Of dreams, housing societies and much more

Hey! So in my last blog I mentioned that I was busy getting my teeny new flat ready. And guess what? Five months later it’s still not ready. Today I’m going to share my experience with you regarding the entire rather convoluted process of getting the possession of my flat to getting it ready- to- move in.  I booked a flat in this society called Antriksh Kanball 3G(where signals are erratic and wifi nonexistent ironically) in Noida Sec-77 because it seemed like a good society which promised a club, swimming pool and a host of other things. The possession letter I received in Dec 2013 just before we were leaving for our vacation to Singapore. And every time we inquired about the progress of the flat we were told it would take another month to 15 days. Old story? Heard it before? Yeah. Finally in 2015 I decided to approach them directly and see. Went to see the flats which were almost complete. Almost. So I asked for possession. The marketing manager in charge looked at me blankly and said: “Your flat? But your husband was the one who came.” (Read- who the hell are you?) My first hurdle. A woman owning property –an absolute no-no. And if I go into the entire process of obtaining the keys of my flat it would take too long. Needless to say it taught me a lesson I was doomed to repeat again and again- to wait. Wait in the office to get an audience with the manager( Yeah definitely royal touch there- you being a lowly customer and so and so) wait to get your flat cleaned, bathroom fittings put in (the supervisor fell sick repeatedly) and most importantly, getting the keys.( One would think I was demanding illegal possession. Money paid in full and on time) Another few hours of wait. Finally I hired a designer- Saanvi Decor.(My dream flat and all that so why not go the whole hog?) Paid advance. And the designer cost me a sizeable chunk of my savings. Took a month to complete. In that month I found myself supervising the carpenters while the designer was totally absent from the scene (both his mother and wife being hospitalized) and the owner who had actually taken the contract unavailable. Then came the problem of putting frosted glass in the cabinets wherein the guy flatly denied having agreed to do it. A few arguments back and forth and finally the flat was completed- me having spent my time supervising, haggling, arguing and doing the work for which I was paying the designer. Whew! 

In addition I incurred the astronomical expense of an electrician because of a few concealed lights which in the end did not end up concealed. You laughing? Quite funny I agree. Only I didn’t think so because I saw my life’s savings draining out and not receiving the service I was paying for. Then I couldn’t find anyone ready to put up a couple of glass headboards and a shower partition. The person I spoke to sent a guy who turned up in another part of Antriksh called Forest. Reason? This society, being low end, (1 BHK) hasn’t the money to put up a hoarding( only a tiny sign- practically invisible) outside telling people its name or maybe they are plainly ashamed of what they’ve built and are building. In between I discovered there were no roads, not even a leveled entrance to the flats, because agitating farmers would not let laborers work. My blood ran cold. I had taken such care not to invest my life’s savings in a disputed land. Was it disputed? An enquiry elicited a vehement denial (Noida Authority and farmers at loggerheads not the society) but work did not continue. After spending several abortive attempts waiting for the glass supplier to turn up I finally found the only professional. For that reason alone he merits a mention in this blog. Mr. Waseem from Super glass Sec-9 was a pleasure to work with. A man who valued time, (he turned up before time), a man who gave me everything in writing and never deviated from his word unlike others, a man who took my money and gave me my money’s worth. A rare specimen in India indeed. Because I found that watches are totally redundant here and no-one values time. (They either have too much of it or too little).When they say 12 they might mean any time between 12 in the noon to 12 at night. After that I’ve learnt a big lesson – get a signed agreement for everything because word of mouth is no longer good. You’re sure to get cheated. And today I’m sitting in my new flat on the mattress because the bed hasn’t been delivered yet though the advance was given 4 months back and order on 29^th April. I’ve finally canceled the order and now have to look for another furniture supplier and it’s very likely I’m going to lose the advance I’ve paid because the fellow is refusing a give a refund.

This new society does not even have a sweeper or maid( my rubbish still parked near door after a week)- at least I haven’t seen one around- and when I asked for one I was told all of them had run away and could not be procured even on payment. I spent a night in this concrete wilderness on the floor( because there’s no bed) and realized this was my dream turned into a nightmare- where you pay but you don’t get your money’s worth, where you are promised the moon and given the floor, where you are cheated of everything you had- money, ideals, time, faith. A bitter bitter lesson indeed. My reason for writing this? So that you don’t make the mistakes I did. Invest in a society that is already developed. Check them out thoroughly. Get everything but everything even the tiniest detail in writing or use voice recording to record conversation- proof -because no-one is to be trusted. Get ready to wait and have inexhaustible patience because in our country no-one has any concept of time. I wonder why they wear watches. No laborer works before 11 or 12 in the morning. Above all, do not expect any professional behavior from anyone. They have no idea what that word means. Salutory lessons indeed. And while you digest these and avoid the trap I fell into, I’ll go bed hunting once again! And oh this flat is still not registered because registrations are still not open here yet! In two years prices will go up. Yeah. More expense. Sigh! 

