Pune and the monsoon seem to have fallen into each other's arms. Just when I thought their tryst was over, they decide to splash us all with some unexpected rains. Of course, we welcome them. No one wants to live with water problems, least of all we Puneiites. The last time I dealt with that problem was in July I think - I am not quite sure. What I am sure about is the tension I put myself through at that time.
Water - those days - was on ration or so the society I rent an apartment in had me believe. So, as per their rationale, since Pune hadn't quite received the rains that it should, we were expected to economize our usage of water. As a result of such lofty utopian thoughts, that only societies in Pune have time for, it was decided that water would be supplied for two hours in the morning and another two in the evening.
Well, it seemed like a brilliant idea till they mentioned the time slots for the water supply. It turned out that some smart fellow fixed 6:30 am to 8:30 am as the morning time slot and 7:30 pm to 9:30 pm as the evening time slot.
That was sheer disaster.
Nearly half the complex houses tenants - and nearly all (barring a few exceptions) work odd hours. The earliest one can expect anyone from this troop to arrive in the evening is, say, 7:30. And the latest is 12 and beyond. Not all of them stay with families here. And at that time, I, too, was a 'bachelor staying alone'.
Needless to say then, the society's own rules whipped up quite a recipe for mayhem. People bickered no end about the rules. Some even went and threatened the watchmen with dire consequences if they did not open the 'valves'. That lead to another meeting on the lawns. People were told the water problem is only temporary and that they must cooperate with the society, etc. etc.
So the tenants and the owners cooperated and bore it all till the society got a little too idealistic for its own good.
A fortnight or so later - after the water cuts were imposed - I read another notice near the lift. The sentences that grudgingly comprised its contents made it sound as if Pune was two cms. away from begging of us to let our taps run dry! The initial preamble pleaded its case about why water cuts were still essential and then - two or three paragraphs later - the notice dropped the bomb: Apparently, the water problem had gotten so severe that they had decided to cut down the water supply to merely an hour - in the evenings!
Of course, I am rather timid. I don't quite raise my voice and hardly - if ever at all - bother to point fingers at anyone. It's too much of an effort and the ensuing anxiety that accompanies such displays of disgust and annoyance is not something I have the time and energy for.
So, instead of flaying my arms in the air and allowing my tongue to wag with the choicest of 'Greek and Latin', I simply shrugged my shoulders, smiled at the watchman who had brought my attention to the notice, and took the lift to my apartment.
I don't quite remember why I awoke at 11 that particular night but I remember I did. I walked to the basin that made itself comfortable near the kitchen platform and spat in it. And I remember I turned the tap on by force of habit. And a minute later, I closed the tap and went back to bed.
---
The morning that sprung on me at 6:00 am brought its usual work list for me. I had to make tea, boil milk, wash the vessels, and also make it on time for the bus.
So, I began with brushing my teeth - something every 'clean bachelor' does. And I did remember feeling funny when I stood at the basin near the kitchen platform. Anyway, I got done with my brushing, finished with the milk and the tea and the washing, got dressed, and took the lift down to the ground floor.
The lift opened to the very same watchman from last evening. Only that this time, he had a broad smile splashed across his face every time he looked at the notice board. The notice had been torn down.
"What happened?"
"God knows saab."
"Really? And what about the water?"
"Oh that saab! That will be (for) 24 hours now."
"Really? What did happen?"
"Haha!" he laughed, as if three fights and two shouting matches had just taken place and he did not want to tell, "nothing saab nothing at all."
"Then who tore that down?"
"Oh that just happened."
"Just like that?"
"Haha! Saab, what to tell you! But now water will be (for) 24 hours!"
Well, I had a bus to catch and the bloody watchman - evidently - had a lot to not tell. Now, getting it out of him would take at least 15 minutes. And by the time, he would finish, my bus would have sped away leaving me at the mercy of the bloody ridiculous rickshaw drivers who revel in charging 200 times the actual fare.
So, I smiled - yet again - at the watchman, looked up at the sky, walked out of the gate, and smiled to myself.
