The room with a view

“It’s so unbearably hot after a couple of drops of rain…wish these hostel guys would allow us to keep a cooler”; pouted my roomie, Anusha. She was in sleeveless t-shirt and shorts sprawled on the floor of our hostel room right under the fan with a Mills and Boons and I, like always, was prompted to give her the example of Salima Di who stayed in the room opposite us and had a black burqa complete with a full length shapeless black dress that she put on every time she stepped out. So what if it was to the PCO in front of the hostel or to the balcony or to the Reception office of hostel to pay the fees. I opened my mouth to repeat the example but then closed it. It was indeed hot. The fan was sending out waves of hot air instead of giving a cooling effect. Even the slightest movement (like walking to the toilet or getting up to drink water) brought out water droplets on the forehead – thanks to the small shower that morning followed by intense sunshine…

I got up to get myself a glass of water…drank half of it and poured the rest of it right on my head…there and then. Anusha didn’t even look up. She was no stranger to this activity instead a partner in crime – of living in wet clothes, sleeping on wet floors and some equally bizaare harkatein that intelligent minds in hostels subscribe to. Necessity.

It suddenly stuck me that the window was closed. The window that was our reason of living in the room. We, just because had come early at the time of registration had found the hostel empty and hence had that rare chance to choose a room. After much deliberation we chose the room at the extreme back of the hostel on the 1st floor. The rooms at the extreme back had windows and those in the extreme front had a balcony and a window. Anusha had wanted to have the balcony room but then some foresight made me explain to her that everyone would want to use the balcony (especially during sunny winter mornings) and it would become an adda affording us no time to study. Besides too much noise would come during evenings, when all the girls would be meeting the visitors right under our balcony. The other rooms that lay between the balcony room and the window room were out of question – their windows opened to the hostel corridor and did not give any kind of “outside view” I had wanted to live on the 2nd floor (top floor of the hostel) but this time Anusha had said wisely “Lets stay on the 1st – so that we are equidistant from the hostel roof and road. The window of our room looked upon a big treeless, grassless compound with 4 “kaccha” houses. Across the compound approximately 50 meters ahead we could see the main road. It was peaceful and had a “different view” plus if we closed the door noone could bother us. The room looked perfect. It made sense. Agreed.

I moved towards the window to open it. God only knows why Anusha had closed it. The next moment I knew. “Don’t”; she quipped. As she went on to explain that the people living in the compound obviously had some drainage problem during the heavy rains that had come during the previous week. So they had dug up the underground drain that ran just behind our hostel. Dug it up and left it like that. That afternoon as Anusha had found after her classes (I wasn’t around) that the view was sinister. If you looked carefully enough there was everything in the drain…ranging from shoes, clothes, utensils to a human hand (A human hand? Anusha must be imagining). Ignoring her commentary in the background I opened the window driven by the desire to see the sight of a human hand lying in the drain of a posh colony. The window had opened just a centimeter and I closed it. Instantly. The smell was even worse than the description. A smell that left me in doubt that what Anusha was saying was correct. Alas!! The hot property of our room was no longer hot…I turned around to face the smirk on Anusha’s face “I-told-you-na”

The next few days we lived in a windowless world. I often felt guilty that the “window part of the room” was my suggestion. But then Anusha-faithful did not say a word about that. Rather she suggested that we can put on a lot of perfume on our night dresses and then sleep with the window open. And yes, we actually did that. In truth, this in no way abated the smells but the smiles, the laughter and the giggles in the darkened room with the 2 smells at the opposite spectrum took us to a perfect sleep.

Over the period of next few days, the smells abated. The drain closed. The weather improved. We could open the windows without second thoughts. As winters set in we closed the windows to be opened randomly on sunny Sunday mornings. One such morning, Anusha and I sat drying out hair, warming our bodies, chewing peanuts and chatting. After a while we fell silent, just looking out and reading the newspaper. Suddenly I caught Anusha staring out of the window. I followed her gaze to one of the house that lay in the compound below. 2 guys sat outside washing the utensils. “You know that shorter fairer guy- he studies a lot…” quipped Anusha. “And now, how do you know that?” I asked. “Well, I used to wake up at 4:00AM during the quarterly exams and he was always up before me-studying by the door studying by the street light”. “What?? Studying by the street light?” I asked in disbelief. “Yes” she said “and I have been keeping a tab on these guys sever since then…they kind of motivate me. They study, they cook and seem so satisfied with life and here we are not working even half as hard as them and complaining all the time about irrelevant stuff”

