I turned off the engine of my two-wheeler about twenty meters away letting it roll down the street to avoid her attention. I had been parking my scooter outside the house to further avoid opening the rusty front gate that creaks every time it's opened half-way through. I had been successfully avoiding her for the past nine days, leaving before she woke up and returning home late from college hoping she'd already dozed off to her afternoon nap.

As always I tip-toed up the stairs, my feet as light as a cat's, my hands curled up behind my back, tight, trying to avoid the sound of my bag swinging against the tense air. I didn't wanna risk getting caught. I hadn't paid my rent!

And. . . Bam!

She ambushed me this time when the door suddenly opened up as soon as I levelled onto the first floor. There she was - my wicked landlady, wearing her usual red indian saree; she pounced on me like a careful tiger pounces on a beautiful gazelle. She must have been peeking through the peephole because she was careful enough to avoid my suspicion..

'Rent?' her old mouth gesture as always like she was chewing something. I'd learnt to control smirking by now everytime I heard the lisp in her greedy words.

'Ha aunty. um.. just give me a day or two' I said.

‘Today is the 10th' the wicked landlady pointed out.

'Ha aunty. I know. Actually my dad hasn't sent me the money yet. He's a little busy' I said but my eyes were fixed at the sight of the old man in his usual white t-shirt and blue lungi staring from behind. Or maybe hiding behind his wife? But I was certain he was not staring at me; he's cursing the sadist wife he'd agreed to arrange-marry. Oh! How irritated he must have been his entire life. I sometimes slept on a sofa because my bed was inside a shared cluttered room so humid that I woke up on a soaked mattress. I woke up with my tongue as dry as the 3.333 rupees chips I ate last night (you'll get it). I always held my blue acupressure ball with me for too many reasons . I was always furious over the mosquitos who constantly bit me, furious over my swinging interests, frustrated over my forced abstinence and sullen over my career incompetency. I was living with four other roommates of whom two of them didn’t like me sleeping on the sofa. I had all this going in my life but I still dreaded walking into my landlady.

I tried to focus my attention on her but the lisped words that came out of that hollow mouth at this point is all noise to me because I witnessed the strangest thing that I had failed to witness all my years as a tenant here. Believe it or not, my landlady's head moved like a bobblehead doll everytime she even attempted to utter a word. It was a sight. I just kept gawking at her bobblehead.

'Uh-huh' I said hoping she wouldn't suspect that I wasn't listening.

But I just couldn't focus. I pictured her as a miniature bobblehead doll in the old man's desk back when he was a chemist reminding him to hand over the salary to her on the first of every month.

“All she cares about is money. MONEY! MONEY! MONEY!” Our common maid was ranting on a few days before when she came upstairs after a heated argument with the landlady about how apparently the maid intensified the rust on an already rusty pot. Everything was rusty in this house. The wicked landlady wanted it exchanged. As it happened I didn't need much convincing. I knew. I'd noticed her body, by default, always leaned forward as if it's ready to pick up that thousand rupees note she spotted someone dropping around the corner. Naturally I'd convinced myself that she always seemed in a hurry because she is worried somebody else would pick it up before she did.

Everybody wanted to run away from her. But we all had our reasons. The maid said she'd feel guilty leaving the helpless old people alone with their son who was a thirty-year old broke musician. For me and my roommates the apartment was the best deal we ever got. As for the old man, well. . . he just couldn't run.

The old man needed to gather all his energy to lift one of his polio-like legs that trembled everytime he stepped, only to pause, gasp for air then grunt at his life and wife to raise his other leg while he climbed the stairs. This he did three or four times a day and voila! There goes ninety percent of his day.

And when he walked on the plain, it was as though his body automatically positioned itself a partial squat which was ironic because of the lack of muscle tone but surprisingly balanced his upper torso like a cartoon duck when it crossed the road.

Shortly before 7 pm, he'd usually approach me on the terrace with his iconic cartoon-duck-walk hoping I'd strike up a conversation before I climbed the ladder for the sunset; before he picked up the rice he'd cooked in his solar cooker. We talked about his life as a chemist or how Pune had changed over his lifetime or his young college days. One day I noticed how he always tilted his head to the right when I spoke which made me question if he couldn't hear from his left only to realize that he wasn't replying because he was turned to his left. We had developed a rather casual relationship given the difference between our age.

'When I was young, I used to go out with my saheliyas to the mountains' he said a while back on our usual hour "Female friends".

'You naughty old man!' was what I wanted to say. But I behaved. I looked at his paper-thin skin stretched over his ancient bones and for the love of god could not fathom how this old fossil ever got hard in his life. His bent frame was the human equivalent of a cup-hook and you could make that behind those blue-veined skin, behind that plain white vest and blue lungi (I knew he didn't wear anything beneath the lungi. Don't ask me how), that his skeleton could collapse any second now. Despite all my efforts I could not picture him as a young man capable of making love.

However I knew he regarded me as a friend, not to whom you share your deep emotions but one of those friends you laughed with. Then there was his sadist of a wife who'd caged up a free bird whom I considered a friend as well.

'Just be a little quick' the wicked landlady said, dragging my attention to the present. She gave a hollow courteous smile as always before she concluded a conversation.

I looked at the only thing slower than the old man getting up the stairs - my cell phone and realized I'd already wasted a solid ten minutes on the landlady. 'Ha aunty. pakka pakka' I said pacing up the stairs trying to avoid the conversation getting any further. 'Sure Sure'.

Before today I could have guaranteed that I'd have to walk in at the sight of my roommate, naked on the upper torso, an act he did just to torture me, fiddling with his fantasy football team, which I am still not comfortable and accustomed to.

But he stooped lower this time. I was petrified at the sight I had to walk into. The sight of my naked roommate partially covered with a towel, lay stretched out, on the living room sofa. ‘AH!' he moaned and carressed his own breasts, twisting his sunken nipples, zooming in on some picture of what he liked to call them 'busty chicks'.

'Eww' I said out loud realizing his rear end was bare on the living room sofa. Naked horny roommate was startled when he realized he was in the presence of another soul. He gave me a look that said it was unjustly of me to walk in at the wrong time but he’s willing to forgive me if I let him climax in the living room sofa. He hesitated to put on his check blue boxers but did it out of despair.

'I sleep on that sofa sometimes you know' I freaked out.

'Couldn't ya knock?' asked my naked horny roommate. 'You ruined my virtual date' he said.

One thing you should know about my naked horny roommate is he didn't have a healthy outlook towards women. Maybe it was because he vowed to treat women as an object after an ex-girlfriend of his screwed him over. I'd be lying if I said that because the reality is he is one of the many natural born perverts. He had his own, what he liked to call a "volume-based approach" with the ladies. He would send friend requests to forty girls a week out of which half of them replied back to a stranger. Half of the half would keep talking to a pervert. Half of that bunch, he would have some common grounds with which he kept reducing until he met with about seven or eight of them back at Kathmandu after the semester ended. 'I'm laying the groundwork so I can go back and fuck' he'd say. He tagged the girls who did not agree to meet him as “bitches”.

One time at a bar when a girl rejected him he came to me and said in a surprised tone 'We both have the same motorcycle. I'm definitely better looking than him. Only I can't dance like that loser and she chooses to go home with him?'

In the girl's defence he danced peddling his feet like a duck under water, one of his arms flailing up in the air and the other hand holding a bottle of beer. When he danced it seemed like the combination of the old man's walk and the landlady's bobblehead doll.

'Dancing leads to sex' I said to make him more frustrated.

'I get it' he said.

'What?' I asked curiously.

'She's a bitch' said the naked horny roommate.

'What?' I'm confused. 'She's a bitch cause she doesn't wanna go home with you?' I asked, curiouser.

'Yeah' he said in an obvious tone as if I was the stupid one for not understanding.

At first glance you'd think he failed the military test from the amount of hair in his head and his body structure. He was one of those people who stopped going to the gym and is fat now, but shapely fat. Do you follow? Well he's frankly overweight now but he's still the second most good looking person in the apartment after me so he still had that going for him.

He had the weirdest habits I had ever witnessed in my life, he moaned every time the cold water of the shower hit him in the mornings like he just got a head from Natasha he stalked last night. He always stalked Natasha. Natasha, possibly a russian model, we saw at a bar one time.

'She's too tempting brah' he said the day he struggled but somehow managed to smell her hair at a bar counter. He was infatuated with her.

I felt like it was a genetic trait though. Normally my dad would change the channel if there was ever an uncomfortable scene in the movie that we were all watching and we would all pretend like we didn't see anything. Here's what happened one time when naked horny roommate's dad had come to visit him - We were all eating dinner and being the elderly, his father had the privilege of holding the remote. He was changing the channel, perhaps searching for the news but when he stumbled upon the fashion channel with hot blondes in bikinis running on the beach, he paused for a minute-

'Look at these women. Disgusting.' he then said.

But he didn't change. His eyes were fixed on the television.

'They've got no shame in them. Just look at them.' said naked horny roommate senior.

But he still didn't flinch but I started to feel uncomfortable. I looked at my other roommate and we were both struggling to hold out laughing.

'No culture. That's just filthy' he said again. His voice indicated disgust but his eyes glistening with a burning desire. His fingers were still on the button but he showed no sign of changing. So naturally I didn't hold back myself either and praised the blonde goddess with my eyes but mumbled 'Yeah that's disgusting'.

No matter how much he talked about girls we had a nice friendship going. We both had a mutual love for psychological thrillers and time travel movies but he looked at me at the end of every movie as if waiting for an explanation. Occasionally (actually every week) we'd pull up the curtains, light a doobie and play electronic music pretending we were at a club on a sticky tuesday afternoon. However he stopped smoking pot after a bad trip so that put an end to our afternoon parties.

But the best bond we shared was over the thrill of trashing our roommates while they were at a hearing distance from us from the living room sofa. I knew my dad got that adrenaline rush everytime he helped me sneak in chocolates inside my hostel even though he is a very cultured man. But he missed the thrill of being young and doing things without thinking of what followed. And I knew naked horny roommate and I got the same rush when we bad-mouthed on the sofa. Whoever said a bond over a mutual hatred is stronger than that over a mutual love had it right.

'You want me to knock getting into my own apartment' I asked.

He doesn't say a thing. 'I've ordered you some food. The maid didn't come today' he said changing the subject. He added the amount to my total I owed him. Fuck I thought checking the total. 'I'll have to sell my kidney now' I mumbled.

'It'd be great if you could pay me as soon as possible' he said politely. Money was always a delicate topic in our apartment.

'Pakka bro' I said 'Sure bro'.

'Did ya eat already?' I asked.

'Yeah. About 10 mins ago' he said. So I fixed myself a plate of the chicken fried rice and sat beside him. But he still couldn't resist eating from my plate. He needed a spoon cause the "smell is too tempting" for him as always. My only concern over him eating my food was if he farted while I was still eating. He farted a lot and then he said 'I shouldn't have eaten that' every time before he made a disgusted face. 'Must have been the fried rice' he concludes after.

'Look at'em busts' he said zooming in on another beautiful model.

'Bring em in my mouth' I said, talking to the picture. I didn't know why I talked to what others might perceive as offensive around him. Maybe he induced the pervert in me as well.

My attention was dragged from the gorgeous hot body when I heard a repeated apology inside the bathroom.

'He's in there an hour already' naked horny roommate whispered.

“He” is one of the roommates we trashed about. The "He" that naked horny roommate referred to was a senior who woke up a minute before I did so he could drink the milk naked horny roommate and I brought up for cereals early in the humid morning. We called him “The cat” or "Romeo" depending on the day.

Today is his Romeo day.

Romeo slowly stepped out of the bathroom - headphones still glued to his ears and a look in his face that yelled he was hoping nobody heard him apologize to his girlfriend. . . again. He spent every other day apologizing or getting apologized. “Romeo” had a nice ring to it and it suited him well because everything he did revolved around his girlfriend. Need to go out to a bar at night- ask her permission. Go to a restaurant - let her know beforehand. Go to the bathroom - better take her with or Madame may I go to the toilet? To be honest I felt he'd already lost his manhood. Regardless he was very protective about her.

Nosey that I am, I peeked at his cellphone without his permission one day when we were sitting idly on the living room sofa. When I saw the almond-shaped eyes of his girlfriend I intruded with a 'Which caste does she belong to?' I was already saddened by the fact that I was terrible at placing people from different castes within my country because they all looked the same to me. The Genghis Khan clan. Call it stereotypical if you may but he did love maths. But the look in his eyes had me dreaded for asking that question because he took offence at me failing to place her as one of the high castes. I wasn't even quite the racist as I used to be as a kid!

Romeo was very polite and if it had been two years ago I wouldn't have been able to understand a word that came out of his introverted mouth. You'd better be a dog to hear the infrasound. But my ears had adjusted itself to understand him which I dreaded again because I wished I hadn't heard the next words that came out of his mouth:

'I already paid the electricity bill. I've added your share in the total' he said.

Can I pretend I didn't hear him? I thought but my hands as if by reflex picked up my cell phone and checked the total. Great there goes my other kidney I thought.

He was the complete opposite of naked horny roommate. I saw a glimpse of the old man in him. I only prayed he wouldn't have to ask permission to cartoon-duck-walk the terrace when he’s old.

Finally he lit a cigarette - inhaled it deeply and closed the bathroom door behind him ready for round two of apology.

Romeo aka the cat had his other half whom we trashed about the most. The three of us; me, naked horny roommate and my other roommate never added a dime to what cost under at least a fifty but that asshole split a ten rupees lays three ways which has fifty percent air. His other half loved sneakers, designer clothes, fancy watches, expensive haircuts which had earned him the reputation as a shopaholic. We thought the two of them were twinks because we had never seen two guys so deeply in love with shopping. Romeo might have been bisexual. We were open to the possibilities.

