Back then, I wasn’t even 25 years old. It had been a year since I moved to Hyderabad. I had just stepped into the world of dreams. Near the SR Nagar police station, close to Satyam Theatre, four of us, aspiring to make it in the film industry, were living together in a rented room on the first floor of a building. Our floor had three rooms in total. The first room was occupied by other bachelors like us, then there was our room, and after that, a small family lived in the third room.
That family was tiny, just a husband, wife, and two kids, both under five years old. The husband worked at Satyam Theatre. Looking at them, it felt like a simple, happy family without any worries. My roommates were already familiar with them since they had been living there longer than me.
On the ground floor, the building owner lived with his family. He was a local man, well-known in the area, respected by some and feared by others. He was much older than us.
All four of us in our room were from the same field, the film industry. I spent my days running around looking for work and returned home late at night. By the time I reached, the man from the neighbouring family would also be coming back from work. We often crossed paths on the stairs, exchanged glances, but never really spoke.
None of us had stable jobs, so we survived on whatever little money we could earn. Most nights, we simply drank water and slept on empty stomachs. If a guest ever visited, we’d all follow them to the tea shop just for the excuse of having tea. Two samosas and a cup of tea at a nearby café felt like a feast to us. Even if we had nothing else to eat, those samosas felt like a luxury.
Days passed, and occasionally, small opportunities came our way. Whenever we had money, we ate something decent. But my three roommates, who had adjusted to city life much faster than I had, sometimes hid their earnings and casually asked me how much money I had so they could borrow from me. They always asked in a friendly way, and I trusted them.
The person who brought me to that room was from my hometown. He was about ten years older than me, and I respectfully called him "Anna" (big brother). He had a habit of smoking but didn’t drink. He had an extraordinary level of self-confidence. However, because he had no stable job, he often went hungry, just like the rest of us. But unlike us, he had a sharp, manipulative mind. He could talk his way into or out of anything, tricking people with his words to get what he wanted.
The two little kids from the neighbouring family would often wander into our room while playing. We all adored them, but Anna was particularly affectionate towards them. Their mother would come to take them back, and she was a tall, dark-skinned, well-built woman, probably five years older than me. She was always cheerful and friendly with everyone, addressing the landlord as "uncle" and his wife as "aunty." If I ever ran into her on the stairs, she would smile at me.
Slowly, I developed a friendship with her. One day, when I was struggling with unbearable hunger, she silently handed me a small bowl of rice and tomato rasam. At that moment, I felt immense respect for her, and my eyes welled up with tears.
Later, I found out something shocking—Anna had secretly befriended her and was eating meals at her house every day without telling us. I was surprised and confused. How could he do that? Didn’t he feel ashamed?
Our floor had a shared bathroom for all three rooms. One day, I urgently needed to use it and had to pass by their room. The door and windows were completely shut. As I was returning, I heard muffled laughter coming from inside. The window was slightly open, probably due to the breeze. Out of curiosity, I glanced inside.
What I saw shook me.
Inside, that woman and my "Anna" were lying naked in each other라이브 바카라 arms, laughing. My mind went blank for a moment. I quickly walked back to my room and sat down, trying to process what I had just seen.
The next day, I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. I directly asked Anna about it. He calmly said that her husband was a drunkard who mistreated her, and she had feelings for him (Anna). I couldn’t tell whether that was the truth or just another one of his clever lies.
One evening, as I was returning home, I ran into her husband. He was carrying a packet of samosas. He didn’t seem drunk. He looked completely normal. When he went inside, I heard their usual argument. He was trying to say something, and she was shouting back.
I never knew what really happened inside their room. To the outside world, he was a drunkard and an abusive husband. Every morning, he left for work at 10 AM and returned late at night. But during the day, when the house was empty, Anna would stay behind in our room, wearing a lungi, with the door shut.
One day, it was her birthday. She invited me in, offered me cake and samosas. I wished her and left. But later that night, Anna was furious with me. "How could you go inside their house?" he shouted. I didn’t respond. I just let it go.
Around that time, a guy from my hometown came to Hyderabad to join a software course. He stayed with us for a while. Because of his generosity, I was able to afford at least one proper meal a day.
Soon, he started suspecting something between Anna and the woman. When he shared his doubts with me, I acted clueless. But Anna must have sensed his suspicion because, soon after, he made sure the guy left our room.
Days passed. Then, one day, I caught them again, completely naked, lost in their own world. This time, I felt disgusted.
Eventually, I decided I couldn’t stay in that room any longer. Luckily, around the same time, I got a scriptwriting job at a major TV channel. I moved to a new area, leaving everything behind.
Seasons changed. One day, I was walking through Ameerpet when I ran into the software guy who had stayed with us. We exchanged pleasantries, and then he casually dropped a bombshell, Anna and that woman had run away together, taking her children with them. No one knew where they had gone.
As I processed this news, memories of my time in that room flooded back.
What had really happened in that family? Was her husband truly abusive, or was that just an excuse? Only she and Anna knew the real story.
One thing was certain she had left. Her husband was now alone.
The truth about people라이브 바카라 lives is often hidden behind closed doors. Only those involved know what really goes on.
Original short story written in telugu by Tirupati Kiran
Translated by Gayatri Mavuru, an internationally renowned artist, multilingual poet, educator, and author of "Sizzling Verses" and "Drizzling Colours."
