I think tonight’s the night.

One more flicker and they’ll say it — “Bro, yeh tube light gaya.”

They will slap the switch harder than their own life problems, stare at me like I’m ghosting them, and then say, “Iska connection hi weak hai.”

So, before I fade for good, allow me to introduce myself properly.

Name – Philips 40W.

Birth – 2019, local hardware store.

Placement – Room 203, top corner, slightly tilted because Imran didn’t own a screwdriver.

Profession – Illumination. Full-time. No leaves. No HR. No applause.

Now, meet my inmates — oh sorry, roommates.

Two boys, one room, zero shame.

Arjun – resident heartbroken shayar. Cries once a week, minimum. Keeps saying “This time it was real, bro,” but frankly, even the lizard has stopped reacting. Emotional damage in human form.

Imran – self-declared hostel MasterChef. Can make Maggi 17 different ways, all bad. Also, tried to “fix” me once with cello tape.

Together, they form a boy band of broken dreams. Lights, camera, zero action.

And me?

I’m the “light” of this room. The unsung hero.

The accidental night lamp.

The silent therapist who’s seen it all — the 3 AM Maggi, the breakup calls, the lizard attacks.

Never blinked. (Okay, sometimes. But that was a voltage issue.)

Now I’ve been flickering like a dying star for a week and no one even looks up.

The other day, when I flickered for a straight 10 minutes, Imran just said, “Moody vibe, bro.”

Vibe? I’m literally dying, “bro”.

Even Alexa gets a “good morning.” Me? Just a slap on the switch.

I wasn’t always this ignored, you know.

Once upon a fresher’s August, they lit me up with pride. New room, new dreams, old bedsheets from home — and me.

The only source of light. Literally.

Those were simpler times.

I remember one night, Arjun came back drunk at 3 AM, stared at me for a full minute, and whispered, “Bro… you’re the only one who’s always there for me.”

I blinked in reply. Dramatically. Emotionally.

I was the one lighting up the room when their dreams had burned out.

Did I ever ask for a thank-you? No. Just stable voltage.

Now I flicker from exhaustion, and they think it’s ambience.

I’ve seen it all, okay?

Maggi with ketchup because someone used the masala for tequila shots.

A breakup call on speaker, followed by 45 minutes of Fix You like it was a funeral.

The Great Lizard Incident of 2023 — two grown men screaming, huddled on one bed like it was The Conjuring.

And let’s not forget the night someone ironed a shirt on the bed.

I lit up in shock — literally.

People came and went. I stayed.

Through exams, hangovers, job rejections, Tinder catastrophes…

I lit this 10×10 dump like a soft, judgmental god.

Now I’m dying. No one cares.

Wait. Someone’s looking up.

Is this… is this the moment?

Have they finally realised I’ve been dying in slow motion for a week?

Nope.

Imran is ’s just recording a reel.

With me flickering in the background like some tortured disco ball. I flared up one last time. Like a star exploding into irrelevance. No applause. Just a reel.

Caption: “Midnight vibe check ✨🕯️💀”

That’s it. I’m done.

If you’re reading this:

Tell the ceiling fan — I never blamed him for stealing my spotlight.

Tell the WiFi router — hanging like a bat wasn’t edgy, just weird.

And tell the bathroom bulb — you were never as bright as you thought. Literally and otherwise.

Goodbye, cruel switchboard.

May your wiring always remain slightly faulty.

– The Tube Light, dramatic till the end.

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Arjun: Bro, tube light finally gayi.

Imran: Accha hai. Roz ke blink se guilt trip ho raha tha — jaise mummy dekh rahi ho.