Bombay, India
Namaste!
Most of the day was spent over formalities associated with renting the studio on which I have so set my heart--the one on St. Monica's Road, off St. Paul's Road, in Bandra. But I am not a novice at such deal-making, having rented apartments in New York, London and Paris over the years. Funnily enough, this is the first time I am renting in my own native city!
Sleep was still fitful--I awoke at 4.00 am and found it hard to fall asleep again. Reading Real Simple magazine on my tablet through Flipster, the new app to which I have been introduced by my libraries friend Leslie Frost Mahtani from Westport, Connecticut, gave me something more constructive to do that merely counting sheep. You download the latest editions and when you are done, you can 'return' the magazine and rent another. The book I am reading, also on my tablet, The Girl in the Water by Paula Hawkins (author of the best-selling The Girl on the Train) is turning out to be so complex and so morbid that I have decided to abandon it. There are two plots that are unfolding simultaneously because it turns out there are two deaths by drowning that are being investigated at the same time. Then, suddenly and inexplicably, the scene shifts to the mid-1600s and the witches of Massachusetts are brought into the picture. There is rape, there is sibling rivalry, there are mother-daughter squabble--you name it, this book has it. Extremely tedious and worthy of being abandoned-which is exactly what I am going to do. I will be downloading another one right away.
Breakfast was predictable: the housekeeper made me two eggs and a cup of coffee. And then began the business of the day.
A Second Viewing of the Studio I Like:
Veera, my real estate cousin, suggested that we visit the apartment again since I have decided to go with it. I need to turn on the faucets and find out if there is running water, if the geyser works in the bathroom, if the door leading from the studio to the balcony has a lock; ditto with the windows overlooking the kitchen area. Security is my main concern and I would like to be sure that I will be safe--well, as reasonably safe as one can expect to be, in this day of serial rapes and gunpoint robberies.
I decided to take my Dad Robert along to see the place and give me the benefit of his opinion. He was equally keen to see the place and we were both delighted to discover that if we use a different route to get from his apartment to this potential new home of mine, it is less than five minutes on foot!
The agent Yusuf met Veera and the two of us and, in a few minutes, we were upstairs and Yusuf was throwing open the door to the studio. Much conversation followed and when Yusuf could not answer my questions, he suggested that he send for the owner who could do so. Accordingly, we had to wait for about an hour before a young man turned up. He turned out to be on Sameer who was extraordinarily presentable and very well-spoken. He also turned out to be very refined, polished and well-educated--a man after my own heart. Veera agreed (and so did my Dad) that I had lucked out in finding a really wonderful landlord who seemed to care more about the satisfaction his tenants than being bothered by their peeves. I received a very good feeling from him.
When he had answered all our questions, he gave me further information on the steps needed to finalize the deal. As in all parts of the world, in these days of money-laundering and terrorist activity, great care is taken to ensure the real identity of international tenants and I have to produce a slew of documents to prove mine. Formalities and technicalities pertaining to police checks, verification of every sort imaginable, etc. will also be carried out.
I am aware that each country has its own peculiar laws and rules with regards to the installing of amenities. For instance, in the UK, one cannot watch TV without paying for a TV license. In India, too, there are rules and regulations. Someone has to undertake registration of the apartment on my behalf. Yusuf will probably take care of it. For my part, I have to worry about modes and methods of paying rent: for instance, Veera informed me that I will need to provide checks that will cover all my monthly rent payments at the very outset—each one will be cashed at the beginning of each month. I am quite intrigued and willing to learn the ropes. At each stage, I am being asked to produce my PAN card (which I have) and an Aadhar card (which I do not)—these are equivalent to the US Social Security Card and number and are related to Indian taxation. It is amazing how many stations I will have to make—bank, police-precinct, etc. before I am quite done with the transaction. But again, this is normal--it is global protocol; not just restricted to India. In fact, I pleased to find that in Modi's India, there is compliance with international laws. And the delay will work well for me as I am leaving for 3 weeks in China and South Korea and will not return to Bombay until the end of August. I will be ready to occupy the new studio only come September.
Home for Lunch--but first, the Cobbler:
Dad took me home via his favorite cobbler on our way back. The idea was to see if he had returned to his habitual spot after being away for the monsoon. And guess what? There he was! Dad introduced me to him and told him that I'd soon be bringing a ton of footwear for him to repair. Needless to say, the charges would be a fraction of what we'd have paid in the US. As if this were not enough, the cobbler would be working on the repair of our shoes right away and would hand deliver the finished product to Dad's home! Wonders never cease when you live in Bombay!
Poor Dad was, in his words, "dead beat" by the time we got home--an easy stroll of another ten minutes. Mission Accommodation had left him exhausted and I realized, once again, how depleted of energy reserves we get once we hit our 80s! It was not long before the housekeeper got our lunch ready--a smorgasbord of all the leftovers from the lunch Dad had hosted for his grand kids yesterday. Lunch done, I left Dad to finish so that I could catch forty winks!
Doing Sundry Errands and Off to the Bank...Again!
