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 |  Suma finds house-hunting in Mumbai to be an unexpected challenge. |
| Suma brushed a stray curl off her sweaty forehead, as she peered in eager anticipation out of the window of the clacking train. The rolling tree-laden landscape had long since given way to shanties that stood almost on top of each other and apartment buildings that zoomed effortlessly into the sky and towered above the surrounding squalor in snooty disdain. The air had become almost palpable in its oppressiveness; it felt as though she could sense the city's hot breath upon the nape of her neck. Yet she felt not dismay, but an eager thrill to plunge into the teeming multitude of Mumbai's city dwellers. It would be her first foray into city life and she was undaunted at having chosen the biggest and most bustling of them all to make her debut. She savoured the moment that had crystallized her dreams... Her hand pulling at the pallav of her once crisp cotton saree in nervous anticipation, she waited for the interviewer to make his judgement known. Well, Ms Ramamurthy, would you be willing to relocate to Mumbai? As I already mentioned, the remuneration is high, in keeping with the cost of living in the metropolis. Her heart made one excited leap into her throat and visibly pulsed there for a moment, probably the cause of her sudden difficulty in swallowing. Imagine Suma-of-Shikaripur, a small town girl who had studied in the district government school, and who had never been farther from home than her maternal uncle's house in the nearby town, being offered a job with the prestigious firm of Sorrent, and at its headquarters, no less. Even traveling to the now mega-city of Bangalore for the interview had been intimidating for her, unused as she was to bustle and noise, so different from the quiet countryside of her village. She stammered her acceptance and just remembered to enquire if the company provided any accommodation. Her new employer gave her a strange glance, half-pitying and half-scornful but his words were reassuring. "We will give you a house rent allowance, but you can find your own accommodation. It is a large city and there are numerous apartment buildings, housing societies, even PG accommodation." PG? What was PG? Pretty girls? Must be a joke, she thought, and tittered in nervous confusion. As she gathered up her papers and walked out with a heady feeling of achievement, she passed three other candidates murmuring to each other. Her ears tuned in on their conversation; wary of disparaging remarks about her 'country-ish' appearance. She caught a couple of disjointed fragments about 'preferring to wait for a better location' and 'too savvy to be caught in the matchbox hunt' but dismissed them as unimportant except perhaps as excuses to hide the fact that they were not chosen. And who ever heard of someone needing to hunt for a matchbox...or was he a collector perhaps? She dismissed them from her mind as weird city-dwellers. The remainder of her time in Bangalore was a mad scramble of preparation. She was inundated with advice from her uncle and aunt, in loco parentis after the demise of her own parents. Most of it was an emotional exhortation to stay aloof of strangers, to beware of being duped, to ask advice from policemen and officials only and to shun alcoholic revels and bohemian lifestyle. This was interspersed with tearful protestations of being so far away from their protection and supervision. She found it difficult to assure them of her capability, and did not want to demonstrate her dependence upon their intervention. Any questions regarding the curious remarks made or overheard at the interview remained therefore unasked. The sudden jerk of the train as it slowed to enter the terminus, awoke her from her reverie; and she noted the brightly lit station ahead with interest. Clad in vivid red tunics, the porters ran along beside the train like a flock of tropical birds in brilliant plumage, intent upon their prey. They made a swift expert leap onto the steps of the carriage and perched there protecting their claim. They had entered the compartments even before the train came to a halt, staking out the individuals with the most baggage and hence the most lucrative 'victims'. Suma had just one shoulder bag and a small suitcase on wheels; for she intended to send for her things only after securing accommodation. The company had offered to put her up in their guest-house for a week. She stood to one side, allowing the harried travelers with an assortment of restless businessmen, belligerent matrons, and chattering children, to disembark. As though the platform would suddenly disappear if they did not alight in the first two minutes after the train halts. She shrugged the shoulder bag into a more comfortable position and struggled to manoeuver the suitcase down the steps and cast a wary eye out for the representative she hoped would have been sent to meet her. The platform was now bereft of the expectant horde of people who had come to receive their dear ones. The crowds having already surged through the exit gate; she resigned herself to trudging the length of the platform herself. Keeping her ticket handily protruding from the flap of her bag, she pulled the suddenly recalcitrant luggage behind her. Just as she exited from the concourse there was this miraculous appearance of a profusion of taxi drivers. They surrounded her, attempting to relieve her of the luggage, all the while offering her 'best ride' and 'safe journey'. Surrendering her baggage to an importunate bespectacled old man, whose violent gesticulations and passionate pleas gave his ruddy face a tint heralding near-apoplexy; she