Story of Me and My small room

In search of peace, I left the rented palatial apartment in the beginning of my third year of graduation and moved to this small room. I sold all my old belongings except my red printed curtains before coming here.

I’ve no idea what made me bring these curtains here but I feel good to see it absorbing water droplets leaking from the aged air-conditioner hung above it.

My air-conditioner is different from all other air-conditioners manufactured on this earth. It seldom works and often disappoints me with long electricity bills.


The kitchen is as small as an ATM machine room— one at a time— and always lit by a small light. If you would see my kitchen, you would find a few steel glasses and plates, a gas-chulha and a cylinder.


The only rusted window of my room looked the walls of the neighboring buildings, so there is no showering of sun rays. I always keep the window shut to impede mosquitos entering the room.

I sleep on the floor over a matrix surrounded by books of old authors and saints. The old fan is quiet good in this cool weather, as it always remains off. My study table, chair, bag, and suitcases are acquired by my books. How amazing it is that you could even talk to dead people through their books.

me and my small roomMe and My Small Room

I sleep around 12 at night and wake up around 6 in the morning. But in holidays, I continue to sleep till eight or nine.

After breakfast, I read books and when my mind refuses to concentrate, I waste my time staring at the fan or table. Nowadays, I am wasting my time on my cell phone. The cell phone has always made my mood sulky. I hate cell phones.

My cook is on leave. It has been more than ten days since I ate my meals properly and on time. I’m having tea and samosa in lunch and breakfast, and at night I ask any of my friends to make a few chapatis for me.

Samosa and Kachoris have ruined my digestive system. To amuse myself I laugh and shout before farting, ‘Puud Maaro’ (Kill the fart).

I love collecting books, but I am too lazy to read it. I don’t have the patience to read novels. Moreover, I don’t like modern authors who always talks about love birds. I love reading short stories.

I enjoy reading stories about kids on bicycles, a little girl climbing up the mountain with her favorite colorful umbrella, a father with his son roaming around the green valleys, bhoots in the old house, and childhood days.

Apart from reading and writing, I play mouth organ in the evening. On the top of my lungs I sing a song of Bob Dylan which left a deep impression on me.

‘How many roads must a man walk down… before you call him a man…?
The answer is blowing in the wind.’


Sharing is caring!

Want Me To Be Your “WRITING” Companion And Help You Build Your Writing Career? Click Here…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *