Home bon homie

So I am sharing accommodation with a droll bunch of tradesmen, a list inclusive of, but not exclusive to V Dhamodaran, S/O K. Venugopal Naidu, Suresh Kumar, S/O Divakaran Nair, C.K. Mohanan, S/O C. Kunjunni
N. Gopal, S/O Nanjunda Swamy, I. Charles Paul, S/O Irudhaya Nadhan, T, Puttaswamy, S/O D. Thimmiah
Narayana Swamy, S/O Munni Thimmiah, V. Kannan, S/O Venkatraman, L. Muthu, S/O Lakshmana Achary and
K. O. Francis, S/O K. O. Ouseph

Which makes me the only "homie" whose nightly undress does not include mundu snapping, (possibly to eject bandicoots that might have been trapped within.) I am also; it turns out a source of infinite hilarity. Everything from my classification of the chocobar as a revered food group, interoperable with any square meal. To the fact that I claim ownership to a pair of pyjamas with very dignified business suit like pockets sewn onto them.

But, it isn’t just me. The group is a techni-coloured melee of characters, demeanours, motivations and burping sounds.

I think the very fact that a group this disparate is able to survive living together is testament to how all encompassing this project has become to us, not to mention how woven in to the enigma of its figure-head we are. It is what binds us unites us. It is always the reason we all wake up, the reason altercations have to be mollified and the stuff that fills the awkward silences.