Meet the Quirks
Four individuals, each with distinct personalities, live together in PG accommodation. All of them are working professionals who had moved to a common city to advance their careers.
Let me introduce them to you:
Niladri (Nilu)
Niladri, standing tall at 6’2”, an investment banker by profession and a “ladies’ man” by reputation. He makes even spreadsheets look glamorous. With his charm and sharp communication skills, he is admired everywhere, from boardrooms to balconies in the housing complex. Known for his playful flirting but still single. He is the kind of guy aunties secretly shortlist for their daughters. His Tata Curvv adds flair to his lifestyle, but truth be told, Niladri himself is the real showstopper. Wherever he goes, heads turn, and he seems perfectly comfortable being the centre of attention.
Rahul
Rahul, the Business Development Manager, is basically a human sales pitch wrapped in charm. He who can sell ice to an Eskimo and then upsell them a refrigerator. He can convince a shopkeeper to stock products they didn’t even know existed. His friends know better not to disturb him when sales numbers dip; that’s when Rahul transforms from “Mr. Charming” to “Mr. Don’t-Talk-To-Me.” But when things are good, he’s the life of the complex. He organizes cricket matches, football games, and community events with the efficiency of a wedding planner. Kids love him, elders admire him, and his friends joke that Rahul could probably sell tickets to his own birthday party.
Vinodh
Vinodh runs hospital operations with the discipline of a drill sergeant, workflows seamless, compliance airtight, and resources managed down to the last detail. Outside the office, he transforms into a full-time fitness crusader, treating sugar like poison and carbs like a criminal offense. His health lectures are so intense that even the most confident snack-lovers start doubting their choices. Over time, residents in the complex have mastered the art of dodging him at the gates. Not out of dislike, but simply to avoid being ambushed by one of his terrifying health updates.
Mohan
Mohan is an HR professional with a hidden artistic flair. He sings beautifully and plays the guitar, often shining at housing complex events and office parties. Despite these talents, he remains shy and reserved. At work, he efficiently handles workforce requirements and interviews, though he discreetly passes women recruitment to a female colleague. He also analyzes employee productivity across departments, a task that sometimes lands him in trouble when his reports ruffle feathers.
Known as the “Tense Guy in HR,” Mohan’s shyness extends beyond the office, especially around women, where he prefers to keep his distance. When Preetha, a soft skills trainer, joined the HR team, it took time for her to break through his reserved shell. She recognized his sincerity. She also saw his talent. But his nervous and emotional nature made him vulnerable. Colleagues and seniors often criticized him. At times, he faced blame even when he wasn’t at fault. With her encouragement, Mohan slowly began to build confidence, though his sensitivity still remains part of who he is.
Now you’ve got four personalities:
• Niladri — the suave banker who turns heads wherever he goes.
• Rahul — the salesperson who can spot a deal in anything.
• Vinodh — the health freak who scares people out of eating snacks.
• Mohan — the shy HR musician learning to speak up.
PG Pandemonium
It took the four of them quite some time to adjust to each other’s quirks, likes, and dislikes, but eventually they struck a balance. They agreed that each day’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner would follow the preference of one roommate. Of course, when it was Vinodh’s turn, the selective eater, the other three usually tried to schedule office travel assignments if possible. 😂
This system has worked surprisingly well for the past year and a half. Even when they plan outings together, they take turns letting one person’s choice decide where to go. It’s their way of keeping the peace and the humour alive in PG life.
Ramu, their cook, was hired straight out of the “rookie league,” mostly because the boys couldn’t afford a skilful chef. In the beginning, his chapatis were burnt, his dal watery, and his experiments borderline dangerous. But thanks to the boys’ heroic tolerance (and survival instincts), Ramu gradually improved his culinary skills. Today, he cooks with confidence, though the roommates still joke that they deserve lifetime achievement awards for enduring his training phase.
