It was at the end of September 2010 that we had agreed to vacated our house in Anand Niketan.
Papaji seemed fine with it as he was with initiating the check-out process a few days before we moved out. But once again, he forgot his promise. "I need to see the house in running condition," he said. "It won't take much time".
"Don't worry about your security deposit," chimed Auntieji. "Papaji is not-money minded. He is always giving money to charities."
As it turned out, Papaji was untraceable even when we were all packed up and ready to leave - on the D-day.
The phone-calls went unanswered as did the knocks on the passageway door. It was only on ringing the door-bell repeatedly that Papaji stepped out. "We could not co-ordinate with you because our phone has died," he said, even before I mentioned making repeated calls to his number.
A little while later, Papaji arrived with his Man Friday. Socket by socket and switch by switch, they started the inspection process. I didn't remember the house being handed over to us this way. "Everything is new and everything works", both Papaji and Auntieji had said in tandem. "Don't worry about the living room. Our sofa is arriving from Kashmir and will be there soon. And yes, the main bedroom will have a bed."
Man Friday kept checking for current in every socket and counted the number of bulbs that were fused in every room.
Until he came to the spare bedroom. The air-conditioner isn't working. Nor is the fan. Or the light. It's the same in the dining area - no fans or lights working here either.
Hang on, I thought. My little girl was playing here just a moment ago and the fan was definitely working.
"Sorry, looks like there is no current, " Man Friday sheepishly admitted.
After nearly an hour of checking if the water-heaters were dispensing hot water, the washing machine was working, the refrigerator was cool and almost putting his hand on the electric hot-plate (God bless him), Papaji went down for his calculations.
About 45 minutes later, I knocked on the door. "Give me some more time," Papaji said. "We are just checking if there has been a major damage to the property".
A major damage to the property? There was no major damage to the property. Didn't we just have an inspection?
Papaji and Man Friday was back in again soon after. Another round of inspections. Are the keys to all the doors there? Can the cupboards be locked up? Is the Water Purifier playing music when switched on? What about that hidden bulb? Does it work? Papaji still couldn't find any major damage.
After nearly three hours, Papaji had his list ready. Lots of plug-points needed replacement. All the bulbs and tube lights needed to change. The Water Purifier and Washing Machine needed mending. And some deductions needed to be made for bills unpaid. That, along with some earlier expenses, would come to 10,000 INR.
This didn't seem like the charitable man Auntieji had reassured me about. Unfortunately, she had suddenly taken ill and couldn't get out of bed on the day.
I told Papaji that the bulbs could not and never did work together. The wiring in the house was so old that an attempt to do this could blow up the house. As for the plug-points, they are exactly as they were when we moved in. In fact, a lot of those had to be changed by us as they posed a risk to our electrical appliances. The Water Purifier and Washing Machine never worked, and all the bills have been paid already.
What? The Water Purifier and Washing Machine were not working? You never told us. By this time Auntieji had come in too. She joined Papaji in expressing shock at the Water Purifier and Washing Machine situation.
My better half, who was patiently until this point, just walked off in a huff. That is blatant lying. Why would we buy water worth hundreds of rupees every month if the Purifier worked? And do I really need to remind you about time spent on Washing Machine?
This was the opportunity Auntieji was looking for. "You are nice man. Papaji always talks highly of you. But your better-half should not have walked away like this".
I reminded her of the kind of things that cause anger. Remember the sofa that had set out from Kashmir? It hasn't reached the house even a year after it allegedly reached Gurgaon (some 20 kilometres from the house). "Oh, that. That will never reach here. We were thinking of knocking down the house and turning it into a multi-storey building".
Needless to add, it was pointless to continue arguing. It had already been four hours since we packed up and day had moved into late-evening.
After some more haggling and digging my heels in, we brought the deduction down by 50%.
Suddenly, I could understand why "the previous tenant all his money back, only for Papaji to discover he had broken a few things in the house". The more plausible explanation seemed to be that the tenant just lost it after Papaji refused to return his money, and got his revenge by breaking a few thing!!
Showing posts with label landlady. Show all posts
Showing posts with label landlady. Show all posts
29 September 2010
21 May 2010
Papa ji's statement of account
Papa ji wanted to speak with you, the landlady said I walked in to hand over the monthly rent.
It was almost 10 in the night and I wasn't expecting the old man to be awake at this hour.
He wakes up early to run the local shakha of Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh. With a flag-pole in one hand and a milk-container in the other, I have seen Papa ji go to the local park every morning. There, he is joined by other old men in khaki shorts and white shirts. They do light exercises before the old man goes to the local dairy to pick up milk.
Papa ji was saying his prayers in a shoe-cupboard-turned-temple, just by the dining table. I have prepared a statement of account, he said pointing towards the table. Please have a look.
The file reflect a lifetime spent creating and pushing files in a government department. On one side was stapled an A4 sheet detailing expenditure related to our floor, with a summary of Advance Paid, Expenditure, Money Owed and a request for Further Advance. On the other side, were bills to illustrate the statement of account.
The last line of the statement caught my attention. Almost three grand for maintenance and refilling of gas for the air-conditioners.
That work had happened earlier in the evening. When I returned home, two guys were busy washing the air-conditioners in the house. The bathroom was covered in black soot and they were asking for more water. Looks like these air-conditioners haven't been serviced for a while, one of them said. The AC in living room was was nearly out of gas and the ones in the bedrooms are so dirty.
