Realty Strikes

Real estate has a metallic sound to it. Like steel shearing against concrete. Stuff that can put the best mettles to test. The chronicler, however does not refer to those glistening skins that characterize a yeomen brandishing his skill with a brick in one hand and mortar in the other. What he intends to put in perspective are the uncanny dynamics of renting out a dwelling for himself. When legends come to life, it can get unsavory at times and I realized this the hard way. The prospect of searching for a "house" would always have been daunting given my comatose inclinations. Add to that, taking the challenge on in a burgeoning metropolis we call Bangalore. The buck doesnt stop here. To a budget you would assume to be enough to buy you royalty, the adjective of "shoe string" gets attached before you could say "damn". The prices at which they rent out square feet makes you curse the almighty for giving you two of them. Then, there are other parameters except space that you would try to juggle with, to balance with your pocket. Ventillation ( why do you need to breathe ), wardrobes, a tiled loo or a wash basin, they all come at a separate cost. You may figure out to your own peril that these form a mutually exclusive set when it comes to a single house. Though, if you have those fortunate set of eyes that get to see an abode that defies convention, the rentals would probably be out of your reach, both financially and numerically. Welcome to the real(ty) world. It takes a couple of weekends to realize the aforementioned truths that adorn a house searcher's predicament. The next couple start with the resignation of either living with a obnoxious landlord or without a regular electiricity supply. This is where you encounter the fine print. Requests that say " Sir, we would prefer if you can avoid mid night jamborees " actually are threats of eviction if you string so much as a guitar after 10 in the night. Overheads amounting to a third of the rent you agreed to come out of their dormant state to catch you on the wrong foot ( you dont really have the space for feet as I mentioned ). You are however expected to be condescending to the good samaritans who entertain you and make allowances of showing you the place you want to live in before hand. The security deposits quoted can truly take your breath away if you have managed to save any after these jaunts. (Land)lord save my soul. And, to take you through these throes of emotion is the main protagonist of our chronicle, the "real estate agent". What stops potential land lords from advertsing a "to let" is beyond me ( may be its the sound that it makes ) but this little aversion has sprouted an industry that may well be Don Quixote' s holy grail. These real estate agancies may boast of the best earnings to effort ratios that you may ever come across. Whisking you away on their privileged bikes to corners you never knew existed, they would expose you to the landscape that seemed so oblivious to you a day ago. A month's rent is what you will have to part with as their "consultation" fee. Never knew, you can be paid like a merchant banker for your wanderlust. Suffices to say that they consider it their cardinal duty to fix you up with one of those "avenues". The search borders on the lunatic and its a lucky bloke who gets to say "home, sweet home" at the end of it.

Fire in the Belly

Ushering in the new year with a bang makes for a good figurative mention at binges that are so characteristic of this bulging metropolis. Abstemious behaviour on my part doesnt really put a spanner in the works. Although, Bangaloreans did manage to experience the bang literally to their own chagrin. Its more often than not that you hear shots of raging intellectual fire at the apostle of knowledge that the IISc is. Verbal barrages apart, it found itself in line of some real fire at the fag end of the year. Indiscriminate firing, the news reports blared but to me, it was a case of some serious discrimination. Knocking at the very doors of that hallowed institute, the perpetrators have sounded us on our vulnerability. Only if it was the fear of mortal peril, I wouldnt have found the incident worthy enough to find a mention here. However, the shackles it puts on our thought process is what deserves to be put in perspective. We now need gun toting police men around us to feel secure. Thoughts of attending public functions and institutes of repute fill us with apprehension than pride. Our nerves display such frailty that a panic attack is triggered even by preposterous rumours. Isnt gunning down a professor every bullet worth it if it meets these ends. We are no longer touted as a safe haven for business and the proposition of losing my bread fills me with much more dread and pain that a bullet can. Something inside me tells me that the only way out of this gloom is to avoid the very submission I have alluded to. Should the IISc function under surveillance. Do I keep looking for possible attacks from every car that stops besides me? Do I avoid crowded places and functions that celebrate my very being. I have decided not to, not because it sounds like a Herculean task but because thats my reply to the conundrum these veiled men pose before me.