A bachelor’s odyssey in Mumbai

It was my final year of post graduation, virtually the last few months, the placement time and all the accompanying brouhaha – tho’ not the usual scenario of being spoilt by choices of a huge list of companies visiting the campus, but the recession triggered anxiety of if there would be enough to pick us all. With recruitment freeze in every company that you could have heard of, with salary expectations falling southwards, with the news of flop shows at institutes where the placement season has ended before it could begin, you could always spot a bunch of students sitting in the canteen discussing what our alternate strategy to beat the recession should be. I have lost count of the number of nights during the run up to the placements when I have overheard a trillion such discussions every time I walked through the canteen, but every time I heard them I just prayed for one thing – “Oh God! Please don’t get me a job in Mumbai, I would go anywhere in the country (anywhere in the world wasn’t an option anyway) for I wouldn’t be able to manage the cost of living here, and more importantly wouldn’t be able to bargain for every single thing I bought here”. The second reason was far more valid for the simple fact that except the autowalas and khirana shop walas every guy you meet in Mumbai would sweep you off the floor. You gotto bargain for every single thing, there is no price called the right price, and things are sold at face value (value of your face, not the item’s). I still remember that whenever I have bought myself a shoe or a sweat shirt or whatever from a local unbranded shop, I have always taken a guy with me who bargained well and invariably I have felt cheated every time. And of course, like all other prayers this too didn’t happen. Very soon I ended up with a job in this very city.

The week I was recruited, I was informed that the office was in a place called Kandivali, a suburb in Mumbai. To avoid the insane rush in the local trains, to avoid hearing scores of people abusing my sisters and daughters (that I didn’t have), I decided to hunt for a house in Kandivali, choosing it ahead of cheaper Borivali, Dahisar or Mira Road and ahead of Andheri where I could have shared an accommodation with a couple of my classmates. It was March, the college hadn’t ended and the joining date hadn’t come. But I had started hunting for houses, assuming I would join sometime in May. I called up a couple of brokers after getting their numbers from various web sites and got the same reply “Mai (Marathi for May I guess) may chahiye? April bees thareek ke baad phone karna” and slammed their phones on my ears. All I had wanted to know was the approximate rent to expect, so that I could optimize the level of my expectations.

Not being able to get through any broker over the phone, I took a friend with me to meet some directly. We saw an estate agency named ‘Divine Estate Agency’ and entered it. There was a long, narrow, dark, stuffy veranda that led to a small, square room with a glass door. It was a very hot and humid summer afternoon and the sight of the glass door gave me some relief, I was obviously expecting it to be air conditioned. Unfortunately it wasn’t. There was a fat man with a big pot belly sitting inside under a four blade fan (which was making more noise than air) comfortably chewing and spitting pan. He gave us an unwelcoming look under which we took our seats. I looked around to find that the walls were painted in a shade of red which made me wonder if he had done it himself by spitting all around. I broke the silence, which would have lasted for at least a minute tho’ it seemed like a few hours to me, by explaining to him – “Bhaisaab, Bhaade pe makaan chahiye – 1BHK/ 1RK, Milega?”. He spits some of what he was chewing into some vessel and curtly asked –“Aap party hain, ya broker?”. I tried answering to him, but could not control my mind flashing to a scene from the movie “Khosla ka ghonsla”. All along I had been telling myself to be extra cautious with the brokers I would meet, so that I am not taken for a ride. But these first authoritative words from the broker made me look like a mouse in front of a cat. I gathered myself together and did my best to reply to him in a typical Boman Irani style – “Party.. party!” with skewed lips, frowned eye brows and a wry, sarcastic smile. I am sure it made no impact. He showed me some houses, which were so old and dilapidated, that I thought it would crumble any moment. He maintained the same superior behavior all through so much that I was waiting for him to stop showing us the houses, so that I could escape from his clutches and the zone of discomfort.

