mumbai ranks just after new york and shanghai as far as real estate or rather the lack of it goes. and since we've just plunged into house buying mode, and are still gasping for breath, here's a short guide to buying a house in mumbai.
A for Arrrrk. The first sound that'll escape your throat. half stangulated, half gasped out as you hear the price. please make sure you are not eating anything or standing near sharp objects.
B for Broker. That oily, perpetually smiling individual who's making the most of the property boom. His job is to convince you that a 400 sq feet apartment that was going for 2 million a month back is now worth 24 million. his job is to convince you that a fat loan that'll have you slaving for the next 20 years is a great idea. his job is to make you pay more than you ever dreamt of.
C for Carpet Area.That's how you have an idea of the the actual area of the house you're buying. Another matter that by the time you are done, there's no money for a carpet.
D for Deal: The one word that everyone in bombay understands. A slight nod, a gentle shake of the head, a twitching of the lips, some handshakes, and if you're lucky a cheap sweet or two. All the signs of a good deal.
E for Enos: One sachet a day keeps indigestion away. Loans, deals, black, white, EMI, just mix, wait for it to fizz and swallow.
F for Flat. Also called apartment or matchbox.
G for God. The second word that escapes your lips after Arrrck. (Please refer to A for Arrck).
H for Height. Here you pay extra for every floor you climb. You still get to see slums, and people doing potty, but from the 15th floor it probably looks pretty.
I for Incredible. Which is how the broker describes evrything. A tiny loo where you'll have to stand in the pot to shower. A poky bedroom where if you turn twice on the bed, you'll land in the kitchen. A 4 million house that's bang slap in the middle of a slum. A garden house that's actually a room in someone else's garden. Everything is incredible.
J for Joona. As in old. As in hope. Because in Mumbai, the only thing you'll ever be able to buy is not a shiny new flat, but a juna one. Decaying, crumbling, mouldy, but what the heck...this is real estate in Mumbai.
K for Kya Madame. A favourite phrase used by all brokers. As in " What Madame." Said in hurt tones. Usually uttered just after you have accused him of showing you flats way over your budget. Kya madame is followed by a small discourse on how he doesn't consider you a client but a friend/sister/mother/aunt, and is only thinking about your well being. Most "kya madame" performances are worthy of an oscar or two.
L for Lucky. Which is always someone else. So when you are house hunting, friends and relatives will all tell you about Lucky Sumit who bought his house before the boom. Lucky Madhu who got a steal. Lucky Kamal who's landlord pratically begged him to buy the house, that also at half the price. Grrr. I want to bite them all.
M for money. Black or white. Cheque or cash. Loan or ready. Have or not.
(N to Z to be cont)
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Thursday, November 23, 2006
the last bow
I blame Mr Galliano. And the Famous Five.
The word circus will always remind me of pretty caravans, campfires, boiled eggs, packs of dogs doing tricks. Clowns, trapeze artists, lion tamers, elephant handlers. Who loved their animals and lived merry lives as they went from one pretty town to another.
In fact as a child whenever my parents scolded me, I felt smug in the knowledge that someday I would run away to the circus. And my parents would miss me fantastically. I of course would be busy learning how to work with elephants and big cats, and eating hot scones and hard boiled eggs. And would never think of them till the circus visited their town. And one bright night, my parents would be sitting under the big top ( for some reason my mom would be wearing a shawl and my dad a suit), and as the trumpets would blow, the band would start, and I'd march out in my shiny tights, leading little Jumbo. My mom would scream and go hysterical with delight. My dad would try and remain stoic, but a few tears would roll down his cheeks. And then they'd gather me in their arms, and hug me over and over again. I of course would be happy to see them, but the lure of hot scones and hard boiled eggs would be too great to resist.
and these day dreams always ended with my dad driving a red caravan. my mom in a gypsy skirt, same shawl over her shoulders sitting on the steps of the caravan chatting with dad. And me up ahead, on an elephant.
