Being alone in an apartment

Walking into a lonely apartment is funny. Especially for someone who habitually goes into his house singing. And then...noone comments. "dai super paatu da..." or "soora mokka machan..." or "enna machan love aa?".... And when I make tea, its only me, ruffling of trees I think (only to realize its the window blinds moving because of the vent). So its just me and the humming AC. Watching comedy shows makes it even worse. Because when I roll on the floor and laugh, noone comes next to me and asks whats thats more funnier than my presence. And when the other rooms carry the sound of my laughter, it becomes that much more awkward and I stop laughing. Every single sound now matters. It was as if I was given the ears of a dog. Every other sound makes me jump. Sometimes in fear (although fear has subsided because I have pretty much realized that the only person worth scaring me is my own presence - A reflection, an echo, a poorly balanced bottle, unclosed tap, rice cooker, sometimes in amusement that in this chaotic cosmos where matter is constantly generating life, is in motion, driving this big ass engine called life, there is this small system within the universe that is dead quiet. Where the dust particle silently floats in the golden sunbeam and settles down in perfect harmony and a perhaps quintessential equilibrium. The opposite also happens. There is no alarm in the house. There is no phone in the house. I guess this is how prisoners feel. Noone around. No sounds. No contact with the outside world. But I am better off. I can go wherever I want. But I meet only one person. And thats me. If physical outing makes me any different/better than a prisoner, then so be it. I guess thats a consolation enough.

But one consolation I do know. That in a few months someone is going to occupy this house. And share and add to the "noise".