The next person we met was a direct party who was prepared to rent out his apartment. He made us sit on a sofa, and he himself sat on a high window sill, which made me think if we were at the wrong side of the negotiation already. And then he came up with a set of DONTS that I should follow – ‘shouldn’t disturb the neighbors, shouldn’t play loud music, shouldn’t get a gal during the night etc’. Obviously I wasn’t there to do these. Again my mind switched to a scene from ‘Khosla ka…’ where Ranvir Shorey reads out what was written on the fence of their land which had been confiscated – “yahan pishaap karna mana hay” and exclaims – “Kamaal hay jhi, idhar pishaap thodi karne ayein hain”. I couldn’t stop laughing thinking of this scene and tried hard to convert that laugh to an innocent smile, making it clear to him that I was from a good background and such crappy stuff didn’t interest me. And frankly speaking I wasn’t taking that house to create hell for his neighbors. I wondered if these rules applied to them too. It was then my friend (whom you would be wondering what he was up to) spoke in full appreciation of me, my character and told him such good things about me that even I didn’t know I possessed. I had actually fallen into the owner’s trap. All these were just a precursor to scare me and emphasize on the fact that finding people who would rent out their homes to bachelors was as scarce as hen’s teeth. Then after laying his trap, he gave me a lecture on himself and his house which according to him was the dream house I would get. The house supposedly had everything and was very well furnished, but somehow all I could see was a broken wardrobe and a dusty sofa-cum-bed. He then put down his offer – 11k rent and 1 lakh deposit – and guess what, he added that he was very reasonable. I wanted to shout that he was after all offering me a 1-RK. With immense negotiation skills that I believed I possessed I got the offer down to 8.5k and 75K deposit, only to discover the next day that he has advertised the same house for 7k and 50k deposit. So my first tryst with the brokers and house owners had been a fall on my face. As I was planning my next stage of negotiations for having spotted the ad on net I was informed that my office was shifting to Goregaon, another suburb in Mumbai and the DOJ was June 1st. It gave me enough time to both search a house and mentally prepare myself to face these ruthless brokers.

End of May and I returned to Mumbai after a 2 month holiday back home, all charged up to get me a house. I was all prepared and had even got myself a house mate (tho’ not a house yet), only to realize I had a different set of troubles awaiting me. First, Goregaon East was a residential location, which for reasons known to none translated to no accommodation for bachelors. This was very crazy if people thought bachelors could stay in their offices, or if people imagined I could get into a contract marriage just to get an accommodation. I wouldn’t dismiss a situation in future where the brokers would be ready with the girl too, to get their deals done. I was temporarily put with some of my friends at Andheri, so that I could peacefully and religiously hunt for a house. I landed at the airport at 11 30 AM, threw my bags at my friends place and rushed to Goregaon to check out for some brokers. After a five minute walk on the road, where the rickshawala dropped me, I found a small shop with a board –‘Durga Estate Agency’. Wondering why these people always had names like Divine, Durga; I entered the so called office and found myself asking him “Bhaisaab..ek makaan chahiye bhade pe…2BHK”. Having got a house mate, we had decided to go for a 2 BHK. There was a long silence. I continued staring at him at his eye, just to give him the impression that I knew the tricks of the trade too well that he cannot fool me. Here comes his reply “Bachelor hein?” ……. “Haan.”……. “Bachelors ko kaun ghar deta hay? Aap karthe kya ho?” I immediately sensed that he was trying to instill fear in me, that it would be difficult for me to get a house, and I better take what he gives me, without a delay. I answered him “ABC se MBA kiya hoon… XYZ Pvt. Ltd. may kaam kar raha hoon” for my institute was famous in Mumbai tho’ the company name was unheard of and difficult to pronounce. It ended up that he didn’t know both. His next action was interesting. He lifted the phone, dialed some numbers and said “2BHK hay?.... Abhi dekh saktein hain?......Party samne baiti hay, jaldi..”. He then asks me “Kya co. bataye aap?”….”XYZ…. Goregaon East”… and he continued over the phone “Koi bohut achchi company may kaam kar rahein hain….. theek hay… ham pahunchthe hain” and kept the phone. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. I myself hadn’t known that such a company existed till it came to my campus and now these brokers give an impression as if it was some McKinsey/ JPMC, I quickly realized that he wouldn’t know those companies either :P. The house was a match box sized 2 BHK and priced at 19K and 1.5 lacs, God it was empty too!! He then gave me some gyan that I wouldn’t get a 2 BHK for anything less than 25 and suggested we share a 1BHK. After a series of flops I decided to settle for a 1 BHK.

It didn’t take me much time to realize that almost the entire Goregaon East stayed at a place called Gokuldham, which was a 25-30 year old housing society. The houses were rotting, the walls were wet by water seepage so much that when I placed my hands in one of them they literally made a nice impression on it like on a wet mass of clay. I ran from that locality deciding never to return. At the broker’s office he said “Sirji… that was an amazing house, this is the best you can get, I have never found such a good house, it’s not expensive also”. Gimme a break dude. I wouldn’t have taken it even had he given the house for free. And he was asking me a 15k for it.

