A Household problem

(This post is dedicated to the house hunter community of Mumbai. Guys and Girls, keep looking for your dream house. Never ever give up. Someday, when you are nearing age 80 maybe, you will definitely find it.)

Whole of Sion, Kurla and half of Chembur knows by now that we are looking for a house. In almost every new society and more than half of the old ones, we are more familiar than most of the tenants. It has become quite a ‘kahani ghar ghar ki’ by now.

Here’s how we became the numero uno house hunters in the vicinity.

DAY 1 – The Beginning

The wife called in office 1 day and said, “I had called a broker today.”

“Broker? What broker? What for?” I asked, unable to immediately comprehend the context.

“What do you mean what for? Of course to show us a house” she flared. Oh!

This was by far the fastest mobilization of a thought ever known to mankind. Earlier that morning, over breakfast, I had made a passing mention of how nice it would be to have a 3-bedroom house.

“Where?” I asked with some trepidation.

“Sion or Chembur” she replied, in a tone which implied isn’t it obvious, dumbo.

“What range are we looking at?” I was beginning to not liking this conversation, fast.

“2.5 or 3 bedroom”, she said.

“No, no, I mean what price range?” I asked, in a voice that was now beginning to quaver.

“Why do you need a range? You can always take a loan. Who will deny you a loan?” she asked back in a challenging tone.

This is the thing with wives. They can make ends meet like no one else. I thought of telling her that there is a difference between eligibility (of loan amount) and ability (to repay), but let it pass.

“We will discuss when I get back home. I have to go for a meeting now.” I answered instead in the curtest possible tone, not to sound rude, but to escape from the situation. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Before 6 p.m. the same day, I had talked to my wife 9 more times as also with 3 agents, whom my wife had considerately given my number. This made me hopping mad by the time I reached home.

I removed my shoes and plopped myself on the bed, hoping for some relaxation from the idiot box. No such luck. The first channel I tuned into, Star Plus, was showing the 10,000th episode of the never-ending soap “Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki”; click-click; An inebriated Dev Anand was rambling “… tere ghar ke saamne” on Channel V; click-click; Colors was screening the 80s hit movie “Ghar”! GRR!!! Disgustedly, I threw away the remote and switched on the radio only to hear Bhupinder happily singing “Ye tera ghar ye mera ghar…” on 93.5 RED FM. Bajate Raho!

It is exactly days like these that make you feel whether it is all worth it. Fearing that even dinner would be assembled in the shape of a house, I gave in to my wife’s demands and called up one of the agents whom I had given a piece of my mind in the morning. We decided to meet the next day and he agreed to show us a number of ‘badhiya’ houses.

DAY 2 – The Hunt

House agents, just like TCs at railway stations, can be spotted a mile away. Ours, in formal full sleeves, carrying 2 mobile phones and looking like he had appeared for his SSC exams only last year, came to us and said “I have lined up 14 houses for you today sir. Hope you got your car.”

Car? Were we going to drive the house away? What an idiot we have landed, I wondered. Tch, tch … wrong again. If ever you want to go house hunting, go buy a car first. Else by the end of the day, you might feel as if you have completed the full marathon, twice over.

As our caravan progressed, we realized that the gap between dreams and reality hits you with full force when looking for a house. While dreams dwell somewhere in the center of Carter Road, Bandra, pocket reality points towards the end of Ghodbunder Road, Thane. The result was that it took us 3 tiring hours and 8 houses, before I could see a smile on my better half’s face. Phew!

The agent, who was feeling the heat (more from my wife than from the sun above), suddenly burst out with renewed vigor, “3 bedroom hai, sir. 1550 square feet.”

The thing about houses these days is the builder, when calculating the area, includes even the topmost corner of the uppermost attic, where even a rat would have difficulty entering. Looking at the house gives you a feeling that the adjacent house should also be included to complete the area mentioned.

Anyway, the wife liked it, so I decided to fall in line and in typical analyst style, asked “Carpet kitna hai?”

This is asked only for the purpose of making you sound knowledgeable. It makes no difference whether the answer is 250 or 1250 sq. feet. However, I was not going to be put on the back foot by this 20-something kid.

“30% less sir”, he answered dutifully.

