise that I am not there. If I don’t show up tomorrow, they’ll find someone else. The next person waiting in line, to come to this city.

As I sit down, I look out the window to see the faces of those who are waiting to be stuck in traffic. I wish I could tell them, 

“You’ve seen rivers that flow through cities. But have you seen roads that flow into the sands of the beach? I’m sure some of you have. Maybe on your vacation? I’m sure some of you are waiting to be stuck in this traffic. For days. Maybe years. Just so you can go on that vacation. Just so you can see that road. Well, I don’t need to be stuck here for that. Your vacation spot is my home. I live where you dream of visiting. I fall asleep by beaches where there are no boxes in sight, just a single line that separates the sky from the sea, where I can see the sun rise and set. Where I know when a day begins and ends. And I don’t even need to pay extra for it.”

Sadly, all this stays within the confines of my mind. Not a word is said to another soul. And, I believe this is a good thing. I am sure, every single person in this city must also have a home that someone else wishes to vacation in. Yet, they’re still here. I wonder why?

I guess that answer will have to wait. Wait until someone else manages to break free from the traffic.

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