I finally met a broker who seemed very good. He patiently showed me several houses. They all seemed very good. I finally had 4 choices. Smart that I thought I was, I decided to gatecrash into some of the neighbors to enquire about those localities. Two of them were downright negative, they were in riot prone areas –guess what kind of riots –Hindu Muslim clashes supposedly :P. The guy I spoke to showed me a raised pedestal at the corner of a large muddy ground where people of the two religions would fight during the Ram leela every year. That was the last thing I wanted in Mumbai. The third one was a construction almost complete, but hadn’t got its water and power supply. I am not an early man to survive on sunlight and to drink the water from Arabian Sea. The fourth was in 7th floor out of a 10 storey building, and man, it didn’t have an elevator.

A 5th house had come up by then. It was a 15 minutes drive on a 2 wheeler from the highway. The road to home (not Rome) was supposedly through a jungle and not very safe at night. To top it all, it was a toll road which closed at 12 midnight. To test the safety me and my ‘house-mate to be’ decided to take an auto and travel to that house at eleven at night. We stopped a rickshaw guy and told him “Royal Palms… Aarey colony”… He gives us a weird look and drove away as fast as possible. After some 7-9 such refusals, one guy finally agreed. We paid the toll and entered the colony. For half the distance we saw some vehicles coming in the opposite direction from Powai. But, there was no sign of any civilization after that. A few crazy souls, most of them who seemed to be stoned were seen here and there. The entire road was flanked by dense jungles on both sides with faint street lights here and there. My house-mate to be, had been there once in day light, but couldn’t find the way at night. We lost our way and entered a zone with no light and absolutely no sign of any human activity. It was jungle and jungle everywhere with this small road in between. It was then that I started a conversation with the rickshaw guy “bhai saab… eh jagah kaisa hay? Raath may safe hay kya?”, not knowing if surakshit was the apt word for to use for safety. He jerked back “patha nahi aap kahan lekhe ah gayein hain… mere dho bachein hain….” It struck me that he was too silent all the way only because he was too scared to speak. He then added “Suna hay idhar sher, cheetah ghoomthe hein… abhi dho haftein pehle dhas saal ka ek bachcha cheetah ko pakadke mar daala”. Two things struck me – one: what he was referring to as cheetah could actually be a leopard and two: he was so scared that he was blabbering. Finally after a very long journey we entered something that looked like a gated community with barbed wires which I thought could be for protection against the wild animals. At the gate, we realized that not only had we lost the way, but had gone a full circle to reach the Powai entrance instead of the Goregaon one. In any case we entered a place where humans existed. Got down from the auto, paid him and saw him drive like he ran (drove) for his life. We met some of the residents there to enquire about the safety of the place and one amongst them happened to be a sexy air hostess. Her uniform indicated that she must have been working for Spice Jet. I struck a long conversation with her, not being able to contain myself from looking at her curves, my mind wandering about the numerous chit chats and flirtations I could have with her (and who knows may be with many like her) if I chose this place to stay. I tried to behave as gentlemanly as possible and prove that my intentions were not to flirt, but was sincerely restricted only to the enquiry I had to make. But the naughty smile she gave me at times proved I hadn’t succeeded. But who cares, I got a double in any case.

After a dozen days of several such odysseys and rendezvous with ruthless brokers I finally managed to find an apartment in a location that looked the best to me. I fell flat at the sight of the fully furnished house and more importantly the cucumber like cool owner. Our first meeting of negotiation at his place was a total contradiction to everything that I had witnessed in the previous month. He offered us his drinks and lay the ground rules – “You can do whatever you want, party hard, get a girl, do anything you want, I am really not bothered. Just take care none around you complains to me.” The negotiations were a bit easier this time, and we finally settled to take this house.

We moved in a week later only to face the next surprise of Mumbai – the rudeness of neighbors towards tenants. It’s been almost three weeks since we have moved in here and I have approached my neighbors for help a several times – for the maid servant, laundry, departmental stores etc. Not once has anyone invited us inside their homes, on the other hand we get cold curt replies, slamming of doors on the face, a look of we being inferior, not to forget that if we keep the door at the entrance open and someone passes by the staircase she (it’s always a she) would wait to stare inside the house at us as if we were aliens from a totally different planet.

May be it is this way in every city, but I am sure things get at least a little more complicated and interesting in Mumbai. Phew!! My tryst with this place and the struggle with the neighbors continue…