After all, all I needed was water. And water - for 24 hours a day - is way too dearer than any itsy bitsy gossip about man, woman, fights, and scandal!
Water - those days - was on ration or so the society I rent an apartment in had me believe. So, as per their rationale, since Pune hadn't quite received the rains that it should, we were expected to economize our usage of water. As a result of such lofty utopian thoughts, that only societies in Pune have time for, it was decided that water would be supplied for two hours in the morning and another two in the evening.
Well, it seemed like a brilliant idea till they mentioned the time slots for the water supply. It turned out that some smart fellow fixed 6:30 am to 8:30 am as the morning time slot and 7:30 pm to 9:30 pm as the evening time slot.
That was sheer disaster.
Nearly half the complex houses tenants - and nearly all (barring a few exceptions) work odd hours. The earliest one can expect anyone from this troop to arrive in the evening is, say, 7:30. And the latest is 12 and beyond. Not all of them stay with families here. And at that time, I, too, was a 'bachelor staying alone'.
Needless to say then, the society's own rules whipped up quite a recipe for mayhem. People bickered no end about the rules. Some even went and threatened the watchmen with dire consequences if they did not open the 'valves'. That lead to another meeting on the lawns. People were told the water problem is only temporary and that they must cooperate with the society, etc. etc.
So the tenants and the owners cooperated and bore it all till the society got a little too idealistic for its own good.
A fortnight or so later - after the water cuts were imposed - I read another notice near the lift. The sentences that grudgingly comprised its contents made it sound as if Pune was two cms. away from begging of us to let our taps run dry! The initial preamble pleaded its case about why water cuts were still essential and then - two or three paragraphs later - the notice dropped the bomb: Apparently, the water problem had gotten so severe that they had decided to cut down the water supply to merely an hour - in the evenings!
Of course, I am rather timid. I don't quite raise my voice and hardly - if ever at all - bother to point fingers at anyone. It's too much of an effort and the ensuing anxiety that accompanies such displays of disgust and annoyance is not something I have the time and energy for.
So, instead of flaying my arms in the air and allowing my tongue to wag with the choicest of 'Greek and Latin', I simply shrugged my shoulders, smiled at the watchman who had brought my attention to the notice, and took the lift to my apartment.
I don't quite remember why I awoke at 11 that particular night but I remember I did. I walked to the basin that made itself comfortable near the kitchen platform and spat in it. And I remember I turned the tap on by force of habit. And a minute later, I closed the tap and went back to bed.
---
The morning that sprung on me at 6:00 am brought its usual work list for me. I had to make tea, boil milk, wash the vessels, and also make it on time for the bus.
So, I began with brushing my teeth - something every 'clean bachelor' does. And I did remember feeling funny when I stood at the basin near the kitchen platform. Anyway, I got done with my brushing, finished with the milk and the tea and the washing, got dressed, and took the lift down to the ground floor.
The lift opened to the very same watchman from last evening. Only that this time, he had a broad smile splashed across his face every time he looked at the notice board. The notice had been torn down.
"What happened?"
"God knows saab."
"Really? And what about the water?"
"Oh that saab! That will be (for) 24 hours now."
"Really? What did happen?"
"Haha!" he laughed, as if three fights and two shouting matches had just taken place and he did not want to tell, "nothing saab nothing at all."
"Then who tore that down?"
"Oh that just happened."
"Just like that?"
"Haha! Saab, what to tell you! But now water will be (for) 24 hours!"
Well, I had a bus to catch and the bloody watchman - evidently - had a lot to not tell. Now, getting it out of him would take at least 15 minutes. And by the time, he would finish, my bus would have sped away leaving me at the mercy of the bloody ridiculous rickshaw drivers who revel in charging 200 times the actual fare.
So, I smiled - yet again - at the watchman, looked up at the sky, walked out of the gate, and smiled to myself.
After all, all I needed was water. And water - for 24 hours a day - is way too dearer than any itsy bitsy gossip about man, woman, fights, and scandal!
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