I’m talking about the guy who uses up all your hot water and puts his dirty clothes on your side of the cupboard. I live 700 miles away from my home with a guy who happily uses my soap, my towel and sometimes my boxers and vice versa. Four years ago I moved to Delhi for usual kind of stuff, perfecting the art of rolling joints while completing my college and getting a job. In the process, I had to share my place with many different third world people of different choice of TV series and IQ.
My history of sharing a house with other Homo sapiens goes back to my early childhood when I was forced to share my small room with a smaller human whom they labeled as my sister. I spent most of the time convincing that small round and loud human with a rampant excretory system that she is from another world and my parents have just picked her up from a dustbin on the roadside, or building a spaceship to send her back to the planet of small and round wailing heads, where she belonged, especially when she got all the attention from my parents just by making a noisy howl like a puppy run over by a lawn mower.
Then after more than a decade, I moved to the cosmopolitan jungle of Delhi and for survival, I had to live with people, many times complete strangers, strangers with a possible career background in serial killing or cannibalism. But I rose above my fear of unfamiliar faces and their different taste of music.
I have lived with a guy who had once screwed the maid, and then with a guy who showered once in a week, then with a homo and then in a PG with a bunch of desperate weirdos who used to work all night, sleep all day and plan Goa trips every other weekend.
I have done enough jumping from apartment to apartment (8 apartments) in the last four years. Although I love to live alone so that I don’t have to alter my bathroom schedule because of somebody else’s, neither I have to stay dressed when I’m home, however, a 1 BHK flat in South Delhi is still an amenity for a struggling writer.
Despite his extreme obsession with big-eyed and pointy head Japanese cartoons they like to call ‘अनिमे’, I’m pleasantly surprised that we get along very well. From making morning tea to cooking the most exquisite chicken dishes, he is the ideal roommate in all the aspects of roommat-ing except that he doesn’t roll. He has actually made me realize that having someone by your side to talk about random shit or watch an episode of The Big Bang Theory late night or sleeping until late afternoon is not such a bad idea.
Here are three reasons, why having roommate is better than living alone and fapping all day:
- Hammered: Apart from the obvious reason that your rent and food bill split into two, there are several other reasons helpful enough to make you get a room partner. It’s a Saturday evening and you’re already hammered, who is gonna stop you from jumping off the rooftop, or drunk dialing your ex? Although this does not happen with me, I’m quite good at controlling myself, and you can’t just tell by looking at me that I’m under the influence until I open my mouth and speak, because when I do, random words come out that does not make any sense. I then need someone to answer my calls before my mom starts thinking that somebody has either kidnapped or killed me and call the police, after three consecutive calls I miss. He never volunteered for this job but yeah, we don’t have an option.
- Bitch-ing Please: We are men and we bitch, yes we do. Gals, it’s not only yours extracurricular, we also sometimes talk crap about our girlfriends, their friends, our friends, teachers, government, Jon Snow, etceteras. We need an equally fed up guy who will reply you with equally shitty statements, and besides talking crap, we are always in a need of a second opinion on our work, on our outfit, on whether or not India will win the match and just about everything. He is the extra Grey Matter I sometimes need.
- Killing fucking Spiders: Spiders are creepy little hideous creatures with eight long sting-like disgusting legs and every once in a while these repulsive little creatures crawl out of nowhere inside my washroom to kill me with its exceptionally grotesque appearance. The only thing that I abhor so intensely from my heart is a freaking spider and I am not capable of killing them because of one of my strange fears that the spider might jump on me and crawl inside my nose. So this herculean task of annihilating a freaking resilient spider belongs to my roommate.