Meet the Cockroaches

Whichever doofus rated Delhi above Mumbai (which IS the greatest city in the country) on the livability index did not take into account how men live in paying guest accommodations in the capital. The standard is a matchbox-sized room that comprises a double-bed and stale air, with some cupboards thrown in as an afterthought.

I'm better off in Lajpat Nagar's Dayanand Colony. A-178 is a row of rich Punjabi houses on either side of a lane no wider than a rope-bridge. Number 12-A is situated above Powerhouse Gym and its door is always open, save for between 12.30 am and 7 am.

For 5000 a month I am entitled to three meals a day, a bed, a closet, some time in the bathroom, undefined space on the clothesline and a lifetime's supply of aloo. In such a great deal, it's ungrateful to ask for the following - brighter lights in the passages, lesser tel in the subji, a cook that remains on the job for longer than a month, the right to work all night without being told shut the lights and go off to bed, and roommates with an incurable Bollywood fixation.

I still like to think of my room as a matchbox currently occupied by three cockroaches. Just the three of us creatures with our creaking nests lined against one wall, the TV on the opposite wall and three more empty nests beyond it. Without further delay, here's presenting the insects -

Cockroach 1 – Shashikant, Manipuri, software engineer, never seen him look away from his laptop for longer than than five minutes, cool, slicked back hair, built like a footballer, last to rise in the morning, likes soan papdi, has poor taste in music.

Cockroach 2 – Vivek, works in a publishing house in Okhla, carries a helmet and gloves to work but doesn't ride a two-wheeler, gave me a book on Jihad I'm yet to read, annoying when drunk, ringtone-alarm that shrieks “Hello” in varying degrees of banshee-ness at 8 am everyday, snores, intolerable fondness for punjabi rap music played at ear-splitting levels, has the slot in the bathroom after me.

Cockroach 3 - Myself, last to arrive every night, first to leave in the morning, couldn't care less, washes clothes every day, waltzes in and out at ungodly hours, arrival after a week-long disappearances causes no excitement, must get out.

And that's us, three strangers who don't eat, laugh, drink or sing together but get along just fine as long underwear doesn't go missing.