[Reader-list] A Sailor's tale...

[taha at sarai.net]

Dear all, 

Below is an account of a meeting with a builder in Delhi.
Builders, architects and property dealers around Delhi are increasingly
becoming a part of the security game.
  This posting forms a part my excavations around the city,
  concerning my on going research at Sarai.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

    
Last week was largely devoted to looking for architects who are major
players in the housing society- security `game’. The search did not prove
entirely futile. Mr. Sabharwal the metal sheet fabricator businessman
provides me with addresses and phone numbers of a few builders. Some of
them have their offices in near by Nehru Place others are in Faridabad. 

I take an auto to Nehru place. It’s a nice sunny winter morning. This
year the winter has been less harsh as compared to previous winters. The
famed ‘dilli ki surdi’ is finally bowing to global warming. At Nehru
place I walk past by Paras, a huge poster of the latest flick Insaan,
featuring Akshay Kumar and Tushaar Kapur is pasted on the wall. A kid with
a large guuny bag on his back is standing alone in front of the poster.
Probably by night  he will have  collected enough empty liquor bottles,
left over polyethylene bags and stray card board boxes to make a sale to
the local agent and watch the last show of the film, sitting in the fifth
row of the darkened hall, hooting, whistling and unwinding after a dogs day
at work. 

I take the steps and enter the central courtyard. Nehru place looks like a
mammoth community center. Like other community centers in Delhi it is also
going through a phase of renovation. At the periphery bare chested casual
laborers are systematically digging up the floor ties one at a time. At the
other end, another group of laborers are laying down new tiles and
cementing it. The floor of Nehru place looks like a snake peeling off its
old skin and acquiring a new one.

I go through a row of shops selling computer software, CD’s, sundry
stationary, sweets, mobile phones, computer parts and newspapers. I stop in
front of a shop…a little confused.  I ask for Chranjiv tower. An
attendant at a fruit juice kiosk points his finger at the far end of the
courtyard. It’s past lunch hour and the place is crowded. I take a left
and step down a small flight of stairs. 

Chranjiv Tower- a huge mass of iron, steel and concrete, is completely
camouflaged by… well… other huge masses of iron, steel and concrete.
They all look the same- unimaginative, homogenous structures. The only
thing, which differentiates one building from other, is the name. Nehru
place is full of names like Ansal Tower, Manjusa Building, Madhuban, Vishal
Bhawan, Raja House, Sahyog, Skipper House, Apta. 
Chranjiv Tower is one of them- undifferentiated, unidentifiable, unmarked.
Only the locals know of its location. To them I turn after every hundred
steps. I stop, I ask, I get directions and I move on. 

Inside the tower/building/office complex/house/bhawan/apartment a security
guard greets me. He looks at me curiously and makes pointed enquiries. I
tell him I want to meet Mr. S.S Kohli of Kolmet Constructions. He repeats
after me ‘Koalmate’… the name sounds familiar, why don’t you go
through this. ‘This’ turns out to be the register of the building where
all the offices are listed along with their floors. His attendant advises
me to begin my search from the top most floor. My finger scans the register
for the word ‘k’ or its phonetic equivalent ‘c’. It’s a long
search. There are fourteen floors in that complex and each floor has around
ten to twelve offices. The guard leaves me alone and re-assumes his duty. A
close circuit camera on the top right corner watches me. The lobby is a
small hall. There are two glass doors about six-seven feet wide. On the
right there is a small reception desk at which two guards are posted. A
small corridor on the left leads to the elevators. Outside, the towers are
barricaded with `no entry’ signs painted on low movable iron grills. At
the reception desk the guard is extremely busy. He stops strangers, asks
them their destination, makes them sign an entry register. Checks all
parcels going out and coming in to the building and make entries in a
separate register. A man comes to the guard with a heavy cardboard box. He
is carrying a notebook. He greets the guard and asks for the register. I
see a DTDC emblem on his cap. I ask whether he is a courier here. He nods
his head affirmatively. I tell him about Koalmet Constructions. He gives me
hard look then nods in negation. He hasn’t heard of them. He has been
delivering parcels here for the past seven years and has never heard of any
firm by that name. I carry on with my search. Luck at last!  Koalmet is on
the eleventh floor. I thank the guards. Make an entry in the register and
leave. 

The elevator lobby is crowded. There are three lifts on each side. About
fifty of us are waiting to go in one of them. The elevators look old and
used. The markings are all gone. A group of men arrives and take up
position near the third elevator on my right. 

Soon the sliding door opens. I jostle through the crowd hands on my
pockets. I always have this fear of getting robbed in crowded places.
Whenever I board a bus, a lift, or walk in crowd I inadvertently find
myself clutching my pockets. The left pocket for the wallet,  and the right
one for my mobile phone. The lift is packed. I ask a man standing near the
panel to press for the  eleventh floor. He smiles benignly at me. ‘This
lift doesn’t go to that floor’. But it goes to tenth and to the 
twelfth floor. I ask him to press the button for the tenth floor. This was 
intriguing. Why wasn’t the lift going to the eleventh floor? No wonder
the courier guy didn’t know about Koalmet Constructions. The eleventh
floor wasn’t marked! In this land of unmarked buildings there was another
addition. The eleventh floor of  Chiranjiv Towers.   

