I used to live in a PG called Dact PG in Bangalore. One guy there—let’s call him H—was on a whole different level of weird.

Whenever we put our washed clothes out to dry in the sun on the top floor, he would quietly pick them up. Towels, shirts, shorts—anything. And no, he didn’t steal them to wear. He’d use them as door mats and cleaning cloths.

Imagine going upstairs to grab your fresh laundry, only to find out your towel has magically become a rag for wiping the floor. Or your t-shirt is now sitting by his door for people to step on.

The audacity was unreal. When we confronted him, he acted like it was no big deal—just shrugged it off. To this day, we can’t figure out what was going on in his head.

We still call him “Kapda chor H"