Homeless in the Hinterland

So as a sequel to my post on Bandstand, here’s the unhappy piece of news- my landlady, in keeping with her unpredictable, cranky ways, has decided that I must leave her apartment and find a roof elsewhere.
Thus started the search. 100s of phone calls to friends, brokers, acquaintances and other people who fit into neither of these categories. All the brokers I was in touch with last year have been mobilized again, as well as a bunch of new ones.
Why is it so hard, you ask? Well, if there is one thing that is synonymous with Bombay, it is the lack of space. “Squeezed”, “cramped” and “pigeon-holed” are words that immediately spring to mind. Logically, the consequence of this is that Bombay doesn’t have as much housing as it needs. And if you are particular about location, well, quite simply put, You’ve Had It! Yesterday I saw three apartments after work. One was in a gully leading from a main road, in a building with an elevator so precarious, I was tempted to take the stairs to the 7th floor, and consider it my workout of the day. However, not wanting to hurt any feelings, I got into the lift and tried to think about the dream flat that undoubtedly awaited me after that ordeal. Hmm…well, I was assured that there would be a fresh coat of paint, a spring cleaning, and new furnishings. “What about the screaming children on either side of me?” I wanted to ask, but bit my tongue. And then the final touch was delivered. “No boys are allowed late at night, ma’am”, informed me the broker. Right. It was time to move to the next one.
The next apartment which had been advertised rather attractively; was in a village. I kid you not. Yes, it’s located in Bandra, but from what I understand, the area’s called Chuin village. Just getting there was quite an experience. The village lies off Ambedkar Road, one of the respectable localities in Bandra. We were happily cruising down the nice, wide road, when suddenly; the rickshaw-waala turned into an almost-invisible gully, and entered what can only be described as a labyrinth. Maze after maze, gully upon gully, until we reached the attractively advertised apartment. Apart from the fact that it had an Indian loo, ceilings so low that one of the brokers, who was all of 5’8 suffered a rather nasty knock on the head, mainly due to his excitement in trying to figure out what a particular appliance lying in the bedroom was, it was passable. At one point, all four of us were standing thoughtfully around the object, helpfully throwing up suggestions.
“A.C. hoga- dekhiye, madam, A.C. bhi hai.
“Arre, nahi yaar, yeh heater lag raha hai.”
“Arre, bhaiyya, yeh hai kya?” (my friend in a plaintive tone)
“COOLER! COOLER! Haan, madam, yeh cooler hi hai!” (barely able to contain his excitement at this point, at having cracked it!)
Giggle giggle giggle. (Me- blame it on a temporary bout of insanity caused by stress)
And the third apartment- again, in a shady gully, off a main road that’s being dug up (I wont even begin to try and imagine the chaos that would reign during peak hour here), the apartment was what in Bambai-lingo is called a “converted 1-bhk”, which means its basically one large room, where a makeshift enclosure has been made to accommodate a “standing kitchen” (again, a Bombay term which means the kitchen is too small to sit in). Louder than our voices in the apartment, was the sound of traffic below. But what REALLY sealed it was the fact that the place had been done up in tacky peach tiles (with brown tile flooring), with pictures of rivers flowing and standing trees painted onto the wall. Shudder!

Yep- I think I’m going to be homeless very soon. I need as many crossed fingers, prayers, horseshoes, lit candles, turkish eyes…whatever it takes…as I can have!