House of Horror

Q: What is the similarity between a pimp and a property broker?

A: They both make a living exploiting man’s basic need.

Q: Why don’t sharks eat property brokers?

A: Professional courtesy.

You’ve heard countless horror stories to know the underlying reality behind these jokes. You know the truth is out there and its worse than you can imagine. You know you are going to be sucked into something horrible and there is no escaping it.

With trembling hands, you dial the number of a real estate agent. A paan-chewing voice floats across to you from what seems a great distance. You have to shout out your entire conversation, repeating your minuscule budget at least four times. When he finally catches on, the response is always the same: "Is that it? madam/sir? Can you extend it a little bit. You will never get anything in that limit."

"No, no," you say, and persevere, bravely listing all your dos and don’ts — higher floor, building with parking, a clean view etc, etc. "Yes, yes," he says, seeming to take it all down. After much to-ing and fro-ing, you agree to meet. And then your life descends into living hell.

"How will I recognise you?" you ask. "I will be wearing black pant and white shirt — outside ATM machine, madam." Like half of Bombay, but never mind. You get there on time and no one. Forget about a sea of penguin-like men you were expecting — the area is deserted. There isn’t even a black-shirted, white-trousered man. Half an hour later, from nowhere it seems, a really sleazy and yes, paan-chewing group of men approach you. "Are you sir/ madam," asks the white-booted and black-belted man. "Yeeeesss". And suddenly everyone whips out a visiting card and you find, in seconds, that you have your hands full.

Equally suddenly, everyone disbands. They leap on to motorbikes and you are flung into a passing `rick’. Hi-ho! Silver and aweigh! You are homeward bound.

The first place you reject from the outside. Straight off the bat. A 150-year-old tin also known in some circles as a jhoppad patti is not the sort of roof over your head that you have in mind. "But, madam this fits your budget perfectly."

"I said higher floor. This place is barely off the road." Move on.

"Madam next place, very good flat. With stilt parking."

He’s telling the truth — the entire building is propped up on stilts. It’s been condemned and the only thing preventing a complete crumble is the bamboo scaffolding. "Next place, sea view madam, very pretty." Sure. If you want to spend all your time on a ledge outside the tiny window in the bathroom — using binoculars to get a view of the Arabian Sea.

"Madam, perfect house for person like you. I knowing your tastes." A circular bed, covered in red velvet dominates the 350 sq ft flat. Everything in the house is a hand-span away from the bed — including a switch that makes the bed rock gently and then turn on its axis. Your dream house in its last avatar was a prostitute’s palace. You see homes of all shapes and sizes. One BHKs (bedroom-hall-kitchen) where the entrance to the hall is through the bathroom. Kitchens that house bedrooms and cupboards that contain bathrooms. The only consistent thing: whichever street you go down, the worst building will be the one identified for you by your agent. Unpaved compounds, wires in a tangle threatening to turn the corridor into a jungle, paan-stained hallways (brokers strike again) and lifts that have been under repairs for the last 12 years.

Everything you absolutely do not want. One time, one very rare time, a broker showed me a flat that I fell in love with. Huge windows, a view of the sea, clean marble floors, a bathroom next to the bedroom — right down to the swing in the balcony, it was perfect.

"Just a little over your budget," said my broker. "The owner is asking only Rs one crore, madam." And you had come armed with dreams and a cheque that fell short by way too many zeroes. Perhaps it would be better to start out with a hole in your head — imagine thinking you could buy your own flat. That too in Bombay. With piranhas snapping at your heels.

Nonita Kalra is features editor, The Indian Express