“Life in a PG: A Comedy of Cramped Spaces and Culinary Adventures”

The PG Chronicles: A Triple-Shared Odyssey

Ah, the PG life—a curious blend of anticipation, trepidation, and the occasional lizard-induced panic. When I first stepped into my triple-sharing room, I realized it was like playing Tetris with furniture. Three beds, three cupboards, and a long granite slab masquerading as both a study table and our kitchen countertop—it was a spatial puzzle that would make even an origami master scratch their head.

Our room came with a balcony, a gateway to fresh air and sunlight. But here’s the twist: we never opened the balcony door. Why? Lizards. Those stealthy, wall-climbing reptiles that turned innocent corners into their personal hideouts. So, instead of enjoying the breeze, we perfected the art of indoor ventilation—windows cracked just enough to let in air but not enough for lizards to stage a coup.

Our cleaning lady was an enigma. She’d sweep the floor with such speed that I wondered if she had a broomstick turbocharger. One swipe, and voilà—the floor was “clean.” The mop, however, was a different story. It seemed to harbor memories of countless other rooms, each with its own unique blend of spills and stains. We half-expected it to whisper, “You think this is dirty? You should see Room 404.

Now, let’s talk about the mess—the culinary heart (or perhaps the appendix) of any PG. Our menu was a recurring saga starring “Aloo Everything.” Aloo curry, aloo paratha, aloo pulao—you name it, we had it. I suspect the chef had a secret pact with the potato farmers. And breakfast? Well, that was a mythical creature, like a unicorn or a punctual auto-rickshaw. We survived on borrowed lunchboxes during college hours and sipped tasteless evening tea, which, if analyzed closely, might have contained traces of disappointment.

Dinner was our pièce de résistance. At precisely 8 PM, the mess hall transformed into a battleground. Hungry souls, eyes glazed from lectures and assignments, lined up for sustenance. The aroma of mystery curry wafted through the air, and we exchanged knowing glances. “What’s on the menu tonight? Aloo Surprise or Aloo Delight?” we’d whisper. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers, right? We’d scoop our portions, hoping for something edible, and retreat to our cramped room.

And then there were the electric bills—an epic saga of overcharged kilowatt-hours and cryptic calculations. Our usage was minimal—just a laptop, a phone charger, and the occasional AC. Yet, every month, we’d engage in a ritualistic complaint call with the electrician. “Sir, our bulbs are energy-efficient fireflies,” we’d explain. “They glow for five minutes, then take a break.”

Remember that day when a group of us—fed up with the PG owner’s carelessness and irresponsibility—decided to take matters into our own hands? It wasn’t the first time we’d considered approaching them, but we often dismissed it, thinking, “Well, they’re human too, and mistakes happen.” But sometimes, silence isn’t golden; it’s an invitation for others to take advantage.So, we gathered in the common area, our complaints ready. The owner, a shrewd lady, tried to steer the meeting away from grievances and toward friendliness. But we persisted, sharing our concerns. She nodded along, but deep down, I wondered if anything would change. In the end, our problems remained unresolved. Yet, we learned an important lesson: Life is full of small issues, and they won’t magically disappear. Instead, we must find ways to stay happy, manage what we can, and keep enjoying life.

But amidst this chaos, we found solace in each other. Late-night chats, impromptu dance-offs (within the limited floor space), and shared woes about the aloo conspiracy—these moments turned our PG life into a sitcom. Our tired souls would collapse on those uncomfortable chairs, surrounded by clothes resembling modern art installations, and laugh until our stomachs hurt. Because sometimes, survival isn’t about pristine rooms or gourmet meals; it’s about finding joy in the absurdity of it all.

So, fellow PG dwellers, chin up! Embrace the quirks, cherish the camaraderie, and remember that even in the messiest of messes, there’s a silver lining—a happy ending fueled by laughter and shared stories.

-it's me the invisible chai girl.