I woke up disoriented, forgetting for a moment where I was.
Then it hit me—Hyderabad. Locked down. Stuck in a hotel with no staff, no food service, and no escape.
No flights.
No trains.
No approved passes.
Just me and my growing list of questionable life choices.
Cynic Upstairs: “Ah, good morning. Time to accept your fate and begin your new life as a five-star refugee.”
I lay in bed for a few extra minutes, embracing the reality of absolute silence.
No alarms.
No office calls.
No sounds from the corridor.
It was so unnaturally quiet that I could hear my own breathing.
For a brief moment, I felt a strange sense of peace.
And then… hunger hit.
The Quest for Breakfast (Or Lack Thereof)
I got out of bed and walked to the minibar, as if expecting something magical to appear.
It didn’t.
- No room service.
- No breakfast buffet.
- Not even those overpriced tiny packs of almonds they usually leave.
I checked my bag.
Inside was half a pack of biscuits and a few sachets of instant coffee.
Cynic Upstairs: “Ah yes, the breakfast of champions—air, desperation, and caffeine.”
I debated my options.
- Option A: Accept starvation.
- Option B: Attempt an elaborate summoning ritual to make room service return.
- Option C: Find food.
Cynic Upstairs: “Spoiler: You’re going with Option C. Because no man ever wins a battle against hunger.”
The Outside World: 60 Minutes to Secure My Survival
At 7 AM, the government allowed a one-hour break for essential errands.
This was my golden window.
I stepped out of the hotel, squinting into the morning sun like a prisoner seeing daylight after years underground.
The streets were empty, except for a few fellow survivors—masked, hurried, eyes full of mission-mode urgency.
For one full hour, the world came alive.
I walked fast, scanning my surroundings like a hunter in search of prey (or in this case, Poha).
Finally, I found an open shop and began grabbing anything that seemed remotely useful.
- MTR Poha – because breakfast needed to be normal again.
- Two flavors of Upma – because variety mattered.
- Maggi Ready-to-Eat Cups – for when I lacked the will to ‘cook.’
- Milk powder, coffee, tea sachets – my emergency caffeine station.
As I paid, the shopkeeper looked at my basket and smirked.
Shopkeeper: “Sir, preparing for long-term survival?”
Me: “No, just the next ten days.”
He laughed, but I wasn’t joking.
I hurried back to the hotel, the last survivor returning to his fortress before the world shut down again.
The Joy of Making Instant Food (a.k.a. Adjusting Expectations)
Back in my silent, abandoned hotel room, I sat at the desk, staring at my newly acquired food stash.
I had never been more grateful for instant food.
I started with Poha.
- Opened the packet like it was treasure.
- Poured hot water.
- Waited like a scientist observing a chemical reaction.
Five minutes later, I took my first bite.
And you know what? It was amazing.
Cynic Upstairs: “Yes, because starvation makes everything taste better.”
The New Survival Schedule
By afternoon, I had a full game plan.
- Morning: Poha or Upma with instant coffee.
- Afternoon: Maggi cup noodles or whatever I didn’t finish at breakfast.
- Evening: My only social interaction—buying smokes during the lockdown break.
- Night: Whisky, balcony reflections, and YouTube Puranas.
The hotel was still dead silent.
The security guard knocked at 5 PM, just to check if I was still breathing.
Security Guard: “Sir, all okay?”
Me: “Yeah, I have Poha now.”
He stared at me for a second and walked away slowly.
Cynic Upstairs: “Congratulations. He now thinks you’ve lost your mind.”
The Evening Smoke Break: Finding Other Survivors
At 6 PM, I went outside for my smoke break.
A few others were there, standing in silence, puffing away, all of us united by the mutual acceptance of being stranded.
- Business travelers who never made it to their meetings.
- Solo tourists who picked the worst time to visit Hyderabad.
- People who just needed a cigarette and quiet.
We didn’t talk.
We just stood there, watching the empty streets, accepting our shared fate.
For the first time, I felt like part of a secret community—the stranded, the forgotten, the ones who couldn’t leave.
The First Attempt at Laundry (Because There Was No Other Choice)
By nightfall, I had one last realization.
If I was going to stay here indefinitely, I needed clean clothes.
The problem? No hotel laundry service.
The solution? The bathroom shower.
Cynic Upstairs: “Oh no. This is how it begins.”
I threw my clothes under the shower, poured shower gel on them, and stomped like I was making wine.
Then I rinsed, wrung, and hung them on the balcony railing like I was running a rogue laundry service.
As I stood there, watching the city lights from my 10th-floor balcony, a strange thought hit me—
Maybe this wasn’t so bad.
- No meetings.
- No annoying people.
- Just silence, fresh air, and enough food to last.
I poured myself a drink, sat back, and let the moment sink in.
Cynic Upstairs: “Five-star solitude. You’ll either come out of this enlightened or completely insane.”
I smirked.
Maybe both.
Final Thought Before Sleep
As I lay in bed, listening to YouTube chants, I realized that I was no longer just stuck in a hotel.
This was now an experience.
Tomorrow? I’d figure out how to live in this new world.
Cynic Upstairs: “You mean, how to avoid housekeeping and make Upma seem exciting.”
I chuckled in the darkness.
Tomorrow was another day.