I’ve just spent what probably qualifies as one of the most painful weeks of my life. Correction, make that one of the most painful weeks in all our lives—my younger son, wife and mine. Only the elder one escaped, just because he’s safely ensconced on foreign shores.
You might think it had to do with the heat in Bombay, which was unusually high for this time of year—over 40 degrees Celcius as March turned to April—and the attendant humidity. That contributed, of course, but only a wee bit. It could’ve been the old hand-me-down car that my son uses there, extremely good-humouredly for his age, I have to admit, with its wheezing air-conditioner and other sundry ailments. Some, like my wife, might even believe it was the lack of my usual gym routine, leading not only to the loss of precious inches from my biceps and pectorals, but also to the depressive buildup of endorphins that failed to get released and affected my head instead.
Quite the contrary. I believe there were two main culprits for this horrible ordeal: one was space, or rather, the lack of it, and the other, an obnoxious beast that impersonates, and sometimes gets mistaken for, a two-legged homo-sapien, called ‘broker’. Both came together poetically, if you wish, in the search for ‘Do Gaz Zameen’ in that overcrowded city.
Having been considerably distressed over the last year and a half by G’s decision not to move into his college hostel but choose, instead, to stay with my brother in the suburbs, the wife and I decided to make a long trip and settle the matter, once and for all. We reasoned he needed his space, as did his cousins, whom he shared the room with. Besides, being on his own would make him tougher and ‘readier’ for the big bad world. No brainer so far, but the big debate was about WHERE exactly this space should be located. The big idea behind our excursion was to either break him or be broken: to convince him to pick hostel/PG dig in town, a decision that seemed as logical to my mind as day after night, or be convinced to fix him a flat in Versova, which of course was G’s conviction, and one that induced in me violent fits the likes of which common people are sure to confuse with epilepsy.
No guesses on which point-of-view won. As always, we soon figured it was better to give in to G’s logic: that he traveled early in the mornings and therefore did NOT spend 3 hours commuting like his dad believed, flats in town were much too expensive, square foot to square foot, and of course what was the point of traveling in the REVERSE direction to meet his friends every evening, who mostly lived in Versova?
Acceptance of such an idea may seem like a big leap of faith, but it’s nothing compared to its EXECUTION, for as we all know, that’s where the devil usually lives. House hunting is hardly the most likeable of propositions, least of all in the summer heat in an old car. Three adults with divergent views riding in it certainly couldn’t have made it better. But that was only the start.
The first thing that strikes you about house hunting is the shortage of decent supply. You excitedly pore over classifieds, confidently scan through websites and talk to friends and to friends of friends, but the result is close to zilch—for classifieds and websites are dominated by ads by estate agents, and friends conveniently forget about all those LOVELY flats they used to promise you. The ones that you do end up being ‘shown’ are almost always the bottom of the junkpile, dumped there as orphans never really cultivated as their own, and abandoned by their owners just to satisfy their greed for rentals. Funnily the rates quoted for those sad places are unjustifiably astronomic, putting to shame all the current hoohah of recession.
In any case, there are hardly any that remotely resemble your HOME: neither the one you left nor the one you’re about to setup. And that’s exactly what we experienced: 4-5 days of relentless searching threw up just a couple of passable flats—a pathetic hit rate of 2 in 20! In the process though, we got free insights into the dark rental real estate market, and unwittingly, not only sighted, but also had occasion to observe at close quarters aforesaid animal called ‘broker’. See below for invaluable insights.
Of course, the two flats got shortlisted. Not because they were nice in themselves, but one because it was near Infinity Mall (imagine the joys of walking down to the choicest restaurants, a bookshop and a multiplex) and the other because of its sea-view (a feature that appealed less to the kid and more to his mother, understandably). And of course, we didn’t get our first choice: the landlord suddenly chickened and decided to sell his flat outright rather than rent it out (recession, recession!). Which left us with the only decent option we had, namely the sea-view flat.
What followed was a couple of excruciatingly painful days of games and negotiations with the worst-of-breed brokers, self-styled caretaker who, shall we say, had the landlord (a simple North-Eastern flight supervisor with Air India) under his thick and sweaty thumb, before we signed the deal. So no matter how much we tried to reason about the terms, we kept coming up against a wall. Suffice it to say that were it not for the kid’s urgent requirement, I’d have pushed out the lout from the 13th floor, even if it meant spoiling the sea-view temporarily. Did we come away any the wiser after that encounter? Well, there were a few learnings (see below, for yourself).
Insight 1: Dirty water finds its own level.
A point already alluded to previously: flats on rentals are the poorest of the poor, without any hope of redemption—badly planned, inadequately ventilated, horrendously furnished and situated in dubious buildings with unclean surroundings. Do not expect them to be well-maintained, and do not expect a view other than that of similarly dubious buildings or at best, an open public drain. Also, do not expect brokers to behave like decent humans for their faculties have not evolved beyond the dog-eat-dog mentality. Lastly, don’t let them set foot inside your car, as they ‘show’ you the Promised Land, unless you want your seats to stink for the rest of their lives, and your blood to boil until none’s left.
Insight 2: Let the buyer beware.
Principle borrowed from basic commerce, which as you guessed, is as far as brokers’ horizons extend. You will not get what you see—the flats you like will be gone before you call in excitedly to say ‘I Do’, rates quoted will be revised, brokerage will be negotiated, in short, there will always be some nasty jack-in-the-box waiting to sock you between the ears. Do not assume anything, pore over the fine print in agreements, stuff yourself with enough proteins and brace yourself for the worst.
Insight 3: Almighty Owners, Beggar Tenants.
An inequity implied mostly subtly but sometimes not so subtly, throughout the process. Brokers treat owners like Gods, even when they don’t get paid by owners but by the tenants. And even when the flat-owners are sad, uncouth or uneducated, or should I say particularly when they are so. You don’t get to meet or speak to them as brokers play gate-keepers: whether it’s to protect the owners’ interests or the brokers’ is unclear. Either way you are always at the receiving end. Therefore, watch out for clauses and agreements that are completely loaded in favour of the landlords (Leave and License is one such format that’s unfairly tilted towards their interests, and is peculiar to Bombay)
Insight 4: Mafiosos with ‘Offer-you-can’t-refuse’.
A la Godfather, all brokers have you believe that they have the perfect answer to your needs. In actuality of course, this is poppycock. They haven’t the slightest idea or care about what the customer wants, but are interested in palming off the worst possible shit as flats to unsuspecting simpletons. It’s a straight case of peddle the mushrooms, rotten and all, before they perish. Why you can’t refuse their offer has more to do with their hustling practices: you better say yes to everything they say, or else..! Not wanting to wake up with a dead horse in your bed, you have no choice but to pay them whatever brokerage they insist on, and that too, year after year, for they MAKE you sign just an 11-month agreement (to use one of their own’s phraseology, they too have offices and wives to pay for).
Insight 5: Family always triumphs.
The only silver lining in the cloud! This is not just a reiteration of traditional Christian values, but also expediency necessitated by the fact that it’s best to fight injustice with numbers. So, whether you like it or not, you beasts will encounter the patience and mighty mind of the family that stays together! Which in the ultimate analysis, is all that remains in a tenant’s armory, so one is advised to use it and use it well. And the stronger the family, the better the ‘Do Gaz Zameen’ you are likely to secure in this megalomaniacal metropolis.
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