The owners of the house next door have always put it on rent, giving us the ~joy~ of new neighbours more often than necessary. Some are sweet as rosogulla [like the retired Bengali couple, whose Aunty made me promise that I'd invite her to my wedding. Sure, if she could promise to be alive till then...], and some are not so social [This one time some bachelors decided to keep all the cricket balls that flew into their balcony. Oh boy, the ruckus that caused!].
Yet, we had never seen the phenomenon of sub-tenancy before.Our current neighbours have sub-let a 6x5 ft room to a guy in his mid-twenties.
And This man is my neighbour-in-focus.
Now, whenever home, this guy keeps his door half open (which always invites my passerby's peek). On his desk is a Always a .... book? ...lamp? ...mug? naah!
Guess?
A big bottle of tomato ketchup.
"Ketchup?" We all wondered. I didn't seem this crucial to someone's existence before, y'know. Everything else on the table appears and disappears, but the bottle doesn't move... Things may come and things may go, but that ketchup stays on his desk forever (Tennyson will turn in his grave, i know).
Yet, clearly, this misdirected necessity is not his claim to fame.
The point is, I've never seen his face. But If he's Victoria, I know his secret.
And not just me, but my presswalla, doodhwalla, koodawalla, subziwalla, kabadi, and all the unclejis and auntyjis and their visiting relatives and pet dogs too. He hangs his undergarments in the corridor, after all.
Urrrgh.
Since this gentleman has little room in his...um...room, he has tied a
washing line right across the corridor where he hangs his inner wear and
socks to dry. (Here's a man who's not just literally washing his dirty linen in public, but dry it in full view too!)
Obviously, we were very disturbed. Climb the stairs to our 1st floor apartment, and the sight of a red Amul Macho greets you. (Nobody except the chimp in the ad can possibly love it. please.)
Oh God, what would our guests think!
But ok, we sympathize that he has no option, so we don't complain.
Ab?
Ab kya? Everyday, when I come back from school, inadvertently my gaze reaches to the what-he-wore-beneaths of yesterday. (nahi, nahi, I have absolutely No `vest`ed interests, ok?)
And, jobless as I am, I've noticed that he does wear quality stuff too. I mean, no dirty mustards and flagging browns. Red and white and navy blue: standard bearable stuff from known (read well-advertized) brands. Thank God for this little much.
But wait! Here's a guy living in a nut sized room, affording branded undergarments? I dont 'under'stand this!
But of course, that's indirect advertising for this guy, his inner wear speaks for his choice. Just in case a ready-to-mingle blonde walks by? I don't want to know.
Quite a loin he is. Oops i meant lion.. Arrrgh. Make me stop!
-
Hey you, guy-next door. The apartment's very own Captain 'Long Johns' Silver. 'Brief'ly put, this is embarrassing. Just 'short' of outrageous. Dude, can't you find an alternative?
-
The whole point of this post is that it's pointless. And if you are looking for a satisfying conclusion, then oh dear, you won't find any.
ps: Nothing serious ya, all in good humor. After all, I was 'just jockeying'. ;-)
(And you thought I was done for the day? Haha.)
Yet, we had never seen the phenomenon of sub-tenancy before.Our current neighbours have sub-let a 6x5 ft room to a guy in his mid-twenties.
And This man is my neighbour-in-focus.
Now, whenever home, this guy keeps his door half open (which always invites my passerby's peek). On his desk is a Always a .... book? ...lamp? ...mug? naah!
Guess?
A big bottle of tomato ketchup.
"Ketchup?" We all wondered. I didn't seem this crucial to someone's existence before, y'know. Everything else on the table appears and disappears, but the bottle doesn't move... Things may come and things may go, but that ketchup stays on his desk forever (
Yet, clearly, this misdirected necessity is not his claim to fame.
The point is, I've never seen his face. But If he's Victoria, I know his secret.
And not just me, but my presswalla, doodhwalla, koodawalla, subziwalla, kabadi, and all the unclejis and auntyjis and their visiting relatives and pet dogs too. He hangs his undergarments in the corridor, after all.
Urrrgh.
 |
| Hey Neighbour, Inspired? |
Obviously, we were very disturbed. Climb the stairs to our 1st floor apartment, and the sight of a red Amul Macho greets you. (Nobody except the chimp in the ad can possibly love it. please.)
Oh God, what would our guests think!
But ok, we sympathize that he has no option, so we don't complain.
Ab?
Ab kya? Everyday, when I come back from school, inadvertently my gaze reaches to the what-he-wore-beneaths of yesterday. (nahi, nahi, I have absolutely No `vest`ed interests, ok?)
And, jobless as I am, I've noticed that he does wear quality stuff too. I mean, no dirty mustards and flagging browns. Red and white and navy blue: standard bearable stuff from known (read well-advertized) brands. Thank God for this little much.
But wait! Here's a guy living in a nut sized room, affording branded undergarments? I dont 'under'stand this!
But of course, that's indirect advertising for this guy, his inner wear speaks for his choice. Just in case a ready-to-mingle blonde walks by? I don't want to know.
Quite a loin he is. Oops i meant lion.. Arrrgh. Make me stop!
-
Hey you, guy-next door. The apartment's very own Captain 'Long Johns' Silver. 'Brief'ly put, this is embarrassing. Just 'short' of outrageous. Dude, can't you find an alternative?
-
The whole point of this post is that it's pointless. And if you are looking for a satisfying conclusion, then oh dear, you won't find any.
It's 1 at night, and that's my excuse :)
ps: Nothing serious ya, all in good humor. After all, I was 'just jockeying'. ;-)
(And you thought I was done for the day? Haha.)
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