Most evenings, the boys sat down for dinner together, turning the table into their daily confessional. No story was left untold, and no opinion went unchallenged. What started as healthy debates often escalated into loud exchanges, each one determined to prove he was right. A couple of times, the neighbours even rang the doorbell, not out of concern, but to complain about the “voice pollution” echoing through the building. 😂
Gym, Love & Match
One such evening at dinner, Vinodh (Health Freak) casually mentioned that a woman named Anjali had joined the gym. The others instantly leaned forward, it was the first time they’d ever heard a girl’s name from him. Nilu and Rahul shouted in unison, “Go on!”
Caught off guard by their curiosity, Vinodh quickly toned it down, “Nothing, guys… just saying a girl joined.”
Niladri pressed, “So, how does she look?”
Vinodh, after a pause, admitted, “Beautiful.”
Rahul jumped in with a grin: “Perfect! Talk to her fast, or else Nilu will swoop in and steal her right under your nose.”
The table erupted in laughter, the kind that echoed through the PG walls long after dinner was done.
Anjali had recently moved into the boys’ locality and joined the gym. A longtime health enthusiast, she seemed like the perfect match for Vinodh’s fitness obsession. But during one of their conversations, Vinodh discovered that she was no ordinary health freak. Anjali was a mountain runner, an elite endurance athlete who regularly competed in high‑altitude events. For all his discipline and lectures, Vinodh had never ventured into that league, leaving him both impressed and slightly humbled.
Wrap Skirt Saga
Sundays at the PG is usually lazy affairs, late wake‑ups, delayed breakfasts, and no routine whatsoever. Well, except for Vinodh, who still stuck to his disciplined schedule like clockwork.
On one such relaxed afternoon, the boys were lounging in the drawing room while Mohan gently strummed his guitar. Out of nowhere, he asked, “What is a wrap skirt, and where can we get one?”
The others chorused instantly, “Amazon!” but within seconds, they all sprang forward, eyes wide, “Hey… hello wrap skirt! For whom, dear? Spell it out!”
Mohan panicked, “No, nothing… it just came to my mind.” The boys pounced, half‑playful, half‑serious. Mohan gasped, “My guitar… leave me, I can’t breathe!” They finally let go, grinning.
Niladri smirked, “Shy boy suddenly talking about wrap skirts? Speak up fast!”
Blushing, Mohan admitted, “There’s a girl… Peetha, she’s a soft skills trainer in our department.”
Rahul leaned in, “Go on, buddy.”
Mohan continued, “Her birthday’s next week. I overheard her telling a colleague she wants to buy a wrap skirt and a top for herself.”
Vinodh teased, “So our dear Mohan wants to buy it before she does, right?” Mohan dropped his head, shy as ever.
“Ohohohohoh!” the boys shouted in unison. “Shy Mohan is in love!”
Niladri, the veteran in these matters, asked, “Have you told her how you feel?”
Mohan whispered, “No.”
Rahul laughed, “Hello! Unless she agrees, how will you know and how will you buy the wrap skirt?”
Vinodh added, “Put it across to her, get her nod, and then we’ll all go shopping together.”
Niladri winked, “And don’t forget to ask her size!”
Mohan in his subtle humour, “I’ll just ask Amazon for ‘confidence, size medium.’”
The room exploded in laughter, echoing through the PG walls, another Sunday turned into a sitcom episode.
Invisible Kisses
The first day of the month carried its own rhythm. The three roommates were busy getting ready for office. A day of meetings with seniors, reconciliation of the previous month, and setting milestones for the new month. Rahul, however, stuck to his tradition. He always took the first day off, insisting he had earned the break after slogging through month‑end targets till midnight.
Just then, the doorbell rang. Already in a rush to leave for office, Niladri muttered irritably as he hurried to answer. Wondering who could possibly show up at that hour, he flung the door open, only to find a beautiful girl standing there.
Girl: “Is Rahul here?”
Niladri: “He came in the morning. Month end closing, so he’s sleeping.”
She handed over a gift pack.
Girl: “My mother asked me to give this to him. She made a sweet dish. It’s my father’s birthday; there’s also a note inside from Dad.”
Niladri: “How does Rahul know your family?”
