Another move, another house-hunt.
I arrived in Bangalore three days ago, after a painfully sleepless train journey next to a man resembling Obelix, growling away in his sleep. Lugging my overstuffed suitcase off the train, my arrival this time was different. Instead of haggling with public transport, getting lost and then crossing my fingers while walking into a new apartment which I had never seen before; for the first time I was actually being picked up by a 'Family Friend' from the railway station. She cruised in with her driver ('chauffeur' for the enlightened), and before I knew it, I was whisked away to her huge five bedroom house in an affluent suburb of the city. With an electric gate.
Now the concept of a 'Family Friend' (said like so- not, mind you, 'Friend of the Family') is uniquely Indian. Almost always, it will be someone who your parents know, who you've heard about but never met. And most of all, they will be amazingly loving towards you: kind, hospitable- as if they've known you your entire life. This experience has been exactly like so- I've spent the past two days being fed, and pampered and driven around.
Anyway, to the point of this story: the house-hunt. Till date, I've always shared a house- first with friends, then with unknowns- which as expected is always a hit and miss. This time, I was determined to find a place I could call my own, that I can put a stamp on and have control over. So I embarked on a search for my space in this city.
I've had a unique deep-dive into the culture of brokers in the city. Being Bangalore, the first dilemma was what language to converse in-they speak every possible South Indian language, and Hindi and English to boot. They are all men, some on bikes, some in cars. They also know everything about their tenants ('Oh these two girls work at PriceWaterHouse Coopers/Goldman Sachs/some IT company'). One even knew at what time a client's boyfriend picks her up to go out for a meal. All of us 'independent women' were being watched. Sigh.
Over the past few days, I saw a ground floor, damp flat with a rickety metal bed; a musty pink-walled flat where cigarette smoke had seeped into the walls; a tiny room on the top floor of a posh house with a slab of granite touted as the kitchen; and then a lovely little space at the top of an old house, in a quiet, leafy street.
So, a summary of what transpired:
'Yes, I'm interested in the flat.'
*Broker proceeds to check my fingers and neck for signs of marital status*
'Ok, just FYI, family is allowed to visit. No boyfriends, no parties.'
This in front of three men (two brokers, and Family Friend Head of Household, who was observably uncomfortable at this exchange). Overall, I'm not sure how to react. But then I remind myself I'm in India, and there are spaces and places for airing disagreement and frustrations, and this was not one of them. I shook my head, laughed and proclaimed that I will be 'well behaved', but was clear that I would have friends and family visiting , and if this was a problem I wanted out. There was uncomfortable nodding between all the concerned parties, and the deal was made. I had a house.
I move in tomorrow, after said Family Friend helps me organise a small puja to bless the place (much to the relief of my mother, who is convinced that this will mitigate all the potential horrors that might occur, since my stars aren't aligned apparently).
I'm more anxious and nervous than excited, but I can't wait for that milk to boil over in two days, signifying the beginning of my sojourn in Bangalore.
I arrived in Bangalore three days ago, after a painfully sleepless train journey next to a man resembling Obelix, growling away in his sleep. Lugging my overstuffed suitcase off the train, my arrival this time was different. Instead of haggling with public transport, getting lost and then crossing my fingers while walking into a new apartment which I had never seen before; for the first time I was actually being picked up by a 'Family Friend' from the railway station. She cruised in with her driver ('chauffeur' for the enlightened), and before I knew it, I was whisked away to her huge five bedroom house in an affluent suburb of the city. With an electric gate.
Now the concept of a 'Family Friend' (said like so- not, mind you, 'Friend of the Family') is uniquely Indian. Almost always, it will be someone who your parents know, who you've heard about but never met. And most of all, they will be amazingly loving towards you: kind, hospitable- as if they've known you your entire life. This experience has been exactly like so- I've spent the past two days being fed, and pampered and driven around.
Anyway, to the point of this story: the house-hunt. Till date, I've always shared a house- first with friends, then with unknowns- which as expected is always a hit and miss. This time, I was determined to find a place I could call my own, that I can put a stamp on and have control over. So I embarked on a search for my space in this city.
I've had a unique deep-dive into the culture of brokers in the city. Being Bangalore, the first dilemma was what language to converse in-they speak every possible South Indian language, and Hindi and English to boot. They are all men, some on bikes, some in cars. They also know everything about their tenants ('Oh these two girls work at PriceWaterHouse Coopers/Goldman Sachs/some IT company'). One even knew at what time a client's boyfriend picks her up to go out for a meal. All of us 'independent women' were being watched. Sigh.
Over the past few days, I saw a ground floor, damp flat with a rickety metal bed; a musty pink-walled flat where cigarette smoke had seeped into the walls; a tiny room on the top floor of a posh house with a slab of granite touted as the kitchen; and then a lovely little space at the top of an old house, in a quiet, leafy street.
So, a summary of what transpired:
'Yes, I'm interested in the flat.'
*Broker proceeds to check my fingers and neck for signs of marital status*
'Ok, just FYI, family is allowed to visit. No boyfriends, no parties.'
This in front of three men (two brokers, and Family Friend Head of Household, who was observably uncomfortable at this exchange). Overall, I'm not sure how to react. But then I remind myself I'm in India, and there are spaces and places for airing disagreement and frustrations, and this was not one of them. I shook my head, laughed and proclaimed that I will be 'well behaved', but was clear that I would have friends and family visiting , and if this was a problem I wanted out. There was uncomfortable nodding between all the concerned parties, and the deal was made. I had a house.
I move in tomorrow, after said Family Friend helps me organise a small puja to bless the place (much to the relief of my mother, who is convinced that this will mitigate all the potential horrors that might occur, since my stars aren't aligned apparently).
I'm more anxious and nervous than excited, but I can't wait for that milk to boil over in two days, signifying the beginning of my sojourn in Bangalore.
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