By Day 6, the world outside my 10th-floor quarantine kingdom was still struggling with bureaucratic delays, police pass rejections, and logistical nightmares.
Me?
I had stopped fighting it.
This wasn’t temporary anymore. This was my new life.
- The security guard had stopped checking on me. Either he assumed I was fine, or he was tired of dealing with my weirdness.
- Housekeeping now avoided unnecessary conversations. They just knocked, cleaned, and left without even making eye contact.
- The hotel manager had given up sending polite “Any update on your departure?” messages.
I was no longer a guest.
I was a tenant.
And somehow… I was okay with it.
Cynic Upstairs: “This is it. You’ve accepted your fate. Next step? Decorating the room and calling it home.”
Morning Office Call: The ‘Still Stuck?’ Icebreaker
At 10 AM, I joined a Pre-Sales team meeting.
The moment I turned on audio, someone immediately asked the question.
Colleague: “Dude, you’re STILL stuck?”
Me (calmly stirring my instant coffee): “Yes. And I’ve stopped caring.”
There was a pause.
Then, laughter.
Colleague: “Bro, you sound… weirdly happy?”
I looked around my silent, perfectly cleaned hotel room, then at my freshly washed clothes drying on the balcony.
Me: “Because I am. I have everything I need.”
Cynic Upstairs: “Oh no. You’ve entered the acceptance phase of isolation madness.”
The Day I Gave Up on ‘Real’ Food
By lunchtime, I stared at my food stash.
- MTR Poha? Already had it twice this week.
- Maggi? The easy option, but I was rationing it.
- Upma? Again? Did I really want to go through that?
I realized I was overthinking a 10-rupee packet of food.
Cynic Upstairs: “Look at you. Standing in front of a pile of ready-to-eat meals like it’s a MasterChef finale.”
I picked Upma, poured hot water, stirred it mechanically, and took a bite.
I had lost all excitement for food.
I was now eating for fuel.
And the worst part?
I didn’t even care anymore.
Afternoon Call: Juggling Solution Architecture & Laundry
At 3 PM, I had a deep-dive architecture call.
I turned on my camera for the first time in days.
Client Solution Architect: “Oh, you have a great background. What hotel is that?”
I stared at the screen.
Me: “The one I can’t leave.”
Cynic Upstairs: “Perfect response. Keep them confused.”
Meanwhile, in the background, my laundry was drying on the balcony, flapping dramatically in the wind like quarantine flags.
Client Solution Architect: “Are those… clothes behind you?”
I realized too late that I had forgotten to adjust my camera angle.
Me (deadpan): “Yes.”
A pause.
Client Solution Architect: “…Okay then. Moving on.”
The Evening: The Myth of the Escape Plan
At 6 PM, I decided to check my pass status.
I opened the government portal.
- Status: PENDING.
- Reason for Delay: UNAVAILABLE.
- Estimated Approval Time: UNCLEAR.
Cynic Upstairs: “Amazing. Even bureaucracy has ghosted you.”
I sighed and closed the tab.
This was my fourth attempt.
There was no hope.
And honestly? I was past the point of disappointment.
Me (pouring a drink): “Fine. Let’s drink to indefinite captivity.”
The 7 PM Smoke Break: A Moment of Brutal Honesty
By now, the other stranded souls had become my silent companions.
We stood in our usual spots, puffing away in synchronized frustration.
One of them, an elderly man in a formal suit, finally spoke.
Him: “You know… I think I’ll never leave.”
We all turned to look at him.
No one laughed.
Because we all felt the same.
Me: “Honestly? Same.”
There was a long silence.
Then, another guy took a deep drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly.
Him: “At least the weather is nice.”
We all nodded in agreement.
No one even tried to be optimistic anymore.
Final Thought Before Sleep
That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan.
I realized something.
I wasn’t even waiting to leave anymore.
I had stopped counting days.
This was my life now.
And honestly?
I was fine with it.
Cynic Upstairs: “You are either fully at peace… or completely broken.”
I smirked in the dark.
Maybe both.