From the Other Fellow

The Other Fellow says: It was around 2 in the afternoon. The Duronto(Unstoppable) Express was already late by 4 odd hours. I made a luggage count and hoped that the cyclonic chaos of the Nizamuddin station would greet me by 4. At 3 the train rolled into platform no. 3 and a calm organized Nizamuddin platform welcomed the passengers. Much to my amazement, I was all settled at the New Oxford Inn by 4. The next three days were to be dedicated to house hunting. Moving to a new city and setting yourself up there is never easy and Delhi has its own bag of fireworks, read, en mass swindlers who’ll fleece you with their helping hands on your shoulders.
When I reached Noida the next day, I tried to sieve out prospective landlords from my preferred locations. At least, a middle man and his helping hand could be avoided. Within the next 4 hours I realized without a broker or middle man who has a comprehensive list of viable accommodations landing an apartment would be next to impossible. I met the real estate broker a couple of days later and naturally expected a helping hand on my shoulder. The weary, dusty apartment hunt started.

The first flat was owned by a certain Mr. Bisht who assured on call that his furnished and spacious one room apartment would be perfect for a single man. Apparently all it needed was a little bit of cleaning and one could move in. When I reached the place, I found a dirty 10ft by 6ft hall (I am 6ft 1 inch tall) to which a sorry kitchen and what any sane person would deem at best as a pay and use latrine was attached. Barring a bed no furniture was provided. Mr. Bisht insisted that the bed was credential enough for an apartment to be called furnished. He gloriously beamed and said I could come down and watch T.V with them when I asked him about T.V and other appliances.
Next on the list came Mr. Agarwal’s 2 bed room flat which was in such a prime area that if I didn’t finalise the deal as soon as possible it would be lapped up by someone else. On reaching the place, the concentrated odour of ghee made breathing difficult. He told me non-vegetarian food was not allowed in the house. After a while he said I could bring cooked meat into the apartment provided I sprinkle Ganga jal on the staircase later. I left the ghee factory quickly. Oxygen had never smelt better.

Mrs. Astak’s, Mr. Singh’s and Mrs. Jaiswal’s places passed by like another world. Mrs. Jaiswal, a nice motherly lady, proved particularly hilarious when she couldn’t understand how I could be 23 years old and not 26. What flabbergasted her even more was why I wasn’t married yet. Who cares if you’re 23, you must get married and “settled”.
The day after when all hope had been lost I found a nice warm place and a day later I moved in. The broker proved to be a reliable person and as a gesture of goodwill, waved 40% off his commission.
Now that I’m all settled in and a week at work has passed, I try and ready the lessons learnt. My media player is quietly continuing with “Wish you were here” and I tell myself that may be, apprehension and pre-conceived conclusions always don’t prove to be true. May be they do on 8 out of 10 occasions as was the case during the initial phase of the house hunt. However, that may not be reason enough to push into oblivion that little speck of a couple of occasions when things actually do work out as they should. “Wish you were here” for now.