I stopped going to the circus when I was about 10. when I realised that Mr Galliano was a fraud. The animals looked starved. The performers looked unhappy. And the last time I left the circus in tears, after trying hard to get the dog trainer to stop using a sharp iron rod on the dogs. I was holding up the performance, things got ugly and my cousin dragged me out.
last week I saw the mast of a big top. The circus was in town. A part of me was dying to go. A part of me was repulsed and upset. I still really wanted to believe the circus would be happy, and cheerful. Then I thought I'd play safe, just stroll around outside, take pictures, soak in the atmosphere, see the fantastically couloured signs on the window.
But I never went.
Instead yesterday, when I knew the circus was gone I went online to find out. And I found what I suspected I would find.
Great Indian Circus walks the tightrope
By: Kanika Parab November 10, 2006
A circus is supposed to lighten you up, suffuse your being with a warm feeling and an edge of tension: Will the juggler drop that fifth ball? Will the two motorcyclists in the bubble collide? Will the rifle shooter miss the balloon and shoot her head instead? Will the tightrope walker make it to the other side?
And when they finally do, there’s a flood of relief, an inching back from the edge of the seat, and a smile leading to an applause that’s fighting to be heard over the merry circus waltz. And now that protected wild animals no longer feature in the scheme of things, there’s all the more reason to celebrate. Or at least we thought so.
Disinterested performers, average acts When we visited Kohinoor Circus at Mahim last Wednesday, the vibe seemed disconnected from the carnivalesque feel that every travelling circus adds to a city. Visiting Mumbai from Kolkata, most of the performers seemed disinterested and tired, and could barely manage a smile as they entered the ring.
The audience (if a handful of people can be called that) pinned their hopes on the clowns, but they too failed to infuse life into the big top. After a string of average performances, and sloppy in-between acts, we finally found someone who succeeded in keeping the circus spirit alive — the juggler. His acts didn’t entail anything we hadn’t seen before, but his startling precision and fanfare was like a breath of fresh air on that muggy November evening.
As the evening extended into night, the acts got better, with electrifying rifle shooters and daredevil motorcyclists between 7.30 pm and 8.30 pm. We hoped the ban on wild animals would make room for innovation. No such luck. Laughing at disabilities and clapping at a bunch of scared and seemingly-unhealthy dogs performing tricks, is still our idea of a circus.
Other participating animals included horses, elephants and Australian parrots. The nostalgia that came with sitting under a circus tent transformed lifeless performers into graceful acrobats, and filled empty chairs with laughing faces, but not for long.
Who will revive the circus?A peek behind the tent revealed why fatigue hangs heavy in the air above the circus. Maybe the performers didn’t care enough because they are paid a pittance. Maybe the audience, who didn’t know any better, missed the wild animals. And the circus owner was probably struggling to rise above the staggering rent that our city demands. Publicity manager Farhad Ansari couldn’t have put it better.
“The circus is heaving its last breath,” he said, pointing to hole-ridden tent top. “Our collection in Mumbai has been dismal, thanks to multiplexes and malls. Our costs involve travelling, feeding and paying over 170 artists, ground rental charges and newspaper ads.” And in the last stage of its life, even the government is doing little to revive this dying art. “They don’t ease up on permission hassles, NOCs and taxes,” Ansari said.
With an almost 0% profit rate in Mumbai, owners believe that circus collections have taken a beating thanks to the ban on wild animals. And while most rope in foreign artists to attract audiences, Kohinoor cannot afford this. “Sometimes, I wonder how we are still hanging on,” said the circus managers, as the 7 pm show came to an end.
The word circus will always remind me of pretty caravans, campfires, boiled eggs, packs of dogs doing tricks. Clowns, trapeze artists, lion tamers, elephant handlers. Who loved their animals and lived merry lives as they went from one pretty town to another.