Girl: “My mom meets him at the marketplace very often. He even sent a gift through Amazon.”
Niladri: “Sure, I’ll hand it over. And please convey our happy birthday wishes to Uncle.”
Girl: “I will.”
Niladri: “By the way, your name?”
Girl: “Roohi,” she smiled, then left.
Niladri rushed to Mohan and Vinodh. The three burst out laughing and hatched a prank. They emptied the sweets, replaced the note, and handed the gift pack to Ramu Kaka.
Vinodh (poker‑faced): “Kaka, since Rahul goes marketing hand‑in‑hand with the girl’s mother, she’s sent this gift especially for him.”
Ramu Kaka (disgusted): “What all I need to see here… Oh God.”
Later, Rahul woke cheerful after hitting his sales target. Kaka confronted him with the gift pack.
Kaka (stern): “This was given by a girl’s mother coming to the doorstep. She says you hold her mother’s hand while marketing, and thereby she has sent you a special gift.”
Rahul (shocked): “What? Whose mother’s hand? Who told you this?”
Kaka: “Vinodh.”
Confused, Rahul opened the gift pack. There was no sweet in the box and the note read:
Hi Rahul
The container looks empty, silent, and bare,
Yet it holds my love, floating in air.
Invisible kisses, tender and true,
They cannot be seen but are felt by you.
Love eternal, steady, and bright,
Yours, Roohi forever in sight.
“Invisible Kisses, tender and true,” Rahul murmurs and fled outside for a cigarette totally baffled, only to bump into Roohi and her mother.
Runa Aunty (Roohi’s Mother): “Did you have the sweet? Did you read the note?”
Rahul (awkward): “Yes Aunty… very tasty. Oh, the note… by Roohi...Yes.”
Roohi: “No, it was Dad’s.”
Rahul (stammering): “Sorry… Uncle’s note. Touchy.”
Runa Aunty (raising an eyebrow): “Touchy? He wrote it in a comical way, as if you had written it yourself to uncle, not touchy.”
Rahul prayed if he could vanish.
Back home, realizing the prank, he messaged the trio: “Sales target achieved, I’m giving you all a treat, come fast.” Knowing his temper, they replied they’d be late. Mohan followed it sending the real note from Roohi’s father:
A leather purse so polished, sleek, and fine,
“Keep your notes safe Uncle and think of me each time!”
A sturdy key chain, shining with cheer,
“Your keys stay loyal, never lost, always near!”
A pair of sunglasses, youthful and bright,
“Slip these on Uncle, look ten years light!”
An Axlon blue silk tie with matching cufflinks,
“Wear them at parties, you’ll get all the winks!”
And finally, a Smokey perfume with a mysterious air,
“Spray it once Uncle and watch people stare!”
Rahul, though upset with the guys, eventually broke into a smile, “Uncle may have penned it in a comical way… yet to me, it carried a tender note too. After all, a good salesperson isn’t just about selling, he should win the hearts of Uncles, Aunties… and perhaps even Roohi’s.”
Fitness Fiasco
Rahul, happy in his imagined love for Roohi, kept glowing. The roommates savoured the calm… until Vinodh’s fitness frenzy and his passionate pursuits began to ripple through the quiet.
Vinodh had been groaning about body aches for days. Mohan tolerated it until midnight moans drove him to the drawing room. Even Rahul and Niladri noticed his unusually slow movements, rare for the health drill sergeant.
One evening, Vinodh rang the bell with unusual urgency, staggered inside, and collapsed onto the sofa. Rahul thought he had simply dozed off, but the truth was harsher. For the past week, Vinodh had been waking at dawn, throwing himself into Anjali’s relentless routine, endless skipping, endurance runs and high‑impact jumps. What felt like paradise to her was pure torment for him, a shortcut straight to hell. Even had to dodge her calls for two days and stay home to recover.
When Anjali called, “What happened? You’ve been missing!” Vinodh swallowed his groans and showed up the next morning. Her eyes sparkled: “I’ve found a military‑style camp, it’ll be so much fun!”