I looked back at the guys. From what Anusha had just said they had my full interest. Over the next few days we became fully conversant with their schedules. They lived in 3*2 meter house which didn’t seem to even have a source of electricity. All their activities from bathing to cooking to studying were done outside. Cooking right outside the hut on the small gas cylinder. Bathing at the hand pump. Studying under the street light. Toilet activities- God knows where (maybe at the drain under our window-we never bothered to find out). The hut was only the sleeping place during winters and rains and sometimes in extreme temperatures it might be used for studying in candle light. From our comfortable seats on the bed by the window we could not imagine people living and studying in such abject poverty. As for their schedule, except for an hour spent in cooking in morning and evening they studied all the time. Till 10 in the night and then started all over again at 4 in the morning. And yes, they went out with their books each day for 2 hours 10AM-12:00 Noon. Probably coaching.

A few days later when Anusha and I were cycling from the university to hostel we saw them. Out of nowhere I said “Lets follow them- it’s their coaching time and we shall know where they study and what.” Anusha didn’t object instead speeded up the cycle so as not to lose sight. We trudged behind their cycles for almost 4 kilometers. And we had our answer. Rao IAS. So these guys were dreaming it big. And from the looks of it they shall make it big. We had no doubts.

Days changed to months but our fascination with the two guys continued. We started waking early and studying a wee bit more thanks to the example that they set. We often met them on the road and Anusha and I would smile at each other. They were unaware of our existence. I doubt if they were aware of anything except the books. But then all this changed one day.

Someone in our hostel had got a telescope and we were all busy on the rooftop looking at the constellations. After we got tired of the constellations our attention moved over to looking at each other with the instrument. When it was Anusha’s turn to see through she focused it on the compound, ignoring the funny faces that the girls were making for her to see. Nobody bothered to see what she was looking at. But then I did not want this secret to be out (somewhere in my heart and Anusha’s as well we felt possessive about the guys). I immediately went over and whispered fiercely “Not here Anusha. Later. You don’t want everyone looking at these guys…right?” Anusha immediately focused the telescope elsewhere. Later that evening we got the telescope in our room. There wasn’t much to look at but it was fun. We now could zoom him and even read the titles of the book. Anusha infact was so inspired that she wanted to go for IAS after graduation and insisted that she could read a couple of lines from his books. Madness….

With the telescope we now knew their subjects and the exact contents of their meals. And one day when we were zooming in on their bowl of vegetable they saw us. The shorter one saw first. As soon as we knew that he was looking we removed the telescope and turned our faces in another direction, as if nothing had happened. They continued looking at us and were smiling so we grew bolder. We focused the telescope again. This time they waved. Like the last time we ignored first but then waved back. This smile-wave game continued for the next several days and then graduated to sign language and further to written communication (huge alphabets written in black on white background). It was strange noone else from the compound or the other hostel windows facing in the same direction saw our activities. If they had we didn’t know. The telescope was no longer needed. The four of us unknowingly fell in the same routine - we followed their study hours and they followed our meal hours so that we could find time to play this sign language game without actually disturbing the routine. We knew their names, they knew ours. We knew their hometowns, they knew ours. We knew their favourite food and they knew ours. Stuff like that. Once in a while we saw them on the road while returning from the University but some instinct told us to keep off them. Until one day…

They signaled us to meet. Though we understood but then we signaled back “don’t understand what you say” They tried again. We gave back the same answer. After a while we closed the window. They stopped. Closed windows during the hours when it can be opened signified that someone was in the room. The next day they had the question written on a chart paper “Can we meet?” After an initial resistance we gave in. We decided to meet them on the road and not anywhere else. It looked to be the safest bet. That day when they asked “When, where” we again closed the window. It was to be a surprise.

The next morning we waited for them on the road that they took. As they cycled closer I waved. First they didn’t look but then slowed as recognition dawned in. Stopped. Got down their cycles. Smiled. And said nothing. We smiled as well but then looked uncomfortable. How are you supposed to behave under such circumstances? No idea. The taller one started the conversation “Who amongst you is Anusha and who is Nayantara?” We replied. The shorter guy just stood and stared. Finally after 5 minutes out of which 4.5 were spent in silence and smiles we decided to move with “Aap logon ko late ho raha hoga….” They nodded. We boarded our cycles and moved in opposite directions.

“They aren’t our type” Anusha said after a while. I didn’t say a word but couldn’t have agreed more. None of us knew what “our type” meant. None of us were in a mood to discuss. No further communications or meetings happened. The guys felt the same (as I would like to think) because they ignored us as well. Measure for measure. The magic was gone. The magic of a secret. The magic of the room with nothing extraordinary in its view. Just some houses and people living out there…