What has changed?

Whoeee! It's been ages, practically ages since I wrote my last blog. Well, that's because things have been happening. I've been getting my dream flat, a teeny tiny flat ready. And that's quite a story. For another time. What an education it has been. It's an ongoing education happening every day. What it means to arrange finance, do the math, haggle, endure and WAIT. Yes. Quite a story. 

But today I'm dealing with a topic close to my heart. I'm a heart and gut person. Less of brain. Have you noticed the monumental strides we've made and are making everyday in technology? New gadgets, new machines, new inventions. Very progressive. I for one appreciate all the help technology gives me in finishing up my chores. The food processors, the microwaves, the OTGs, the rice cookers, the electric kettles and what -have -you. But our perception hasn't altered one bit, sad to say. Take a look at every advert of an kitchen appliance. It is a woman wielding it. The perception of a woman as a homemaker hasn't shifted at all. We are bent upon our pigeon holing. Of course a woman can be financially independent. But she cannot free herself of the burdens of a home. Don't get me wrong. Nothing wrong with being a homemaker. But what happens when a woman works twice as hard at her job as a man? Okay. Maybe just works outside the home. Is she free of housework, the kitchen chores, kids' responsibilities? Do we say - honestly- no, she works outside so she needn't work at home? Is the co-operation that is automatically extended to the man holding a high pressure job extended to her? Will the man in her life step forward and actually do the kitchen chores without feeling emasculated? Will our adverts feature men using kitchen appliances? Mostly importantly will those adverts sell? Will they be accepted? Will we ever be able to change our mindsets? 

My grandmother used to cook for a large family through the day. She had no gadgets to make her work easy. I do. I cook for a small family. I finish in 15 mins. But I cook. So what has changed? Duration of cooking? Ease of process? But in reality nothing has changed. The underlying perception of women as being confined to home and hearth hasn't changed one bit no matter what high powered corporate or executive positions they might occupy. Most women I know take pride in what they call their"efficiency"in managing both the home and office. But what I see is the underlying truth. Over the centuries nothing has changed. Women are expected to conform to a mold. And they are stuck in their little pigeon holes. 

And sometimes just sometimes it sucks. When I'm in the middle of writing and the maid doesn't turn up, or the microwave goes kaput when I'm a tearing hurry to finish up so I can get to my writing quickly, or.....Yeah. You get the picture. Then I wish, just wish that for once it won't be taken for granted that I'm the sole in charge of the household and everything that happens in it- from leaking taps, kaput machines, absentee maids isn't my headache alone. That the space given to my husband is extended to me too and I'm not expected to cook or clean just because I'm a woman. 

What do YOU think? This is what I think. 

  

Language down the ages

Hi! So we don't meet as frequently as we did. But I think it's better to meet when I have anything to say rather than saying something because I have to. Compulsion is a killer. It does things to one's psyche that one cannot even begin to imagine. It drains away all the joy and makes for tedium. But you'll agree there's a vast difference between saying something because you have to (weekly or monthly column) and saying it because you really want to. 

What I'm looking at today is the way language has been used down the ages. The main purpose of language is to communicate. It originated in sounds before it was built into the complex network that it is today. 

The classics we read show us that language was not only a means to an end but an end in itself. There was a time when authors took as much pleasure in fashioning ornate sentences, painting characters in words and sentences which ran to four or more pages. Each description was exhaustive detailed and riddled with similes and metaphors. They took as much joy in writing out these exhaustive descriptions as the reader took pleasure in reading them. For instance our own Tagore. To my shame I must confess that I cannot read Bengali fluently (having learnt it only because Assamese was compulsory in school). So my mother read it aloud to me as a child. Hearing excerpts from Khudito Pashan ( the Hungry Stone) I had a hard time understanding most of what I heard. It had little or no resemblance to Bengali as we speak it or hear it. It was not till Sarat Chandra Chatterjee that we come to a phase where language became more comprehensible and the language of the common man. I don't know much about Bengali Literature. My only purpose in citing these references was my memory of that afternoon when I began to comprehend the role that language played in determining its readership. Even Shakespeare despite his universal appeal has us reaching for a dictionary or a glossary ever so often.  There are still writers who hark back to tradition taking immense pleasure in language itself. It is not a mere tool for them to convey; a vehicle to convey their ideas but an end in itself. They take as much pleasure in crafting sentences in playing with words, thinking of new ways to string sentences as they do in determining the plot and character. 

