B 14 Miracle is a bigger-than-expected room, and everything about it is… spotless. So spotless and functional that the Spartans would have been proud of it. The linen is stain-free – thank heavens, for you can sleep peacefully without letting your mind wander on the disturbing possibilities of what might have caused the suspicious big blotch on the sheet where your thigh rests now. The surprisingly tall mirror is in fact, faintly flattering even (from most angles, I checked). The bathroom is so sterile that it is impossible to imagine the person who sat on the pot before you. There’s even a little balcony which is quite delightful, even though it doesn’t overlook anything significant. The atrium that I can see from the corridor outside my first-floor room is a veritable tropical paradise, with lush, verdant, well-tended-to potted plants crowding each other. Yet to discover if tropical paradise equals mosquito paradise. Oh, and I even have my own amusement park ride – the ramp leading to the basement parking is SO steep, that I almost expect a splash in water below, a la the water chute. Ha.
The mild concerns, if they can be called that, are
a) the 10.30 p.m. curfew, whose idea is quite revolting, but I am usually not out beyond that, so its forgivable.
b) ‘No smoking or drinking’ rule on premises. That implies a terrible guilt trip if and when I decide to steal a breezer up to my room.
c) No TV. “Huh?? How will you watch the world cup??” is the reaction I am likely to get. There is a TV at office that depending on its mood, decides to be black-and-white or colour, which will help me stay abreast of the world cup. I am a mild football ignoramus; staying abreast will do for me. A tournament in which hot-by-default Spaniards lose and Messi does not score a single goal does not deserve my viewership. I’ll pass.
So B 14 at New Guest House will be my home for the next two weeks, as I celebrate my last few days at Pondy, with my laptop, books, music and solitude for company.
I packed last night, repacked this morning, wrung my hands all day, ate my lunch standing up because I was too restless to sit, shifted to the room during lunch break itself so I would not have to wait till the end of the day, overpaid the auto kaaran, whose creed usually constitutes my favourite opponents in battle (that excludes thalaivar obviously), tipped the security guy so generously that he gaped, before I went back to work, where I just could not stop grinning. Despite mild irritations in the evening when grin turned into grimace, I am now grinning again, after having treated myself to a chocolate pastry, watched the rains, and changed into my favouritest night pants.
Bliss. Sigh. What all one can do in a place with complete privacy… (how the imagination runs riot at the thought).
Ahem. Complete privacy means different things to different people. To some, it could mean the freedom to scratch private parts happily or sleep in the nude, and to some others, the peace of mind that allows them to watch, read or do whatever without the fear of someone suddenly appearing at their shoulders out of nowhere. To me, it means the freedom to cavort about in a big fluffy towel like all these heroines (always wanted to try that), try out full-on Bollywood dance moves in front of the aforementioned tall mirror, and practise my levitation. Seriously. I am quite Zen that way. The spiritual aura in a room called Miracle where a picture of Aurobindo and the Mother looms over you really helps too. I am endlessly thrilled.
Where I lived before, 111 A Chinnasubbarayapillai Street, wasn’t a bad place at all. It was just different, in a humble, bustling, crowded, noisy marketplace type locality, where neighbours thought that just because they shared walls with you, they may tell you how to live your life. Thus, one girl’s torn pyjamas became the point of tea kadai conversations, and mere arguments between two people usually ended with sherbet bottles being vandalized.
The top contenders for my favourite people in the street are Manoharan Odear and the cop.
Now, Manoharan is a fascinating man with a propensity to talk to customers shirtless on rainy days. His main activities, apart from constantly attempting to float in a sea of debt, include women bashing (widows were his most favourite sub-category in that subject) and commenting on the sleevelessness and the dupattalessness of the clothes worn by the ‘iyer ootu papa’ who lived across the road. No points for guessing who that is.
All I know about the cop, is that he lives somewhere opposite to where I lived – I don’t even know for sure as to which house. Every night, I imagine him sitting at his window at 2 a.m. and looking out on the road, as he apparently did on the ONE occasion that I caught a night show at Adlabs and grabbed an Iced Eskimo at CCD before coming home. The following morning, the foundations of C.S. Pillai Street shook with the shocking revelation that the new girl came home everyday at the crack of dawn after being up to no good all night long. Naturally, my landlady went into such a tizzy, that I replaced her grandchildren-in-the-US as hot conversation topic for a good few days. Dear nameless, faceless cop, I congratulate you for that.
Oh, and a close third contender would be the adorable, self-proclaimed nattamai who lived next door, for having laughed loudly at me every time my bike refused to start. I do hope Mani nicely nips your ass in the near future.
More seriously, it was a lot of fun. It was a humbling small town experience that I will always treasure. If you needed support in a confrontation or ran out of drinking water in the middle of the night, you need never look further than next door. The red oxide floor reminded me of my old Salem house. My PG place landlady always put hot food on my plate, for which I shall be eternally grateful. Manoharan always offered help, and his enthusiastic waving whenever he saw me always made me smile. But for a restless soul, change is always good. At B 14, I don’t have to share a roof with anyone. I can slip in and out inconspicuously and comfortably without being stared at. Walks on the beach shall be more frequent due to proximity. Most importantly¸ I can conduct imaginary conversations out loud. Tra la la.
Written last night.