After lunch, it was time for Dad to round up my bank books and for me to run there to deposit some money as Sameer had told me to meet him at his home in the evening to hand him the deposit check. But first I headed to the cobbler to leave him a bag of odd shoes for repair in a cloth bag. Big Bombay Aside: The city (probably even the state of Maharashtra) has banned the use of all plastic bags by September 1, 2018, in an attempt to stem environmental destruction. I understand that plastic bottles are to follow. Western countries, such as the UK, had made concerted attempts to cut down on the number of such bags by charging for them at grocery and departmental stores. It is something to which I am accustomed, having lived in London for a long while and avoiding the payment of 5p per bag. India seems to have turned Draconian with no bags allowed, period.
Anyway, from the bank I headed to the photocopy place to get multiple copies of my identity documents as, doubtless, I will be asked to produce them for all the utilities I wish to install in my new digs--cable, internet, mobile phone service, etc. I found the place hounded by young college students facing a deadline for registration of their new courses. Everything needs to be done online these days--woe betide you if you do not possess a laptop or have access to a personal computer. Thankfully, these roadside outfits are kind and compassionate towards these under-privileged students and I was heartened to find at least two of the men whose stores I patronize, Ajit and Jay, go out of their way to help these young students.
Hence, my desire to get a passport photo taken (for which I am already being asked to produce multiple copies) took longer than I expected--the photographer Ajit was using his computer to help nervous students. The photocopy man Jay, next door to him, carried out my job but told me to come back after 6.00 pm to discuss the matter of a mobile phone plan. These aspects of life in Bombay--daily life as it lived by millions, not the tourist's life--is what I am being exposed to through my quest for rented accommodation and all the amenities that goes with it.
Then, it was off to the bank at 3.15 (fighting the clock, as the bank closes at 4.00 pm). You could say there has not been a dull moment since I arrived in Bombay.
But then In Bombay, You Can Bank on Nothing!
It was a huge wild goose chase, really. Computers in the State Bank of India were down and deposits were impossible. My attempts to credit money into my account yielded zero results. I watched as the staff declared their helplessness. Luckily, I ran into a friend, Karen and her brother, and chatting to them made the couple of hours pass by. Yes, I had finally run into a dull moment! One of my bank accounts had expired and become inoperable for lack of activity during the past year. How NRIs (Non-Resident Indians) can be expected to keep banking activity going within a year is a bit of a mystery to me as so many of us come down to India just once in three or four years. No point grumbling over it, I decided. To reinstate the account, I needed to fill yet another KYC (Know Your Customer) form. It helped little to note that the bank has known me for donkey's years--for although I have been a patron for decades, the bankers change every year and the ones with whom I develop warm relationships disappear each time I return to Bombay! That hurdle jumped as well, my KYC questionnaire was declared 'passed' and my dormant account reawakened. Would my deposit go through at this stage? No siree Bob! At the end of the day (literally...for the bank had closed and all patrons departed!), I was told to return on the morrow when a fresh attempt would be made to deposit my money.
Another Set-Back...
I was, by this stage, dying for a cup of tea and I made one for Dad and myself as soon as I returned home (which was, basically and fortunately, just across the street). I intended to keep my appointment to pay my deposit to Sameer but when I called to tell him I was on my way, he asked if he could postpone our meeting as he was stuck in another one in Byculla! Good job I had called him before settling out--which is going to be my practice from now on. Always call, get confirmation that an appointment will be kept, before journeying towards it! Live and learn, right? I am becoming a fast learner.
Off to Church with Dad:
With the evening now relatively free, I was able to join Dad at Church for the Wednesday Novena to Our Mother of Perpetual Succor (to whom I have had a huge devotion since I was sixteen!) followed by daily Mass. I am meeting more friends, neighbors and parishioners as the days pass and I venture towards varied chores and practices--which was the case today. It is an aspect of church-going that I love in India--or, more specifically, in Bombay where everyone seems to know everyone else and 'visiting' outside church after Mass is commonplace. It never fails to add to my sense of a warm homecoming when this happens.
After Mass, on our stroll home (for Dad had recovered well from his fatigue of the morning), he revealed to me his pride in having initiated the Novena in our parish, a full fourteen years ago. Despite his failed eyesight and inability to read the petitions that are offered each week, he is soldiering on with the intention of completing fifteen years of having conducted the service in our parish. I think it is a worthy milestone and one worth aspiring towards.
Dinner and Bed:
My brother Russel's daily attendants--he has a day one and a night one--switch duties at 8.00 pm and we reached home as one was leaving and the other commenced his shift. Russel's arthritis has made him largely homebound for it has left him with very limited mobility. My observation is that his left knee that was badly affected and hugely swollen is being joined now by the right--which is also showing signs of ballooning rapidly.
Dad served Russel his dinner which the night attendant supervised as Russel eats in his room (he joins us at the dining table daily for breakfast and lunch). I cherish these times with my Dad and my brother--they are the reason I feel so fortunate to have received this Fulbright Fellowship; they allow me to kill two birds with one stone. In a bit, Dad and I sat down to eat our dinner and to chat away the day's doings.
By 9.00 pm, when Dad turned on the telly to listen to the news (the big story is the death of Tamil Nadu politico Karunanidhi who created controversy over his place of final rest even as he breathed his last--a matter that reached the High Court for resolution), I retired to my room to get ready for a shower. My eyes were closing in church as jet lag is still dogging me. I felt the need to get into bed and I said Goodnight to all at 9.30 pm when I turned out the light after what had proven to be another enlightening day.
Until tomorrow, namaste....
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