I must confess as I grow older I lean towards plainer prose, use fewer words. Use language as a tool rather than an end. Of course I still remember the pleasure I got from using new words, big ornate sentences as a child. It made me feel so important. Now as I read my childhood pieces I'm not ashamed of them, no, because they have something I lack today- a freshness of perspective, a novelty, lack of jadedness but I would change the medium of expression to a much plainer pared down version of the former. 

The new generation is impatient. Give them a convoluted exhaustive description and you are sure to be interrupted: But what do you want to say dude? They will ask you. And I must say I find myself echoing the same impatience sometimes reading pages and pages of sentences saying nothing much. Get to the point, I find myself saying. Which coming from a literature student is considerably myopic and reprehensible. Because language is a thing of beauty forever, to misquote Keats. 

Today the English language has several versions- English, American, Indian to mention the ones I'm acquainted with. Now English writers still use what we term "good" language as compared to their American counterparts who are decidedly more colloquial. It is largely thanks to Americans that we now have words spelled the way they are pronounced- the "aes" knocked off to "es" the "ou"knocked off to "o" and a profusion of slang. They made the language functional. The English prose is far more formal less colloquial. Indian English has incorporated its own changes to the language. Read Chetan Bhagat who uses the quintessential language of the new generation Indian. 

But since language is meant to communicate, as long as the author fulfills this purpose adequately I'd say all's well that ends well. Right?   

Connections

Have you ever thought what role the arts(very very loosely termed)- books, music, painting, movies- play in our lives? Do they even have a role to play? These are what we can term (again very loosely) fringe benefits. They are not integral to our survival. Food, clothing, shelter is. These supply our basic demands. Our very human animal needs. It is only after our bellies are full and we sleep securely in warm soft beds at night and our banks are stuffed with notes that we even contemplate the existence of  these arts. To most they are peripheral. To some, only a few, they are integral to survival. But they do have a role to play in all our lives. The role maybe marginal but a role it is. Having established that, I'd like to proceed with that role they play. 

Why is it that a book written by an unknown author from an unknown country I might never have visited reaches deep inside and touches me? Why is it that a painting by a painter I've never met and whose existence I've never been aware of speaks to me in ways I cannot even begin to enumerate? A song by some unknown singer moves me to tears? A movie by some director makes me sit up and think? These might be people I've never heard of or met before in my life. But through their work they speak to me. Establish connections that are so intimate that they reach inside me. Inside my head. Inside my soul- if you believe in its existence. (We believe in so little these days. Can you blame us?) 

What is this connection between individuals who have never met each other and who might never meet ever in their lives? A book that gives you solace when you most need it, which makes you feel you are not alone in this wide world or even one that makes you smile at a time when you have nothing to smile about- isn't that a connection? The connections between family and you, between friends and you, are ones which are voluntary. Blood ties. Friendship ties. What ties are these that touch your soul and leave you the more enriched for it and ask for nothing in return? Because before that day you might never have heard of that author or artist, or director or musician. The person in question might not be aware of your existence or of the change his or her work wrought in your life. He or she might not even connect if you meet in real life. But inside that other world where all art takes you the connection exists. So the next time you feel inclined to look down and sneer upon art because it cannot be equated to the work that an engineer, doctor or businessman does stop to think. Of all those times when you laughed at something written by another, when you paused and stared at a painting marveling at the artist's dexterity, when you shut out the world to listen to the voice crooning in your ears, when a book spoke to you. Then you might acknowledge what you've always known but not admitted that arts are not marginal. That connections can be formed between strangers. And these connections make us human. 

The Good and The Strong

Hi folks! Happy New Year and all that. My first blog this year- 2015. Sorry to be a damp squib but this new year feels old and soiled already. To quote somebody(?): Same old, same old. The same religious disputes, the same problems, the same life. Sigh! The same humankind. Rabid, tearing each other to pieces, gunning each other down. Humor is also becoming costly. Might cost you your life. Ask the French. Anyway today I've a question for you. Have you noticed how we always prefix "poor" before addressing anyone we deem good? Why do you think that is? I had a lesson in Hindi once. It was titled" Bechara Bhala Aadmi" which literally translated into English means "poor good man." It is a lesson which I will never forget. The writer raised the same question I've asked you. Why does goodness only evoke our contempt and sympathy while evil become synonymous with strength? Why does the good man never get a pat on his back and even if he does he also secretly invites our sympathy because he's weak? You don't believe me? You think this is not the case? Tell me what would you call a person who has been through hell and back because one of a particular person and when is in a position to retaliate desists from doing so? What do you call him- a hero? Do you revere him? Do you admire him? Do you look up to him? No! You call him a fool! All you feel is contempt. You think he is weak. You don't think he is strong to resist retaliation. See? 