We had suspected a problem with the living room AC. Even hours after being switched on, it would hardly cool the room.
Purely by chance, the landlady called in some guys to service her air-conditioners this week. The ACs haven't been cooling the room so we are getting them serviced, she told my better-half. On being asked if the upstairs ACs could be looked at too, the landlady reluctantly agreed.
Now the old man wanted me to pick up the tab for that. And for the electrician's effort at mending a fan that wasn't working and had sparked off following his intervention. And for the door-bell that sparked off with the malfunctioning fan. And for the new fan that replaced the old one.
Can you please explain why should I pay for the servicing of air-conditioners? Because it has run out of gas due to your use. You must be joking. An AC doesn't run out of gas after just 20-odd days of use. Since you are using the AC, you must pay for any work on it. Sorry, I am only responsible for running costs like water, gas and electricity and for mending things which malfunction because of our misuse. Then, you must talk to Krishan.
Krishan? Who the hell was Krishan? And why should I talk to him? But before I could blurt these questions out, I realised it must be Mr Raina - the pudgy son of Papa ji. The landlady always refers to him as "Mr Raina, who works out of Jammu & Kashmir".
In my eight months in this house, I have rarely interacted with Mr Raina (Krishan). Whenever he is in town, he keeps to the house - watching religious programmes on TV channels or listening to religious songs.
He may be employed with the Indian government, as his name doesn't appear on any of the leases we have signed. The rent goes in the name of Papa ji, the landlady and her college-going son. I reckon none of them have any income apart from the rent, and are extremely unlikely to be paying tax.
But back to the statement of account. As I have mentioned in earlier posts, Papa ji is a hard of hearing - more so, when questioned about his financial demands.
Take the file with you as I have the photocopies, he said. When Krishan comes, you can discuss the payments with him.
It seemed sensible as I didn't wanted to spend the night talking to an almost-deaf man.
On returning upstairs, I noticed other gems in the statement. We are supposed to pick up the water costs of the entire property, and contribute towards the costs of plumber who comes in primarily to do the landlord's work!!
It was almost 10 in the night and I wasn't expecting the old man to be awake at this hour.
He wakes up early to run the local shakha of Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh. With a flag-pole in one hand and a milk-container in the other, I have seen Papa ji go to the local park every morning. There, he is joined by other old men in khaki shorts and white shirts. They do light exercises before the old man goes to the local dairy to pick up milk.
Papa ji was saying his prayers in a shoe-cupboard-turned-temple, just by the dining table. I have prepared a statement of account, he said pointing towards the table. Please have a look.
The file reflect a lifetime spent creating and pushing files in a government department. On one side was stapled an A4 sheet detailing expenditure related to our floor, with a summary of Advance Paid, Expenditure, Money Owed and a request for Further Advance. On the other side, were bills to illustrate the statement of account.
The last line of the statement caught my attention. Almost three grand for maintenance and refilling of gas for the air-conditioners.
That work had happened earlier in the evening. When I returned home, two guys were busy washing the air-conditioners in the house. The bathroom was covered in black soot and they were asking for more water. Looks like these air-conditioners haven't been serviced for a while, one of them said. The AC in living room was was nearly out of gas and the ones in the bedrooms are so dirty.
We had suspected a problem with the living room AC. Even hours after being switched on, it would hardly cool the room.
Purely by chance, the landlady called in some guys to service her air-conditioners this week. The ACs haven't been cooling the room so we are getting them serviced, she told my better-half. On being asked if the upstairs ACs could be looked at too, the landlady reluctantly agreed.
Now the old man wanted me to pick up the tab for that. And for the electrician's effort at mending a fan that wasn't working and had sparked off following his intervention. And for the door-bell that sparked off with the malfunctioning fan. And for the new fan that replaced the old one.
Can you please explain why should I pay for the servicing of air-conditioners? Because it has run out of gas due to your use. You must be joking. An AC doesn't run out of gas after just 20-odd days of use. Since you are using the AC, you must pay for any work on it. Sorry, I am only responsible for running costs like water, gas and electricity and for mending things which malfunction because of our misuse. Then, you must talk to Krishan.
Krishan? Who the hell was Krishan? And why should I talk to him? But before I could blurt these questions out, I realised it must be Mr Raina - the pudgy son of Papa ji. The landlady always refers to him as "Mr Raina, who works out of Jammu & Kashmir".
In my eight months in this house, I have rarely interacted with Mr Raina (Krishan). Whenever he is in town, he keeps to the house - watching religious programmes on TV channels or listening to religious songs.
He may be employed with the Indian government, as his name doesn't appear on any of the leases we have signed. The rent goes in the name of Papa ji, the landlady and her college-going son. I reckon none of them have any income apart from the rent, and are extremely unlikely to be paying tax.
But back to the statement of account. As I have mentioned in earlier posts, Papa ji is a hard of hearing - more so, when questioned about his financial demands.
Take the file with you as I have the photocopies, he said. When Krishan comes, you can discuss the payments with him.
It seemed sensible as I didn't wanted to spend the night talking to an almost-deaf man.
On returning upstairs, I noticed other gems in the statement. We are supposed to pick up the water costs of the entire property, and contribute towards the costs of plumber who comes in primarily to do the landlord's work!!
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