House Proud

Congratulations are in order – we are proud owners of an apartment in one of the upscale suburbs of Mumbai. Translate as ‘proud, penniless and deeply in debt’. The good news is that we no longer have to pay rent; the bad news is that our EMI is four times the rent. We pray that interest rates will plummet, real estate rates will skyrocket, and salary hikes/promotions/bumper bonuses will all happen together and help us through this. The house is there, but we can’t move in yet. We need to ‘do it up’, which broadly includes custom furniture, fully fitted kitchen, electrical fittings and soft furnishings; with a little stretch it could include designer bath fittings, parquet flooring, textured wall finishes and false ceilings among other things. We can’t be seen cutting corners on this one – the world shouldn’t know we’ve sunk in our entire life’s savings and the next 20 years’ expected earnings into this project already. The house needs to become a home and it was going to cost.

‘Let’s hire an interior designer’ I say.

‘Why, can’t we do it ourselves?’ asks spouse who hasn’t as much as bought a shirt for himself or a bulb for the kitchen, leave alone design anything.

The sign of a healthy marriage is healthy debate on issues.(By that token, ours was quite a robust, healthy marriage). We debate and I win. We settle on ‘sensational young designer S, who has been making a mark with his unique design sensibilities and bold use of material’ as the design magazine proclaims. First hurdle crossed, or as I soon find out, new hurdle added. Two way debates have now become 3 way debates. We realise young designer S is too unique and way too bold for our comfort. I think he is gay. The husband thinks he is retarded. We can’t even concur in our opinions of people. It’s a difficult journey. But there’s no turning back now.

We think it is better to start with designing the child’s room as it is neutral territory, hence fewer chances for disagreements. We forget child has an opinion too. She wants the room to look like Barbie’s castle - pink and gold with 4 poster bed, net and lace trimmings (fairies embroidered on the trimmings if possible – she is a details person), matching dresser complete with pink hairdryer, pink hairbrush, pink flower vase, (thank god the pink cat from the Barbie set is momentarily forgotten), chest of drawers and carved chair. There is no mention of study table or book shelf. I make a mental to destroy everything Barbie from the new house. We meet midway on the colour scheme - white and sliver - and I get to squeeze in a small corner for her educational needs.

On to the master bedroom – husband wants a contemporary look, I want a traditional Indian look, and hotshot designer recommends the oriental look that is currently in vogue. Robust healthy debate ensues once again and we finally settle for an English country look that no one particularly likes. Now that theme is taken care of, husband’s single minded focus is on where to install the 52inch plasma. My focus, which so far was on whether I should freeze the colour of the wall or curtains or veneer first, has now shifted to how to prevent said 52inch plasma from entering the bedroom. Designer’s focus is on how to create a small study nook in the bedroom by pushing a window and scraping off portions of adjoining walls. Did I mention his fee is a fixed % of the total project cost? So putting the need for a study in our heads and then suggesting complicated, expensive and seemingly impossible ways of achieving it is part of his job description. In the midst of all this debate and excitement, no one remembers about providing for a telephone socket in the bedroom.(Now, whenever the phone rings, we curse the caller and run to the living room or curse the caller and just wait till the phone stops ringing.)

Shift to living room – designer offers to take us on a guided a tour of the art galleries in SOBO to pick up some works of art that will match the colour of our cushions. We dutifully comply – somehow no artist has used the right shade of rust and purple in his palette, so we give up on that for now. I think a tree-of-life painted on the living room wall would bring in much needed prosperity into our lives. Husband vetoes; he would rather put that money on a giant 180 degree recliner to go with the 52inch plasma that has found its ways into the living room. He chooses a shade of brown that is somewhere between sewage water and rotting leaves. That the recliner is an eyesore and will take up more than 6/7th of the room space does not deter him. So what do we do? Yes we indulge in healthy debate once again.

Ok, I confess, this time the debate is not so healthy, as our decibel levels have touched the top notches, blood vessels are on the verge of popping and we are not very far from pulling out each others’ eyeballs from their sockets. Eventually size (read husband + recliner + 52inch plasma) wins.

The house is finally done. I realise we have just passed the acid test of marital endurance. Though a little battered and bruised (only figuratively) we are still together in the house that put us through it. I can now even visualise the husband and me retiring and growing old together in this house, perhaps with two recliners side by side and a tree of life on the wall too!