The Hindu Business Line : The 11-month syndrome

THERE ARE two sets of people in India. The chosen ones who live in Mumbai and the unlucky multitudes who are destined to live outside the great metropolis, even if it has become mucky after the recent rains. Mumbai's critics point to the still debated epidemic as a reason why the city may not be that hot a destination any longer; only to be scoffed at by the die-hard Mumbaikar who sees monsoons no more than as passing clouds.

The Mumbaiya, who normally goes about his daily grind with a spring in his step, often mouths these words of welcome to the lucky ones who are about to make the great city their home: "You find a decent living quarters, taking into consideration the distances that you, your spouse, your kids, your servant and whoever else need to travel. It may take a while, spotting this kind of a place, and you may wind up paying a bomb — in deposit, brokerage, rental, stamp duty and so on. The rest is a breeze."

More often than not, they forget to append this pithy statement with a rider. That you need to search for such a place before the year is out. Thus, a lease deed (called `leave and licence' agreement for reasons best known to its deviser) in Mumbai holds good only for 11 months. Does not matter whether you sign one for 22 months or 33 months, eviction after 11 months is generally inevitable. As you are in no financial shape to buy an apartment (try this for size: Two Bedroom-Hall-Kitchen, decent suburb, Rs 60 lakh; one BHK posh suburb, Rs 55 lakh; or two BHK, south Mumbai, Rs 1.75 crore), unless you want to travel half way into Gujarat, the only option is a new lease.

At this juncture, once the 11-month honeymoon gets over, you search high and low for real estate agents in the area. And come up trumps in the most unexpected quarters. Ranging from the milkman and the odd-job maid to your provision store man and the neighbourhood butcher, these `brokers' never refer to an apartment as anything but `room'.

In any given suburb in Mumbai, there would be at least a few hundred such `brokers' — variously called uncles and aunties, bhais and behns — hoping to make a straight flush (one broker-one tenant-one house owner). Fact is, it rarely works out that way, as there are always a number of claimants to the brokerage pie.

Of late, ethno-specific brokers have made their appearance. These specialists offer deals on the basis of your language, religion, caste or community. Thus, you have brokers who cater to language and caste specific constituencies with refrains that go: "I will get you a room where `our' people stay and only a few locals, never mind them."

As these capital-free ventures end up with a pretty good bargain — one month's rent from both sides — for their efforts, their rank and file has been growing steadily. At the end of such a 11-month rite de passage, your information bank is that much richer, leading these entrepreneurs to train their guns on you as a potential mark.

"Sir, you must be aware of at least 15-20 `rooms' by now, and their owners. Share the information and you will get a share." Not a bad business, come to think of it.

Vinod Mathew

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