Random Ramblings of a Reluctant Blogger

It was designated as the ‘Room with a view’. It was probably my roommate who gave it the moniker, though I do not quite recall but it was apt.
Moving to Vijaywada to embark on my journalistic journey, I had to find a room for myself. And that was one tough part. Back then in the late eighties bachelors were the last creatures to be preferred for rent. What further compounded my situation was my very limited knowledge of Telugu, which was restricted to probably six or seven words.
My colleagues put me up with a  broker who took  me on endless rounds of sightings that would  give me chills. The tireless broker, my non-existent Telugu  and his equally challenged English, made for  one wacky cauldron. He once excitedly took me to look at what he saw as  the ‘perfect’ place. That gave me nightmares for a couple of weeks. The room he suggested was a spandrel, the triangular  space below a flight or stairs. The greedy owner had converted, more like covered it, with a door and was hoping to make good money. That was the last I saw of the broker.
With almost a month into my search, and various feelers sent across to many people, I struck gold with the now famous (famous amongst my friends) Room with a view.  One look and I unhesitatingly said yes. In spite of the fact that it could be a little tight on my budget, a princely sum of ₹150 every month. A colleague, also beginning his journey, joined me later and it became our treasured abode for quite some time.

It was on the terrace of a two-storied building, or barsati as it is called in Dilli. The ground floor was occupied by some commercial unit, in the first some three residential units, and above  it _ the Room.
As you entered you looked on to  the huge terrace space. And to the left, the dwelling. The first room, or half a room to be precise, was the kitchen, living, entry space, call it what you will. Just about 3×6 feet in dimension, the ceiling, just six feet high, was covered with slating asbestos sheets. From there you entered the other room, practically the only room, approximately 6×8 feet. And the roof raised to  just about seven odd feet. The redeeming, nay, likeable, feature of the room was the huge French window covering the entire length of the wall on the far end. It was this feature that inspired the name. The rest room was at the far end of the terrace, away from these two rooms. So apart from the room we had the whole terrace we had to ourselves.
With our holdalls spread at either end of the room, and a table fan, we were sorted.
The French windows opened up to the road from where we saw the world pass by. (It is from where I once saw THE ghost! Read it here… https://randomramblingsofareluctantblogger.in/2023/05/14/an-eerie-encounter-on-a-haunting-night/). The only regret for us and our friends who visited us, was the window didn’t open to a chand ka tukda opposite us.!
The windows for us were a source of  air. With no scope for a ceiling fan we had to make do with a table fan. The open terrace on the other end provided cross ventilation.
In the scorching summers the windows were adorned with wet blankets to mimic an air-conditioned atmosphere, not to much avail, though.
Most of the late nights, with evenings being rare given our night shifts, we friends would spend hours together discussing things from the mundane to the spiritual to the existential, the window letting in the air and the bright lights and probably the bright ideas too. We laughed at our blunders, enjoyed absurd retorts, and generally had a whale of a time.
The rare occasions when the windows were closed were during the monsoons. Though many times I would love to open it up, watch the rain and enjoy the splash of rain on my face.
On any given day when melancholy decides to pay a visit, I open up the windows to the Room with a view and life shines again.