In fact as a child whenever my parents scolded me, I felt smug in the knowledge that someday I would run away to the circus. And my parents would miss me fantastically. I of course would be busy learning how to work with elephants and big cats, and eating hot scones and hard boiled eggs. And would never think of them till the circus visited their town. And one bright night, my parents would be sitting under the big top ( for some reason my mom would be wearing a shawl and my dad a suit), and as the trumpets would blow, the band would start, and I'd march out in my shiny tights, leading little Jumbo. My mom would scream and go hysterical with delight. My dad would try and remain stoic, but a few tears would roll down his cheeks. And then they'd gather me in their arms, and hug me over and over again. I of course would be happy to see them, but the lure of hot scones and hard boiled eggs would be too great to resist.
and these day dreams always ended with my dad driving a red caravan. my mom in a gypsy skirt, same shawl over her shoulders sitting on the steps of the caravan chatting with dad. And me up ahead, on an elephant.
I stopped going to the circus when I was about 10. when I realised that Mr Galliano was a fraud. The animals looked starved. The performers looked unhappy. And the last time I left the circus in tears, after trying hard to get the dog trainer to stop using a sharp iron rod on the dogs. I was holding up the performance, things got ugly and my cousin dragged me out.
last week I saw the mast of a big top. The circus was in town. A part of me was dying to go. A part of me was repulsed and upset. I still really wanted to believe the circus would be happy, and cheerful. Then I thought I'd play safe, just stroll around outside, take pictures, soak in the atmosphere, see the fantastically couloured signs on the window.
But I never went.
Instead yesterday, when I knew the circus was gone I went online to find out. And I found what I suspected I would find.
Great Indian Circus walks the tightrope
By: Kanika Parab November 10, 2006
A circus is supposed to lighten you up, suffuse your being with a warm feeling and an edge of tension: Will the juggler drop that fifth ball? Will the two motorcyclists in the bubble collide? Will the rifle shooter miss the balloon and shoot her head instead? Will the tightrope walker make it to the other side?
And when they finally do, there’s a flood of relief, an inching back from the edge of the seat, and a smile leading to an applause that’s fighting to be heard over the merry circus waltz. And now that protected wild animals no longer feature in the scheme of things, there’s all the more reason to celebrate. Or at least we thought so.
Disinterested performers, average acts When we visited Kohinoor Circus at Mahim last Wednesday, the vibe seemed disconnected from the carnivalesque feel that every travelling circus adds to a city. Visiting Mumbai from Kolkata, most of the performers seemed disinterested and tired, and could barely manage a smile as they entered the ring.
The audience (if a handful of people can be called that) pinned their hopes on the clowns, but they too failed to infuse life into the big top. After a string of average performances, and sloppy in-between acts, we finally found someone who succeeded in keeping the circus spirit alive — the juggler. His acts didn’t entail anything we hadn’t seen before, but his startling precision and fanfare was like a breath of fresh air on that muggy November evening.
As the evening extended into night, the acts got better, with electrifying rifle shooters and daredevil motorcyclists between 7.30 pm and 8.30 pm. We hoped the ban on wild animals would make room for innovation. No such luck. Laughing at disabilities and clapping at a bunch of scared and seemingly-unhealthy dogs performing tricks, is still our idea of a circus.
Other participating animals included horses, elephants and Australian parrots. The nostalgia that came with sitting under a circus tent transformed lifeless performers into graceful acrobats, and filled empty chairs with laughing faces, but not for long.
Who will revive the circus?A peek behind the tent revealed why fatigue hangs heavy in the air above the circus. Maybe the performers didn’t care enough because they are paid a pittance. Maybe the audience, who didn’t know any better, missed the wild animals. And the circus owner was probably struggling to rise above the staggering rent that our city demands. Publicity manager Farhad Ansari couldn’t have put it better.
“The circus is heaving its last breath,” he said, pointing to hole-ridden tent top. “Our collection in Mumbai has been dismal, thanks to multiplexes and malls. Our costs involve travelling, feeding and paying over 170 artists, ground rental charges and newspaper ads.” And in the last stage of its life, even the government is doing little to revive this dying art. “They don’t ease up on permission hassles, NOCs and taxes,” Ansari said.
With an almost 0% profit rate in Mumbai, owners believe that circus collections have taken a beating thanks to the ban on wild animals. And while most rope in foreign artists to attract audiences, Kohinoor cannot afford this. “Sometimes, I wonder how we are still hanging on,” said the circus managers, as the 7 pm show came to an end.
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