My PG-Hunting Adventure in Bangalore

Back in 2013, I was preparing to move to Bangalore. To be honest, I was curious about how I would navigate life in a completely new city. Interestingly, my colleagues seemed far more excited about my move than I was. For them, Bangalore meant pleasant weather, pub hopping and a vibrant social life. For me, those were definitely bonuses, but the biggest advantage was that it was relatively close to my hometown. I had joined Biocon, whose campus was located in Electronic City. Back then, E-City was honestly the definition of isolated, disconnected, deserted—you could pick any adjective and it would fit.

As soon as news of my move spread, everyone became an expert on Bangalore real estate. Friends, acquaintances and colleagues flooded me with recommendations on where to stay. One person even suggested Malleshwaram, assuring me that if I ever missed authentic Brahmin food, that was the place to be. Among all the advice, two recommendations stood out consistently: look for a PG in BTM Layout or Koramangala.

Being the typical Virgo that I am, I wasn't going to leave anything to chance. Before relocating, I spent hours browsing websites and shortlisting PGs. My strategy was simple: first move into temporary accommodation, explore the city, see which locality suited me and then settle down properly.

The big day finally arrived, and I moved to Bangalore. The company had arranged accommodation for me but only for five days. Not one day more. For an organization that frequently spoke about employee welfare, their approach to women's safety left a lot to be desired. Ironically, the organization was led by a woman. The accommodation itself was probably one of the most uncomfortable and unsafe places I've stayed in.

The very next day, I marched up to the receptionist and requested a cab driver who knew Bangalore inside out and could communicate in Hindi or English. Remember, this was before Uber, Ola, NoBroker, and all the conveniences we take for granted today.

I had already shortlisted around twelve PGs across Koramangala, BTM, Bannerghatta Road, and Ejipura. The driver turned out to be incredibly helpful and together we set off on what would become one of the most memorable house-hunting expeditions of my life.

The first stop was Koramangala.

Koramangala was or rather still is considered one of the city's posh localities. The rents were slightly higher than elsewhere, but still within my budget. One particular PG immediately caught my attention. It was located near the erstwhile Narsee Monjee campus. I was completely charmed. Massive trees lined the roads, creating beautiful shaded avenues. There was a Bengali restaurant nearby which somehow instantly earned my approval despite me never fully understanding my lifelong affinity for Bengali food. Right next door was a library. Within minutes, I had mentally moved in.

"This is it," I thought.

Then I called the number and entered the building.

As soon as I walked in, I noticed three men sitting casually and watching television. My first instinct was that I had come to the wrong place.

"Sorry," I said. "I think I may have the wrong address."

One of them immediately replied, "No, no, this is the right place. Don't worry. I'll show you the rooms."

That should have reassured me, but it didn't.

As I followed him down a narrow passage, my inner voice became increasingly active. The corridor looked straight out of a Crime Patrol episode. Every single window had been covered with newspapers. Not partially covered completely sealed. I couldn't decide whether the occupants were vampires avoiding sunlight or werewolves. Ironically, this was the old Bangalore, where having a sunny day itself felt like winning a lottery. At this point, my thoughts became less about accommodation and more about survival.

I wondered, ‘If something happens to me here, will the driver call the police? Or will he simply assume I've decided to skip town and avoid paying the cab fare?’

We continued deeper into the building. The place increasingly resembled one of those underground Russian bunkers I had seen in movies. I started casually evaluating escape routes. Then we reached the end of the corridor. The man knocked on a door and I silently prayed that nobody would answer.

Nobody did.

"Perfect," I thought.

"It's okay," I quickly said. "I can come back later."

But he wasn't giving up.

"Wait," he said.

Then he called someone else over.

"Bring the master key."

The words "master key" did absolutely nothing for my confidence.

The door opened.

"This is the room," he announced proudly.

I looked around. Yes, it was indeed a room; a bunker-like room.

At that moment, I had already made my decision. I wasn't staying there. Not with men managing the facility. Not with master keys. Not with newspaper-covered windows. Nothing about the situation inspired confidence.

As he launched into a passionate sales pitch about how the PG was a "home away from home" and how the food would be exactly like "ghar ka khaana," something else happened. I noticed a girl peeking out from the washroom. She clearly wanted to come out. We were standing right in front of the bathroom entrance. I instinctively stepped aside, but gentleman conducting the tour did not.

At that point, every alarm bell in my head was ringing. I just wanted to leave.

As we headed out, he made one final attempt.

"Please confirm soon," he said. "There's a lot of demand."

I nodded enthusiastically. "Of course. My parents will want to see the place too. They'll be visiting regularly."

The moment I stepped outside, I gave the building one last look.

A dream that had formed under beautiful trees, nearby Bengali restaurant and a library had been thoroughly shattered. I decided that if my only option was to either move into this PG or stay homesless, I might seriously consider the latter.

I boarded the cab, and the driver asked if I liked the place. When I explained the same he chuckled and started driving to the next PG in my list.

Thankfully, after several pit stops, I eventually found a PG that actually was neat, felt safe, comfortable, and welcoming. I stayed there peacefully for about a year before eventually moving into a 1RK.

But that, as they say, is a story for another day.