There are two categories which are mutually exclusive. The Good and the Strong. The good cannot be strong. They can be pitied. Never admired. The saint who turns the other cheek is a fool who has no place in our world; the man who has the power to strike a blow does. The saint maybe right but it does not matter. Because strength as we know and revere it has nothing to do rightness. Intellectually we might admit that it takes far more strength to stand up and do the right thing but emotionally and secretly we admire the strength of the man who strikes back. Our heroes are not the persons who turn the other cheek; they are people who are not afraid to do the wrong thing to right a wrong. Our perception of strength then comes not from forbearance and tolerance but a show of power. We may hold up Gandhiji to the world and to ourselves as an example but none of us are prepared to go down the same path. Tolerance is only a word in the dictionary; ahimsa the language of the fools. Strength is synonymous with power and always will be. Sad but true. The right and the good have no place in our psyches. For therein lies another dispute. Who decides what is right and who is good? Yes. It takes so little start a dispute doesn't it? This is what I think. What do You think? 

   

All for a cause

All my life I've felt life has to have a purpose, a meaning. And that believing in a cause, any cause gives it meaning. Not anymore. Not since that shocking attack on Army Public school children in Pakistan. Much has already been said on the issue and I'm too late to add anything to the outrage such an attack provoked. But I can say this much - this is what it finally leads to. Believing in causes. What fight for freedom, what cause can justify this massacre of innocents? What promised land do you inherit with their blood staining your hands? Which Allah Or God Or Maker can justify taking the lives of these innocents? Taliban claimed this attack was in retaliation of what the Army did to their families. So why target children? Why not attack the Army? Why take the coward's way out? The easy way out? 

I am beginning to intensely dislike causes. Any cause. Every cause. Good or bad. Because from what I can see it is turning men into rabid, foaming at the mouth fanatics incapable of thinking or reasoning. Either you want a separate state or piece of territory, or you want freedom, or some such crap you feel justifies all the bloodshed and chaos you leave in your wake. The crimes committed in the name  of freedom are legion. All the bombings, the violence, the murder of innocent people are unleashed by terrorists because of this shining cause they believe in. Wars are fought because men believe in some cause or other. Shias fight Sunnis because they believe in some cause dictated by their Allah(?). Men divide break destroy kill maim because they think some cause justifies it all. 

"We are fighting for a cause" they say unable to see what it is doing to them. 

So I say do away with all causes but one- humanity. First be human before you can be free. Before you stake your piece of promised land on this earth learn to be of this earth. Learn that you cannot be truly free until you know what freedom really is. The ability to be humane. And any cause that invites the destruction of millions of innocents cannot lead anywhere but to one place alone. To hell. Only in this case it is of your own making. The one you have fashioned with your hands. 

Is it science- or karma- every action has an equal and opposite reaction? 

So next time before you destroy in the name of any cause think.

Busy bee

Normally I am the laziest person around. I spent the greater part of Sunday snuggled under my warm razai reading a book. And...I'm not gong to recount episodes to demonstrate my laziness. Just that this blog is the result of lot of discussions and hearing people claim that they hate activity. After thinking on it I realized I could not for the life of me imagine a world without activity of any sort. Most inactive people claim they are doing nothing: Just watching TV, reading a book, or sleeping. But those, mark you, are activities too. They are all verbs or action words. 

Even when you are sleeping your brain is active. Hence the dreams. Take activity away from us and you take away life. It is a comatose state. Where you are nothing more than a vegetable.

Try for a second. Close your eyes and imagine a world without any activity of any sort. Successful? No? I couldn't either. Life demands action. Passive action but action nevertheless. You might sit in a chair and think. But thinking is an activity too. 

See? Everything you think is not an action actually is. 

I know people are stressed today. We are dealing with a scenario where so many things are happening simultaneously that each moment we live brings its share of stress. Wellness gurus cannot emphasize enough the need to chill out and reduce stress levels through various mediums- exercise, yoga, social interaction, hobbies, music. The list is endless. But activity is a therapy too. Try it sometime. Next time you are stressed or feeling as if your world has ended do something.  Watch a nice movie, go for a walk, talk to your friend, clean out your cupboard, bake a cake, plant a tree, write a diary entry. Something. Anything. In my opinion action has a lot to recommend it. A lot of our ills exist because we scoff at active people. But the old school of thought has something there. I know we can't be jumping around all the time. But it is absolutely imperative to have something to do. Otherwise we all dissolve into nothingness. We stop being alive. 

Being a busy bee has its upside too. If you are not a busy bee but a lazy one(like me) it is still good to have bouts of activity - even if it is walking in the park or reading a book. Don't you think so?