It was 2021, Wave 2 of the lockdown, and I was stuck in Hyderabad, alone in a hotel, with no way out.
No flights. No trains. No buses. No Private Transport without Approved passes.
No approved passes coming easy from the Government Online Portals.
Just me, a security guard checking in once a day to see if I was still alive, and a handful of hotel staff who desperately wanted me gone.
And yet, somehow… I enjoyed every minute of it.
This wasn’t just isolation.
This was forced, absurdly peaceful, virus-paranoid solitude with a strangely perfect setup:
- A balcony on the 10th floor—sunlight, fresh air, my personal open-air drying rack.
- A silent, well-functioning fan—a rare Indian hotel miracle.
- An AC I refused to switch on—because in 2021, AC vents were assumed to be the secret weapon of the virus.
- A food supply chain from Amazon—MTR Poha, two types of Upma, Maggi cups, milk powder, coffee, and tea sachets.
- Two bottles of whisky, courtesy of a heroic friend.
- An evening lockdown break to buy smokes, my only human interaction beyond the security guard’s daily ‘Are you alive?’ check-ins.
- Unlimited solitude and silence—a spiritual retreat, but with alcohol.
- YouTube Puranas & Vedas in the background, because I had no idea if I would survive to tell this story.
And, of course, The Cynic Upstairs, my ever-present, sarcastic, troublemaking inner voice, was having the time of his life.
Day 1: The Lock-In Realization
I walked into the silent, oversized hotel lobby, my suitcase rolling across the polished floor that had seen better days.
The place was empty. No guests, no activity—just a lone receptionist who looked mildly startled to see me.
He handed me the key like he was passing a cursed object and disappeared behind the counter.
As I took the elevator up, the weight of the situation hit me.
- No flights. No trains. No buses.
- No way out without an approved police pass.
- And the government’s approval system? A glitchy black hole of uncertainty.
I was officially stranded.
The Conversation That Sealed My Fate
I reached my 10th-floor room, locked the door, and did what any rational person would do—called the hotel manager.
Me: “Hey, listen. Can you arrange a vehicle, a driver, and an approved pass? I’ll pay whatever it takes.”
Manager (audibly sighing): “Sir, that’s impossible.”
Me: “Then I guess I’m staying.”
Manager (after a long pause): “Okay, sir.”
That was it. No negotiation. No solutions. Just a quiet surrender.
Cynic Upstairs: “So, you’re basically the hotel’s final guest. Like the last survivor in a horror movie.”
I looked around the massive, eerily silent room.
- A giant window overlooking the dead city.
- A balcony—my only connection to fresh air.
- A well-functioning fan (a rare Indian hotel miracle).
- An AC I refused to switch on, because 2021 paranoia said it might “spread the virus.”
And most importantly—no sounds. No footsteps in the hall, no doors opening, no background chatter.
Just me, a hotel, and an existential crisis brewing in real-time.
The First Encounter with My ‘Caretaker’
At 7 PM, there was a knock at the door.
I opened it to find the security guard—the only other human I’d be seeing regularly.
He looked relieved to see me, like he had been expecting to find a corpse instead of a guest.
Security Guard: “Sir, all okay?”
Me: “Yeah, why?”
Security Guard: “Just checking if you are alive.”
I blinked.
Cynic Upstairs: “Well, this is comforting. Your presence in this hotel is now a daily wellness check.”
The guard nodded and left.
I locked the door. Twice.
Dinner: The Moment I Realized I Was On My Own
At 8 PM, I called room service.
No answer.
I tried again.
Still nothing.
That’s when it hit me—there was no room service.
- No restaurant.
- No hotel meals.
- Just whatever I could scavenge.
Cynic Upstairs: “So basically, you’ve paid for a five-star hotel but are about to live like a hostel student.”
Luckily, I had a stash of snacks and ready-to-eat food.
Dinner that night?
- MTR Upma (Classic).
- A biscuit pack I found at the bottom of my bag.
- Black coffee, because milk was not an option.
I sat on the balcony, eating my Upma like a man contemplating the meaning of life.
Nightfall: The Moment I Questioned Reality
By midnight, the hotel’s silence became unsettling.
- No elevator sounds.
- No distant TV noise.
- No housekeeping carts rolling down the hall.
Just me and the occasional city siren in the distance.
I turned on YouTube, streaming the Rigveda.
If I was going down, I might as well go down in divine knowledge.
Cynic Upstairs: “So, this is how it ends. Alone, eating Upma, listening to scriptures, and wondering if the hotel is haunted.”
I laughed at the absurdity of it all.
Then I did what any rational person in my position would do—checked under the bed.
Just in case.
Final Thought Before Sleep
As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, a strange calmness set in.
This was it.
- No flights. No escape.
- No noisy neighbors. No office calls.
- Just me, my smokes, my makeshift food supply, and infinite solitude.
And for some reason… I wasn’t even mad.
I turned off the lights, closed my eyes, and let the silence swallow me whole.
Tomorrow?
Tomorrow, I’d figure out how to survive.
Cynic Upstairs: “Or maybe, just maybe… you’ll start enjoying this isolation a little too much.”
I smirked in the darkness.
Maybe I would.
Check out my Day 2