How to convert a house into a home

One of the peculiarities of a life in the Navy is the frequent transfers. My time in the Navy, saw us move 15 times from city to city after marriage, which in turn, saw us convert about 22 houses into homes. Considering my married years in the Navy numbered 32, we moved houses thus, every 18 months on an average. Each of these houses left us with innumerable happy moments and some that helped build resilience. Allow me to dwell and the latter.

I got married in 1990 to a wonderful lady. The wonderful lady joined me at Mumbai a couple of months after marriage, once I had ‘managed’ our first ‘temporary’ house (such houses were allotted for short periods when the authorised one as per your entitlement was not available). Not any house mind you, this was a house on Marine Drive, Mumbai, near Jai Hind college. For those familiar with Mumbai, living on Marine Drive was a dream that very few could afford.  The real estate was prime, the address fashionable, the house……. well not so much.

The house allotting walas surprisingly, didn’t even bother to ‘hand over’ the house. Instead, they suggested that I go and ‘look over’ the house prior accepting. Silly unsuspecting me, excited as I was at the prospect of living on marine drive, disregarded their advice and ‘took over’ the house then and there, bypassing normal bureaucratic procedures. Fatal mistake.

House keys in pocket, I kicked my prized LML Vespa into action and arrived at the location. Lift not working. Unfazed, I legged it up to the third floor. House was on the left side of the main building corridor. Opened the house with the nervous expectation of a child opening his birthday present.   The door opened to a huge room. Roughly 30 feet into 25 feet. Mumbai guys will agree that that was huge. A cursory glance around showed me that the state of disrepair was advanced, but the human mind being gullible, I could convince myself via repeated mental reinforcement that the room was presentable. Plus, it had an attached bath (with tub) and a small kitchenette too as redeeming features. So far so good. Let’s examine the other rooms I said to myself; and that is where my bafflement started, because there were none!

I remember saying to myself ‘Eh?’ as I stood scratching my head and I’ll tell you why. I was given to understand by the house allotment walas that it being a temporary accommodation, the house had one only hall, one kitchen, two bathrooms and one bedroom. What I could locate however, was just one (the hall I was standing in) room. Scratching my head yielding no breakthrough, I jumped onto my trusted steed and drove 8 km back to the house allotment walas to remonstrate. Reached there and remonstrated.  The house allotment wala asked me in an unnecessarily accusing tone – “Didn’t I tell you to check the house first prior taking over.” That did little to ‘unbaffle ’ the thoroughly baffled me. I said “eh?” for the second time in an hour. “Just check the main building corridor” advised the house allotment wala mysteriously.

Still mightily perplexed, I drove back 8 km to my building, trudged up the three stories and subjected the corridor to a piercing look. And then I saw it, the kitchen! It was on the other side of the main corridor! Further deep examination of the blasted corridor unveiled my second room. It, though on the same side of the corridor as the hall, had no connecting door. So here was the situation, we needed to cook on the right side of the corridor, cross over the hall on the left side to eat it, cross back to wash dishes. And then should we have the inevitable desire to lie down, we again needed to go to our bedroom via the main corridor. As you can surmise, there was no chance of loitering from one room to another in a carefree ‘towel around the waist’ avatar for self or ‘sleepy head nightie clad’ one for the wonderful lady.

The wonderful lady upon arrival in station and having scanned the house offered, promptly took an executive decision. “Let’s shift the beds and kitchen into the hall” said she. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how we lived in that house for the next four months or so. Sleeping, cooking, eating, bathing, entertaining guests, shaving (only me, not the wonderful lady) – in that one room. Talk about building resilience.

On another occasion, and again in Mumbai, we got a house in Pasta Lane, Colaba (again a temporary one) in an old building. Now if Marine Drive was prime, Colaba is a close second, being populated as it is, with ‘old money’ aristocracy.   Resultantly, we the only ones with a scooter as our mode of conveyance in the entire neighbourhood. This was if one can call it, a boon in disguise because we soon became known (though a bit disparagingly) as the ‘scooter wala’. Guests visiting us only had to ask for the ‘scooter wala’ (yes this was pre phone, pre google maps) and anyone in the lane would guide them to us thus, “oh scooter wala! Karim Court, second floor”. On first stepping across the threshold, the wonderful lady opined that the house was a bit stuffy. “Open the ventilators” she ordered to no one in particular. As there were only two people in the room, I quickly deduced that the said order was directed towards me.

Now these old buildings have very tall ceilings and the ventilators were, as they are supposed to be, on the walls very close to the ceiling – perhaps 15 feet high. So I gaped. My gape was countered by the wonderful lady with ‘that’ look which my experienced eye told me, was one that brooked no hesitation. Did I tell you that I am a dutiful husband? Well I am. So, I armed myself with a broom, pushed the dining table under the closest ventilator, put a big stool on that, another smaller stool on the bigger one, clambered up most unlike an adroit rock climber and poked the ventilator with the broom. The damned thing didn’t budge. Imagining the judgemental eye of the wonderful lady questioning my manliness, I pushed harder. This yielded result and momentary triumph filled my head. Why momentary? Well because, while the ventilator budged, it budged too much. The entire darned thing came off its hinges and plunged two stories down onto the road below in a mighty shower of glass and wood! Fortunately no one was walking on the road below, or I would surely have had to face the long arm of the law under charges of murder. The wonderful lady too, perhaps shaken at the close escape, took another executive decision – “All ventilators stay shut”. And that is how we stayed there for the next four months, with nary a complaint from the wonderful lady about ‘stuffiness’. Resilience fortified.

I had mentioned at the start of this post that we have stayed in about 22 houses. I have covered only two. But then, experienced bloggers have told me to limit each blog to about a 1000 words if one doesn’t want the reader’s mind to wander. I already having crossed that number, perhaps I will leave the other houses for another day.

It would suffice to say that each of those balance 20 houses have stories of their own.