Friday, 20 July 2007
Tell me what to do
I have a serious problem.
The hansta khelta undivided parivar staying on the floor above me is a maha loaded one. They are rolling in black money, which explains the new top-end cars and premium apartments they purchase every other month. They are medium scale industrialists, and have a booming family business. And one of the things they do when excessive black money gets accumulated, is to renovate their various houses every other day. “Humko Dharamji jaisa makaan chahiye,” is their single line brief to the decorator.
So am I feeling jealous? Well, not entirely, though I would love to have been born in a family that’s raking in big-time, who wouldn’t? But I have a different problem. I am really worried about the constant ‘renovations’ they keep doing, literally on top of my head. The perpetual deafening noises the workers make is the least of my problems. I am really worried about the damage they could be causing to the beams and the pillars, as walls come crashing down to seamlessly merge the bedrooms and the toilets and the kitchen with one another. Will not the regular overhauls weaken the skull of the building, is my big fear. The other day I narrowly missed instant death, as the ceiling fan came loose because of the heavy marble tiling that’s underway right above, and the damn thing fell right on top of my pillow (mercifully I was away at work.)
Now here’s my dilemma: I feel totally helpless. There’s no point complaining to the building society, as this particular family is not just ‘well-connected’, it has ensured their own members are an intrinsic part of the management committee. In other words, any complain would reach the mahogany desk of head of that very family, and am worried in their khunnas, they might instruct the masons to hammer around even harder. So that option’s out.
Then again, there’s no point sneaking to the municipal ward officers. If these gents haven’t already been bribed, they WILL be after I meet them, and all I will end up with is paan stains on my shirt.
The option of going to the police does not exist, they’d laugh and advise, “Baat cheet se settle karo do, bhai.” And the acronym RTI sounds like 120 days of privilege leave to me.
So all I do is pray. Pray that they aren’t damaging the pillars and the beams. Pray that the building won’t come down on my head one fine day. All I can do is bloody pray.
And am sure I am not alone in this situation. Corruption and greed has brought upon us many evils in this country. Death under the debris of you own sweet home is just one of them.