To Anjali, heaven. To Vinodh, the gates of hell disguised as an adventure park. Push‑ups, obstacle walls, rope climbs, load‑bearing marches, his mind whispered, “Call your parents now, this might be goodbye.”
The instructor, Ex. Col. Raj, barked orders with such authority sounded like Yama the Death God calling Vinodh. The first challenge: five ten feet ropes, each one climb and swing across within a minute. Names were called in descending order. Vinodh’s came first. He cursed alphabetical destiny, worse, Anjali was last, meaning she’d watch his entire ordeal.
The crowd cheered, “Come on, Vinodh!”
He walked to the start point, his body screaming inside: “Careful, showing off your chivalry may end in disaster.” Ignoring every warning, he ran, he leapt, grabbed the first rope, spun like a washing machine on turbo mode, and crashed flat to the floor.
His inner voice groaned: “Congratulations, Romeo, you’ve just set the world record for fastest failure in rope history.”
Hospital followed, muscle tear, back strain, severe sprain. A week later, discharged with strict orders: “Only light exercise, now complete rest.”
Back home, the housing complex clapped and cheered. Vinodh felt miserable, “So this is my reward… after lecturing everyone on fitness.”
Before he could process, his roommates welcomed with comic timing:
“Ah, Vinodh returns! The only guy who can turn a fitness camp into a medical camp.”
“Bro, forget protein shakes. You need insurance shakes.”
The room erupted in laughter. Then Vinodh saw Anjali hiding her face and giggling too and in that moment, all his pain seemed to vanish.
Mohan’s Vanishing Act
Vinodh’s fitness mishap, though painful, ended with him finding unexpected closeness with Anjali. Niladri and Rahul, wary of reopening old wounds, chose to tread carefully and keep the peace. Yet just as Vinodh’s chapter settled, Mohan’s own story of missed love began to stir, hinting that calm in the PG was only temporary.
The roommates’ cynical remarks discouraged Mohan from buying the wrap skirt. Preetha’s birthday came and went, and he still hadn’t found the courage to confess his feelings. Yet as the days rolled on, his affection for her only deepened, thoughts of Preetha filled his mind more and more.
Mohan’s hesitation over Preetha left him restless, and one Saturday he didn’t return to PG. His phone remained switched off, unusual for someone so alert. Guys, trying his number through the night, but with no luck.
Sunday brought no answers. Mohan’s mother called “Please make him talk to me. His phone is unusually switched off.” The roommates explained and reassured her, though worry bothered them as well. Even Ramu Kaka, restrained his cooking items.
On Sunday, Niladri and Rahul went to Mohan’s office and asked the security guard, whether Mohan was inside and if he had Preetha’s contact number. The guard denied both requests.
The next day, they arrived at the office reception, tense and anxious, and asked for Preetha, a name they knew well, since Mohan had mentioned her most often during their PG discussions.
Preetha, strikingly professional, stepped out. Rahul, unable to contain himself, blurted loudly “Are you Preetha?”
She nodded calmly and invited them into her cabin, sensing their urgency. Niladri whispered behind Rahul: “Keep calm, don’t rush.”
Inside, Niladri spoke first, his tone measured:
Niladri: “Mohan hasn’t come home since Saturday evening. We’ve tried everything, but no luck. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
Preetha shook her head. Silence hung heavy. Rahul’s irritation was visible. Niladri pressed gently,
“Did he have any disagreement with you?”
Preetha hesitated, then admitted, “On Saturday morning, Mohan came to my cabin and said, ‘I cannot be without you. I love you so much. Do you love me?’ I answered harshly. I told him, ‘How can you suddenly ask me this? And if you want my answer now, it is no.’”
Rahul’s temper flared. He leaned forward, voice sharp, words tumbling out in a rush, “Do you realize what you’ve done? Mohan finally found courage, and you crushed him. You gave him hope, then shut the door. He’s sensitive, yes, but sincere. Now his parents, his friends, all of us are left picking up the pieces.” His voice rose, drawing glances from outside. Niladri quickly intervened, whispering firmly: “Rahul, control yourself. This is the office.”
