Moving in with friends is a scary proposition for spoilt pampered single kids who have grown up in a world that revolves around them. After 18 years of having four people dote on me and four years of a selfish independent existence at university, I found myself being thrust into an environment of, shudder, equality. What parents could tolerate, friends probably wouldn’t. I looked to the change with faint excitement and considerable apprehension and eight months later, I now know…

that three awesome singers practising together makes for great listening, as does three singers practising individually. I can now nod intelligently pretending to understand when classical music is being discussed instead of the blank stare that was my earlier expression of choice.

that living with three cooks is the best thing that could happen to a person. Every ounce of karma I’ve accumulated over 21 years of existence has been used up in gaining this boon, I’m sure.

that living with three cooks also turns you into maamis. Our favourite dinner table conversation is what to cook for our next meal (besides college gossip banter, of course, but well of course, we don’t gossip).

that it is perfectly acceptable to invite people for dinner based on the number needed to play a game of cards. If Bilbo Baggins can do it, why can’t we?

that living with people your age can really bring things into perspective. You stop fretting about your lax days in lab when people have 14-hour days filled with office politics.

that friends do tolerate what parents do. Two a burnt plate, a broken rice cooker and several tantrums later, I haven’t been thrown out into the cold!

Advertisement