As residing preparations went, this one promised to be removed from regular.
I made a decision that getting a everlasting place in Chennai solely made sense. Shuttling between the unparalleled luxurious of my Sri City house and a special resort or membership room each weekend obtained outdated. Renting a bit of slice of Chennai would imply, greater than the rest, circumventing the necessity to regularly pack and unpack. I solid my web far and fortified myself for per week of flitting from one underwhelming house to a different. Fortunately, a colleague alerted me to a housing scenario she assumed can be uniquely up my alley. Her pal ran Pagir, a neighborhood arts organisation, and was seeking to set free the flat that housed it. Yes, I wouldn’t have flatmates. No, the house wouldn’t be wholly mine. Yes, sure, nobody would use my toilet however I. No, no, the house — this continued to confound me — wouldn’t be wholly mine. It was a weird residing association. I couldn’t wait.
My potential house was a part of a snug two-storied bungalow that I hoped had been constructed within the Nineteen Seventies however was barely 30 years outdated. It boasted a rooftop terrace. The landlady lived downstairs. I’d hire the upstairs. The lounge opened as much as a balcony the scale of my New York house. The balcony wall sported a hand-painted illustration of a sensible tree. Posters exhibiting off constructive reinforcements crowded the living-room partitions. It was like I had stepped right into a Deepak Chopra guide. One of the three bedrooms was large. Two of the bedrooms had en-suites, and there have been home windows within the pantry. Everywhere you appeared, there have been home windows. Everywhere you appeared, there was gentle.
The flat was on one of many 4 Seaward Roads. This explicit Seaward Road had a number of unbiased properties. The house buildings had been neither outdated nor new. The tree-lined avenue was quaint in a means that harked again to a Doordarshan cliché from the ‘80s. The beach was a five-minute walk away. If you went the opposite direction, you’d encounter mom-and-pop retailers, fruit stalls and cute dosa joints.
The house sang to me. But it wasn’t so easy, the landlady cautioned. I’d need to take care of folks within the house in the course of the day — this was a spot for conversations and questions. I’d already learn a pamphlet about Pagir serving to uncover folks’s “many different selves through art, play, music, film, movement, silence and talking together.” I used to be completely okay with all that so long as my bed room and toilet had been out of bounds. I moved into my weekend flat in Chennai one wet day.
It is, by far, the wisest factor I’ve accomplished within the metropolis.
First, there are the non-humans. My landlady has two canines and a cat, all rescues. Noah, who is an element golden retriever and half indie, is mellow, the sensible man of the trio. Kalai, the indie-mix, remains to be nervous round folks. Jackson, the English tabby cat, appears to be like majestic however is much less imperious than many cats. Kalai curls up subsequent to me after I nap. Noah sleeps on the ground near us. Jackson, the cat, doesn’t care if I dwell or die. Kalai is afraid of my suitcase and usually runs away with my flip-flops. I’ve realized to cover my bag and place my sneakers on a pedestal.
It isn’t simply the animals holding me firm, although. There are additionally noises of thought-provoking provenance at numerous hours. One morning, I get up to the sound of dancing ft. It is decibel-defying melodies one other day. I’m nonetheless confused concerning the singing conches from a number of weekends in the past. Sometimes, there’s a knock at my door when I’m mid-siesta. A theatrical group inquires if I’d prefer to partake of their vadas and espresso.
Friends and household usually surprise why I put up with this. Why not simply get a spot that’s totally mine? they ask. They have some extent. I’ve been recognized to be uncomfortable having folks I do know, not to mention strangers, over. But there’s one thing great about an organisation that unironically calls itself a neighborhood arts house. I like this little sliver of earnestness in a jaded world. The absurdity of sharing house with individuals who aren’t flatmates appeals to the whacko in me. I like entering into the house not understanding what would possibly transpire. Will Carnatic music waft from beneath the door? Will I stroll right into a mural-painting workshop? Or a chat on shore ecosystem? I don’t have the persistence to look at five-year-olds studying to finger-paint, however I like that one thing that provides them a lot pleasure occurs in my residing quarters. That alone makes the lodging association value it. The animals are simply an added bonus.
Prajwal Parajuly is a novelist. Karma and Lola, his new guide, is forthcoming in 2026. He teaches Creative Writing at Krea University and oscillates between New York City and Sri City.