gave a grateful sigh of relief as she sank onto the backseat of the rickety Fiat. The driver seemed very efficient as he wove his way through gaps in the wheezing cars, trapped in slow traffic, at times neatly threading his way in spaces that might have baffled an agile cat. His horn blared merrily in staccato accompaniment to his colourful suggestions to less able drivers. The windows were stuck in the half-open position and would not budge an inch in either direction; the heat was tolerable only when the movement created a sort of breeze. When still, the humid air that pressed its damp fingers on her was laden heavily with exhaust fumes, and other odours of less than mentionable nature. The streets were lined by huddles of slums that punctuated the towering apartments. The cab came to a halt with a screechy cough and belch of vapour. The driver now remained in unchivalrous stillness in his place and Suma had to struggle to extricate her case from the front seat. Straddling the suitcase and juggling her shoulder bag and purse, her eyes enquired the amount from the man. "Three hundred and sixty rupees, madam" was the nonchalant announcement. "What? But it was only a ten minutes drive." "Hundred and fifty rupees extra for luggage." This was voiced in a tone of bored apathy, his body relaxed in a careless slump that implied total disinterest in her welfare. "What? For one suitcase and one carry bag?" "Standard charge, madam", was the laconic answer as he brandished a worn and dirty piece of folded paper enclosed in a clear plastic bag. When unwrapped, it proclaimed itself to be issued by the Regional Transport Authority of Mumbai as an official rate card. Not knowing the correct format or authority she felt helpless to protest. The required amount was tendered to the waiting palm, sullen silence being the only weapon available to her. Immune to such paltry reprisal, his head was thrust out the open window and a thin stream of paan juice was accurately aimed to fall short of her case by six impudent inches. Suma was having second thoughts of the city's hospitality as she checked into the guest-house. It had required three rings of the bell, the last, a peevish long pressing down of the plunger, before the counter clerk arrived. His moustache was a thin pencil line that hovered above a disapproving mouth, but hirsute splendour was granted instead by the abundant thatch sprouting from his ears. She was made to produce her appointment letter, a photo ID and fill out a long form in triplicate before she had the dubious honour of being able to heft her own case and tread three flights of stairs. Apparently the clerk had a bad back and the lift was out of order. Tiredness brought a comforting sleep before she could register any of the room's shortcomings. It was a cheerful sunny morning before she discovered there was no hot water available and the shower produced only a rusty gout of water. Alas for dreaming of five star comfort, I'd better satisfy myself with the good old bucket and mug bath. Nor was there room service - this seemed to be one more missing amenity. The clerk took a delight in informing her, adding his beaming explanation for that lacuna in service with an inspired burst of Ind-English. "Many staff gone native place, miss." However, the prospect of house-hunting made her feel exhilarated again. At last, a place of my own. Not that I minded sharing, but even a kid cousin can pall as room-mate. I'll love being independent. She gulped down the tepid brown liquid laughingly called coffee and managed two bites of the rubber abomination proffered as dosa . The estate agent was waiting for her in the lobby, a short bald man who kept rubbing his gleaming pate with a large red spotted handkerchief; making Suma choke down her giggles with difficulty. "Hello, Mr. Shah." She folded her hands in chaste greeting, and her salutation was returned by having her hand seized and vigourously pumped. "How are you, sister?" It was the literal translation of the colloquial greeting in Gujarati. He had a large folder under his arm and he flourished it in triumph as he assured her he had on his cards something that would suit her, he always satisfied...his customers. Suma dropped her bag and let her movement to pick it up hide the giggle that threatened to burst from her throat. As she allowed him to guide her to a pair of spindly legged rickety chairs in the corner, she tried to envisage the type of home she might secure. Perhaps one with a cheerful arched door flanked by potted plants, a hallway with framed mirror and side table, a cozy living dining area, a neat bedroom with en suite bath....maybe a balcony with trailing vines...another booming pronouncement of performance brought her back to the real world. "Madam, are you looking for shared accommodation? Or even PG?" Startled to hear a bad joke repeated, she asked in what she hoped was austere depression, "PG? What is that? " Bewildered brown orbs protruded from beneath two questioning arches of eyebrow as he stammered, "p-paying guest, madam." A fierce frown creased Suma's forehead signifying her lack of comprehension; taking it as rebuke, the agent faltered an explanation about not having understood her disinclination to live as a 'guest' with some family. Apparently this was an accepted form of housing in Mumbai the monetary recompense being thus entirely tax-free. Sometimes breakfast and beverage was part of the 'deal'. The agent had discarded even shared lodgings as being repulsive to Suma's taste and was now murmuring about budget and one BHK or two BHK. Deducing this meant a one bedroom-hall-kitchen unit, Suma stated a one roomed unit would suffice, naming a rent range near