We thought the shopaholic went through a monthly period we didn’t know thus hesitating to call him “Bipolar”. But as we got acquainted, each one of us had an incident that confirmed our doubts and thus we decided to settle on our covert nickname for him as the "Bipolar shopaholic". Sometimes he offered my roommate a free cigarette and sometimes he lied hiding a pack in his bag. He wanted his food arranged like an O.C.D but didn’t care if he lost his MacBook.

Normally here's how we stayed in the living room. Silent! I never knew how I ought to make conversation with the guy. He'd be busy laying out the smoking paper. I'd press my fingers against the blue acupressure ball. He’d sprinkle the greens. I'd spin around the chair. He'd roll. I'd pretend to be fascinated by the way he rolled. We'd have nothing to talk about but there was no way he could get rid of me for the pot I would have to chip in fifty rupees even if I didn't smoke it. So he'd light up the joint.

‘What does your dad do?’ I'd asked him once.

‘He works at the Department of Customs’ said the bipolar shopaholic.

‘And your mom?’ I asked further.

‘She works for us’ he joked.

Actually I might have doctored this conversation to force myself to believe that we had a genuine conversation at least once over the years. Regardless I’ll never forget the man asking me, neh, demanding me rupees 3.333.

Regardless, Romeo and the bipolar shopaholic were great friends if not lovers but money had still brought hostility between the two. One day I’d eavesdropped on the two of them conversing about money which ended with Romeo assuring 'Tomorrow. Pakka'. And I knew what that meant. 'Tomorrow. For sure. NOT!'

I walked into my shared cluttered room because sleeping on the sofa was now out of the question. But there was another horrific sight waiting. The mayor sat up at the edge of his bed in a position that looked naked with his guitar that covered his crotch.

We called him the mayor partly because of his love for an artist and partly because of his political aspirations. Oh! My readers I've nothing bad to say about this man except a fact; this man hid his money like a cat hid its poop. However this habit of his was essential for survival not just for him but for me as well because I would always go broke by the last week of every month. But there was the mayor who would always take out money like a magician; from his guitar; his knickers; the inside pocket of his jeans; mechanics book, what have you. This man was the second most artistic guy in the apartment after me. Our time in Pune deserves a book in its own right. 'The adventures of Pune bachelors' I'd call it.

If ever the internet was down; there was the mayor to entertain us. I knew this guy since we were kids so it was only natural that we trashed about the other roommates except our naked horny roommate.

'What is it naked day today?' I asked.

He smiled and shrugged pretending to hear the question but he was focused on the tune.

'Ah! what the heck?' I said and undressed myself and threw myself to the bed for a nap.

Now I know I've had a good nap when I'm not irritated waking up to the shrill voice of our maid hollering at one of the roommates for no particular reason. It was usually to the sound of 'Oye motu chai bana' to which my naked horny roommate always, without a shred of hesitation obliged. 'Hey fattie make some tea'. Then our maid would give a cunning smile like she just framed a child who is now wrongly accused of eating the ice cream she devoured. The maid calling my naked horny roommate fat was ironic because I felt the only reason she wore an Indian saree was because her belly fat would tear off any other free. She let that chunk of meat hide in plain sight. Her belly was so huge that it had arched her back which she always complained about and was the most used and her best excuse to avoid work. She avoided work as far as possible, as creatively as possible. We paid her to unburden herself for the work we hired her to do. She delegated the work back to us as with the "fattie and the tea" case. Kaamchor that's what the wicked landlady called her. Lazy ass.

But the truth is life hadn't been very kind to her. It was only natural for her to be skeptical of everyone. The mayor had bought her a brand new traditional Indian saree to which her instinctual reaction was 'Who wore this before me?' She had been lied to, beaten by her husband, shouted at by strangers so she probably wanted to rip-off every tenant as a revenge. A revenge against humanity. I understood the sense of urgency in her to see her hard earned money on the palm of her hand but I still delayed giving her the money. In fact I cut her salary once for missing her work for three days straight. I know what you’re thinking Asshole. Right? But I was broke and I wanted my money’s worth.

She stared at me as soon as I walked into the kitchen - and without delaying for a second asked me what I’d been asked the whole day 'My money?'

'Tomorrow' I replied casually, filling my cup of tea my fattie roommate had prepared.

'You've been saying that for nine days now' said the black fat maid.

'You're the only one who doesn't pay me on time' half-disappointed, half-frustrated she said as if I'd hit a new low.

'And you're the only maid I've had who always steals my chicken' I rebuttal. She wasn't a bad person. Only I was broke.

I knew her next move would be to threaten me to remove the gas pipe she'd helped us international students install so before I let our daily argument escalate I said -

"Tomorrow. Pakka.'