“Oh. So you mean”, I said, assuming my most thoughtful look,”this is super built up area?” My recently acquired knowledge came in handy here, thanks to Google.

Next intelligent observation you are supposed to make is the view from all bedrooms / hall / kitchen / toilet and wherever else. As I moved into another room, the agent said, “The view from here, sir, opens directly onto the golf club.”

Tiger Woods would have been so proud. The 5 square feet of green that was visible though, could easily have been anything from Madison Square Garden to Hanging Garden, considering the 10 buildings that were obstructing the view.

“And we have 2 master bedrooms in this house, sir!” he continued, unfazed by my irritation.

Had the joke not been on us, the anatomy of the house would have seemed hilarious.
The first room we entered was called the ‘living room’, although looking at the size of it, you might as well ‘live’ in the outside corridor. Then there were 3 more rooms, identical in size and shape to the living room, known as bedrooms, thus called because a bed is all that can fit. Any bedroom having an attached toilet is known as ‘Master Bedroom’. This guy was a genius!

“Logically speaking, even the living room then can be called a master bedroom”, I remarked, giving him a sardonic grin. This made him laugh in a loud and mechanical way, the way you do when you have to please someone, which only got me further irritated.

Then there was another tiny room which was no more than 2 walls separated by a 2’ by 3’ platform and enough space for a medium sized person to stand. The agent actually called it the kitchen. As in where you cook??!! I dreaded the thought of bringing my mom to show her this sorry piece of culinary area. Sacrilege!

After the kitchen, my gaze turned to the ceiling. “Why is the ceiling so darned low?” I questioned the agent. I mean Eskimos I understand; but then Igloos were never this costly.

But the agent seemed to have an answer for this too. “It is not low sir", he answered in a patronizing manner, “it is designed in such a way that the air from the fan can be felt in all corners of the room.”

Now, did we have a 21st century Einstein in the making here? I mean, this guy, baby-faced and all, was continuing to astonish me with his genius.

“So how much for this?” I asked, knowing fully well that any answer would make me feel dazed. But here too Einstein managed to surpass me. I began to see stars before my eyes once he quoted the price; as if Mike Tyson had delivered a knockout punch!

Suddenly I heard my wife calling me to my senses from one of the 3 bedrooms. I excused myself and went looking for her. Inside, she told me “See, no need to act so dazed, it is only twenty extra.”

What’s wrong with your maths, I wanted to ask her. Instead, I argued “But that is plenty extra.”

“Look, as it is we are going to take a loan. Why worry about ten or twenty?” she insisted.

If he would still be alive, I wanted nothing more at that moment than kill the person who invented home loans.

“But there is stamp duty, registration, interiors, maintenance, etc. which will add to the burden”, I protested, desperately trying to find a way to get out of the situation.

“Oh, come on, have I ever demanded anything from you?” she wailed. ‘Ever’ means this week, right? I was about to ask, but couldn’t.

“Just this once, please…”, she pressed her advantage. Damn! How do you argue with emotional blackmail?

Cornered and bruised, I was about to throw in the towel, when suddenly the new age Einstein came running in, looking flustered. “Madam, I forgot to tell you”, he began.

Now then! What happened suddenly to bother the omniscient Mr. Einstein? Was this flat not for sale after all? I offered up a silent prayer.

“This is a strictly vegetarian society. Non-veg not allowed, no parcel, no cooking at home”, he blurted out.

Yes! There is a God in Heaven after all.

Hearing this, my wife’s face went through a rainbow of emotions; anxiety, anger, sadness, disappointment all in a matter of seconds. Seeing her on the verge of hysteria, Einstein, who by now had turned from a beet root red to a vanilla ice-cream white, knew it was time to make an exit.

He profusely apologized for his folly (though I could have kissed him for this) and led us out of the flat and the pure vegetarian society. End of story. Or was it?

DAY n – Payback

The setback only helped in firing up the tigress even more. As I was leaving for office the other day, I overheard her talking on the phone to an agent, “… and keep in mind, we eat non-veg 6 days a week. So search accordingly. And please find a house that has at least one balcony. No, no, don’t worry about the budget.”

Picture, abhi baaki hai mere dost! ;)