JOIN USIt was a lazy Sunday afternoon. The special edition of the newspaper had been read bare. Only the Classifieds section remained to be thumbed through. My gaze fell upon the ‘Homes’ section. It read: “For immediate sale at Sunset Residency... two-bedroom apartment, semi-furnished, having hill view, with 24-hour water supply; round-the-clock security; hospital, market and college within walking distance; near to the airport; society with flower and fruit trees. Book today to get free club-membership!”
The money that had flowed into our joint account following our opting for ‘voluntary retirement’ was waiting to be invested. And here was a golden opportunity beckoning us.
I got off the bed from the right side, said some extra prayers, and picking up my cheque-book, left for the site.
Though the broker looked like a thoroughbred scamster, I had been roused by the claims of his advertisement and so, without second thoughts, I paid my advance sum towards the apartment and collected the receipt. On the next convenient weekend, my better-half and I sped towards our dream home to take possession.
And then started the true interpretation of the advertisement claims: The building had been named ‘Sunset Residency’ because the residents had co-operated to colour every nook and corner of the passages and staircase with orange and red paan stains, and made it resemble the brilliant colours of the setting sun. The house was “semi-furnished”... the sofa was lame; the dining table didn’t have its Sunmica top; the wardrobe door hung open; the curtains were so full of holes that they could qualify as premium lace curtains.
The “hill view” was nothing but the pathetic sight of the remains of a hillock that had been illegally quarried. The “24-hour water supply” had been attributed to the presence of an old well in the building compound that had more silt and debris in it than water.
“Round-the-clock security” was thanks to the team of stray dogs that barked and howled throughout the day and night as if there was no tomorrow. The “hospital” in the vicinity ensured that the ambulances with wailing sirens and somber-looking hearses would be parked in the society compound with the ‘permission’ of the building secretary.
The “market” behind the building led to the dumping of rotting vegetables and the subsequent blocking of the back gate. The boys of the nearby “college” would perch upon the compound wall, and their whistling led me to doubt whether they were enjoying a free show as seen through the broken window panes of our bathroom.
The “near-to-the-airport” facility ensured that with planes roaring overhead every five minutes, everyone would be an expert in identifying 747s and other cattle-class planes. Also, the old and the infirm with hearing problems would periodically spring to life on being shaken from their silent world by the rumbling.
The “fruit trees” happened to be a solitary jackfruit tree that bore fruit in season at such dizzying heights that it was impossible for anyone to get them. The “flowering plants” attracted special bees that were less interested in gathering nectar and more interested in plunging their sharp stings into the juicy posterior of anyone who happened to be around.
Phew, what a letdown! But I was not ready to let go yet. At least I was getting a “free club-membership”. I enquired about it with a fellow resident and I was somberly informed that the membership was of the laughter club that met every Sunday in the pump room of the building. We had to laugh at ourselves at the way we had been fooled into investing our spoils in this “dream home”!