about equal to the house rent allowance she would receive. "Ah!," he ejaculated in final understanding, "you would like something in the suburbs. Mumbai trains are so easy to use, you can be in the heart of the city in one hour." "No, no. I want to stay close to the Worli office." A somewhat worried expression clouded his confidence, and he muttered that the arrangement was 'possible' but 'more difficult'; it would necessitate a larger fee. This was acquiesced by an impatient wave from the adamant Suma. There was a flurry of activity, a mobile phone flipped open, and the contacts perused; frenzied conversations with 'Motabhai' and 'Goli Sir'. After ten minutes of non-stop negotiation, his face suffused with success, he said he knew where such an accommodation was to be found just a short distance from Sorrent's office. The concerned agent was just coming over to show the 'property'. "You are very lucky, madam. This would be snapped up in no time. Single room unit just like you want." The 'agent' proved to be a thin, gangling stripling, innocent of any facial hair that might signify attaining adulthood. An unlit cigarette dangled in limp adornment from his lips; indeed he made no attempt to light it. He proved to speak more pidgin than English, but made up for the deficiency with inventive vocabulary and exaggerated miming gestures. He bundled both Suma and Mr. Shah into an auto-rickshaw before seating himself at the controls and careering through the morning madness of rush-hour traffic. The vehicle seemed to travel on only two wheels as it tilted first this way then that, cavorting like a nervous filly; bisecting the stranded vehicles with impunity. One hand was continuously working the hooter-horn leaving only the other hand free to steer the erratic course. Suma's eyes were tightly shut and she rendered fervent prayers to the Almighty as she apologized for neglecting Him previously. Perhaps by divine intervention, or by sheer chance; they arrived intact below an ugly garish yellow U-shaped building. The façade had a narrow corridor type balcony running right around it like a multi layered wreath. Many doors opened off the corridor, but most were screened from view by the fluttering flags of drying laundry. The 'courtyard' created by the shape of the structure was dotted by a few yellowing palm trees; the fronds drooping to give the appearance of weary courtesans. Children played hop-scotch and tag in the middle, their raucous shouts a muddle of clamour. Suma gathered her odhni closer to her body as she entered the dark confines of the interior. A narrow staircase wound its way upwards, the tiled treads being chipped and the walls and corners patterned with evidence of the occupants being enthusiastic pan-chewers. A wag of the thin youth's chin indicated she was to traverse these very stairs. Her instincts now on red alert, she determined to ask her new agent a few questions about attached bathrooms and other amenities. Yellow teeth crowded his mouth as the cheery assurance was given. "Of course, attached...every room attached." A sudden halt by the leading member brought the delegation to a standstill, and a ring of jangling keys was produced and the rusty lock was induced finally give up its fight. Suma took note of the sagging window frames, tastefully decorated with bird droppings and the musty smell of disuse that pervaded the air. The door opened with a creak to reveal a small room, perhaps ten feet by twelve feet. The wall had cracked plastering which revealed electrical wires trailing loose. A large cockroach scurried past in disgust at being disturbed. A defunct television reposed in solitary splendour upon the worn and disintegrating linoleum floor. The windows were cracked and a gaping hole in one of the panes had allowed birds to leave liberal amounts of feathers and straw strewn about. Heavens, there's even an open pipe visible. I think I can see rat droppings in that corner. Ugh, what a mess. "Where's the attached bathroom?" she asked bewildered, the room having yielded all its secrets and amenities to one comprehensive sweeping glance. "Of course, madam. Is attached to that passage end. Two-two bathroom; one gent, one lady." Aghast, she exclaimed that she hoped hot water would be available and was advised with much miming of opening a tap and poring water over oneself, "water coming morning five to six and night ten to eleven; bathing then only. No hot water, not good for Mumbai hotness." The advice was topped with a knowing leer and a wink. Suma refrained from any further questions. The two agents were beaming at her with the pride of parents beholding their offspring taking its first steps. "Best place at best price, madam." Suma now understood the whispered denigrations of Mumbai as workplace, the pitying look of the interviewer as she blithely accepted finding her own housing, the suggestion of taking 'pretty girl' status. A wry smile creased her face as she thought of her naïve expansion of the term PG, causing the agents to smile in response, signs of a 'deal' clearly visible to them. Suma accepted the inevitable, and stretched out her hand to concede defeat. "Very well, let's close the deal, I will expect it to be cleaned and ready for use by Monday. "Madam, you take as is; you make what want. Deal?" So this is how my dreams will begin, in a dingy room awaiting my inspired efforts. But I will give it my best. Great things may come from small beginnings, Suma reminded herself, as she vowed to fulfil the hidden promise. (Word count: 2959) "Team India"  Short Story Entry for
Prompt: ** Image ID #1420895 Unavailable ** ** Image ID #1271807 Unavailable ** |
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