In Chandigarh you can't avoid the topic. The conversation invariably turns to house building.
“In which sector have you built your house”? Someone asks.
“I haven't built one”, l answer.
“Oh, l suppose, you are still at the planning stage". He asks looking a little anxious.
"I am afraid I haven't thought of one yet''. l answer defensively.
"But surely you have bought a plot'', he exclaims, looking really desperate now.
“I am sorry, I haven't'' l answer feeling like a murderer.
The conversation flows away leaving me high and dry, like some piece of flotsam on the river bank after the floods.
* * *
Another house; another company.
They are discussing glazed verandahs.
“I have glazed the entire east verandah”, says Mrs. B– the wife of a senior official.
“Oh you have; How lovely”! exclaims Mrs. C– the wife of a not so senior official.
“Well you know, I had to. He has too much work to attend to even at home and he loves to sit in the sun.”
B-smirks, exuding self importance.
Mrs. C– turns on her husband.
“Darling I told you, that we should glaze our verandah.”
“You know the expense” he begins somewhat tamely.
“Oh you are always saying we can’t afford this and we can’t afford that… surely you can take another loan from the government”.
At this stage I butt in. I can no longer restrain my curiosity.
“Excuse me, what is a glazed verandah”?
Aghast at my ignorance they all stared in dumb disbelief.
You could hear a pin fall. Someone explains at last in a cutting half sentence. I feel like something the cat brought in.
* * *
On a Sunday afternoon I decided to drop in on my friend G:–
Only the children are at home. “Where is daddy”? I ask.
“Uncle, he has gone to the brick kiln at Mani Majra”.
“And mummy”?
“She is at the plot, uncle. You know we are building a house”.
I decide to wait. A little later G– drives in, a harassed expression on his face.
“Well dash it, these chaps are impossible” he exclaims.” first I spend weeks and weeks hanging around government offices for a permit for bricks, and now when I go to the kiln the man says,
‘Sorry, no bricks sir. Come back in two weeks’ time’.
The house is at roof level, another monsoon shower may come any day and I am paying so much to the labour daily. What am I to do?” I sympathise.
Mrs. G– comes in from the plot tired, awfully sun burnt and caked with dust.
“Oh, these labourers are impossible”, She cries half in tears. “They come at 10, want a bidi break every one hour, and a nap in the afternoon. If I so much as hint at their laziness they talk about their union and demonstration.
I bustle around to the kitchen.
I guess the G–s could do with a hot cup of tea. If only I had a nip of brandy on me.
* * *
I look through my morning mail.
Mr. and Mrs. C– request the pleasure of the company of Shri – on the occasion of Grah Pravesh…………
Another one! I groan inwardly. I dread these Grah Praveshes, One has to sit all morning on ones ankles while the priests perform ‘Havana’ and ‘Akhand Patha’. The proceedings are rounded off with a little tepid tea. I am all for the good old house warming parties, but in these days of rising prices who would like to waste precious government loans on a few bottles of…….
I go late and sit at the back.
Everyone is fidgety – the priests have been at it for two hours; the ladies are carrying on whispered conversations, I eavesdrop.
“What a horrid colour scheme”.
“The elevation is really poor. Looks like a matchbox.”
“What vulgar use of marble. More like a Seth’s house”.
The ladies are evidentially sharpening the knives.
At last the priest stops. We are taken around the house. The ladies are simply delighted.
“Oh darling what a pretty house”!
“The loveliest in Chandigarh”.
The host and the hostess stand at the gate, their faces a little drawn and anxious. We all file fast.
“Congratulations jee. Thank you jee.”
* * *
In the morning X–rings me.
“I say old chap, could you do me a favour”?
“Certainly, my dear fellow”.
“well you know my house……..
“Yes, a lovely one.”
“Well, I want to rent it out. You know what with the loan instalment and all that I am a little anxious. I'm sure if you spoke to D–“
“Why certainly. Most certainly.”
* * *
A house in Chandigarh?
Not for me!
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