But Rahul, still fuming, pushed back his chair and stormed out, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Heads turned as he left, the tension spilling into the workplace.
Niladri stayed behind, apologizing sincerely, “I’m sorry for Rahul’s outburst. He’s worried, we all are. If you have any clue , any contact, any place Mohan might go, please share it. His parents are anxious, and we’re desperate.”
Preetha, shaken but composed, gave Niladri her number, though she insisted she had no further information. Niladri thanked her, apologized once more, and left the cabin, his face heavy with worry.
The next three days were a blur of frantic searching, hotels, temples, parks, even hospitals. Each lead collapsed into silence. By Wednesday night, the housing complex buzzed with concern, and the roommates agreed to go to the police the next day.
But Thursday morning, as neighbours gathered curiously outside, the doorbell rang. Vinodh opened it and froze. Mohan stood there, weary but alive, a young woman beside him. Vinodh embraced him fiercely, shouting, “Mohan is back!” Relief swept through the building like wildfire. Tears, laughter, and hugs poured in, the tension of four days dissolving into raw, overwhelming emotion.
As the embrace loosened, Niladri noticed the girl at the door, Preetha. Stunned, he invited her in, and the room fell silent. Niladri could think, Rahul’s words hung heavy, but Preetha’s silence was heavier still.
Preetha spoke firmly: “Mohan is back for all of you. But let me say this: men often take women for granted. We are expected to be like instant noodles, quick, ready, yielding instant results. No space to think, no feelings considered, only treated like robots with a remote in men’s hands.”
Her eyes swept the room.
“Two of you stormed in, accusing me of exploiting Mohan. His mother threatened, while I was desperately searching. I begged them not to rush into a police case. Today I found him, I remembered he once spoke of a slum across the river where he donates, crossed over, and there he was.”
Her voice trembled but remained resolute: “Yet everywhere, office, home, even here, I am painted as the villain. Technology may advance, but men’s minds toward women still have far to go.”
Turning to Rahul, she asked: “Well? Anything more you want to say?”
Rahul, shaken, stepped forward and embraced her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, getting emotional as Preetha broke down: “I am exhausted… no woman should face this ordeal.”
The room absorbed the raw emotion until Ramu Kaka summed it up softly: “The boys searched everywhere, but it was her memory of him that brought him back. That’s not chance, that’s connection.”
Mohan, weighed down by guilt, kept his eyes lowered. The roommates, and society members stood in a heavy silence, a silence that reflected his mistakes and reminded him that his actions had scarred not only himself, but the entire community.
Season Two: Sanjana Knocks, Chaos Unlocks
Life continues for the PG boys, the four roommates are back in high spirits, each carrying quiet lessons from their misadventures. Ramu Kaka, never missing a jab, grumbled, “If you boys had learnt this a year earlier, my blood pressure would’ve been normal by now.”
Then came another lazy Sunday. The doorbell rang. Niladri, expecting for yet another neighbour’s complaint, opened the door and froze. A young woman stood there, graceful and smiling.
“Is Niladri here?” she asked softly.
The three roommates stiffened.
Rahul whispered, “Another girl? Great… season two is officially here.”
Vinodh groaned, “I haven’t even recovered from season one.”
Mohan clutched his guitar like a shield: “Please, not another wrap skirt saga.”
Ramu Kaka mutters, “Season two? Let me get evicted.”
Niladri, caught between pride and panic, managed a smile. “Yes, I’m Niladri. And you are…?”
“Sanjana,” she replied. “My father, Narendra Rao, asked me to give this packet to you.”
Niladri accepted the packet, but before he could respond, Ramu Kaka stormed out of the kitchen, arms folded. “Packet again? Boys, I’m warning you, no poetry, no pranks, no nonsense this time!”
The roommates burst into laughter, their recent lessons echoing in their minds. Sanjana, puzzled but polite, smiled, said goodbye, and left.
As the door closed, the three leaned in together:
“Season one clearly didn’t teach us enough, season two has already barged in. The boys erupted in their trademark laughter.