Last Man in Tower - Aravind Adiga [31]
The old accountant said: “Come to our room and have a small peg, Masterji.”
“Not tonight, Mr. Pinto.”
“We have the Amaretto. Tony’s gift. Let’s have a peg. A peg each.”
Mr. Pinto had a wonderful liqueur, brought by his son Tony on his most recent visit from America, and sipped only on treasured nights. Masterji understood that this was in the nature of an apology, and touched his friend’s shoulder, before walking up to his own flat.
Vakola at night: the red neon cross of St. Antony Church glows over the main road. Vendors of paani-puri bhelpuri, and gulab jamuns suspended in sugar syrup feed the tidal waves of tired humans coming in from the train station. Plastic watches, metal locks, toys for children, sandals, and T-shirts punctuate the offerings of food.
Across the road, the lights are on at the Renaissance Real-Estate Agency.
Vakola is not a suburb where real-estate brokers become rich. At least four operate just along the main road. Of these, Renaissance is the most attractive; spacious, bright, its glass door painted with an image of Lord Krishna playing his flute in the magic gardens of Brindavan.
Inside, seated at his steel desk, Ramesh Ajwani, looked up from a copy of the real-estate pages of the Times of India. Mani, his assistant, had opened the glass door to allow a young woman to enter.
Ajwani removed his half-moon glasses, and motioned for the visitor to sit.
How nice, he thought, to find a young woman in this modern day who can wear a sari well.
A radiant sky-blue, cut perhaps a bit low.
Her English was better than his; he noted this with pleasure.
A two-bedroom for herself, a working woman, unmarried, with both parents living with her. One-year rental lease of the renewable nature. Range of Rs 15,000 to 20,000.
Ajwani, as was his habit, added 10 per cent to the upper range of the figure quoted, and thought at once of a set of places to show her. He put his hands on his table and leaned in to the woman.
“You seem to think I am a broker, miss?”
Ajwani’s dark, pockmarked face was so unusual for his community that clients routinely mistook him for a South Indian—a good thing, he felt, because South Indians, unlike Sindhis, are known as an honest people. He was stocky, thick-necked, wore blue or cream safari suits, and smelled of Johnson’s Baby Powder.
The woman in the sky-blue sari recovered. “Yes,” she said. “Aren’t you?”
“I am not.”
Parallel engraved lines slanted high on Ajwani’s cheeks, like facial gills, adding a touch of menace to his grin.
“I will not do what every other broker in this city does. I will not lie to you. Will not say a building is ‘virtually new’ if it is forty years old; will not gloss over peculiarities in the neighbours, seepages and leakages in roof or walls. I believe in accurate information—for myself and for my clients. Please look at the wall. My three gods are up there.”
The young woman saw a full-length framed portrait of the Sai Baba and another one of the god Balaji in his 24-carat-gold costume at Tirupati.
“The third one is my most important god. Do you know his name? Please take a closer look at him. Go to the wall, please.”
The woman in the blue sari did as she was told; in between the deities she saw a small printed list.
KNOW YOUR FACTS
One BHK (Bedroom Hall Kitchen)
Two BHK (Two Bedroom Hall Kitchen)
Three BHK (Three Bedroom Hall Kitchen)
Deposit: Multiple of rent—up to six months
“Token” Money—must be paid
NOC (No Objection Certificate, from Secretary of Society)—must be given
Police Clearance Certificate (from local station)—broker will obtain
Passport-size photo (x2)—needed. Proof of Employment—a must
Carpet area; Built-up area; Super built-up area—know the difference
Leave-and-Licence Agreement: who pays for stamp paper? Decide first
Types of renters: Family, Single Bachelor, Company Bachelor, NRI, Foreign Passport—who are you?
Standing behind the broker, she noticed that his right foot, having slipped out of its slipper, was opening and closing the lowest drawer of