I finally reach the eleventh floor. I am standing in front of a smoked
glass door. The name- plate on the door bears the name of the office I am
looking for. I knock the door twice and enter. Inside a middle-aged woman
is sitting behind a desk. The office is a small hall partitioned into small
wood and glass cubicles. On the right is a cabin. I can hear the voice of a
man arguing with somebody on the phone. The woman behind the desk is busy
on her cell. On the left there is a small door. I can see vague outlines of
two more cabins on the far left. The air inside the office is devoid of
humidity and it’s pretty warm for December. It’s also very quiet
inside. The traffic, the crowds and the blaring horns have dissolved into
this calm, almost serene workplace. The low mechanical hum of the air
conditioner adds a soothing effect. I slump down on a sofa.

The receptionist asks me who I wanted  to meet and whether I had an
appointment or not.  I tell her about Mr. Kohli. Which Kohli? She asks.
‘Bada aur Chota’. SS or SK. I am confused for I don’t know who is
who.  I tell her, ‘the one who started this all’. 
She asks me to wait. She goes inside the room and comes back after some
time. She tells me that Mr.Kohli is extremely busy and can’t spare time
at the moment. I plead. It will take only fifteen minutes. She asks me my
reasons to meet the boss. I rewind my mental tape and press play. Almost
mechanically I tell her about Sarai and my research. She listens
attentively and recommends me to talk to Mr. Mishra, who is an architect at
Koalmet adding that Mr. Kohli knows nothing about architecture, he is the
financial brain behind the firm. 

Mr. Mishra turns out to be an old, a few more years and he could be called
ancient.  He is wearing large framed bifocals, a pencil is perched
delicately between his left                                                
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
    ear and the arm of his glasses. He is slightly bent. He never makes an
eye contact while speaking. I rewind my introductory tape and play in fast
motion, yet again.  He patiently listens, nodding his head every now and
then. And then in a very business like,  matter-of-factly tone he tells me
that he can’t help me. He says Koalmet is into building powerhouses for
the Government of India. That is all that they have done for past thirty
years.  However another construction company called Mariners might be of
some help. Mr. Ananth who runs the company, would know more about the
housing business.
……………………<<<<<<<……………                   


I am standing in front of another glass door in a matter of fifteen
minutes. There is no one in the corridor. I am mentally rehearsing what I
was going to ask, how was I going to navigate conversation with Mr. Ananth.
  

I open the door. The office is of the  same proportions as Koalmet, but it
is sparsely decorated and more quite. On the left there is reception desk.
A girl in her early twenties is sitting. I ask for Mr. Ananth. She tells me
to wait and goes inside a big cabin. There is nobody at the office. On the
wall behind the desk, promotional fliers and posters of housing societies
in New Zealand are pinned. Also  pictured are  exotic, wooden interiors,
beautiful, apparently lonely women lying by the fireside, a couple in
night-suit sleeping blissfully bathed in soft blue moon light, and  a
seductive teenager in hot pants jogging in a lush green lawn, sweat beads
gently trickling down her brow, her long hair waving wildly in the air - a
blithe mare, broken  loose from the bonds of her captors, drunk high on the
sheer ecstasy of freedom. The caption at the bottom aptly sums up the
image, ‘ your dream house at fantastically low prices’. I notice the
play of the words- dream and fantasy, similar in meaning but referring to
different things.
   Dream it is indeed. One that lures the consumer to believe in the
fantasy of low prices. A cursory look at Times Classified tells enough
about the ‘Prime’ property up for sale on the fringes of Delhi, in
Gurgoan and Noida. The newspaper contains images that mirror the New
Zealand housing society visuals. Nature, luxury, exotica and sex are all up
for sale at affordable prices. The message is subtle yet clear and cushy.
“A Dream you can be a part of”. “ Luxury you can afford”. A
Laburnum Villa for three crores, Aralia’s for 2.5 crore onwards, Windsor
court for 98 lacs onwards, Nirvana for 55 lacs onwards.  Often  housing
societies have names like Vatika city, Orchid  Greens, Park View, Petals,
Blooms, Nirvana Country, Sun city and Heritage City. Voluptuous models vie
for attention in tiny six square centimeter spaces. Consumers are subtly
persuaded to heed to their most atavistic urges, a reclamation of the lost
pastoral past, a desire for luxury. We know what you desire, come to us and
we will service your dreams at affordable prices. If you don’t have the
money now, then don’t worry! Thank God that you live in the age of ‘buy
now pay later’ – for ICICI bank, IDBI bank and HUDCO are always there
to provide you with soft loans.   7.5% Interest. 100%  Finance. For More 
Details, Contact  9811269051.

[Back to the office!] On the right there is a small table on which two
wooden models of upcoming projects at Gurgaon and Noida are placed. The big
cabin dominates the office. The walking space along the perimeter of the
cabin looks like a reverse –c-. At the far end a shabbily dressed peon is
pouring hot water off an electric kettle. 

I can hear someone grumbling inside, possibly  Mr. Ananth. ‘Who is it?’
‘Did he take my name?’ I can just about make out the soft tone of the
girl explaining on my behalf, as I unashamedly eavesdrop, standing close to
the door.  `Hmm. Okay, send him in’. The receptionist comes out and asks
me to go inside. I give her a grateful smile and walk into a sparse but
stylish cabin. A burly sardaar looks up from behind a glass topped table.
‘Yes?’ 

Ananth is in his mid thirties. He was a sailor with the merchant navy and
quit the ‘seas’ in 1996. After two years of dwindling around he became
a builder and started Mariners. His family is in the same business.
Initially they helped him out. Now it seems, he is very much his own man.
His first project was in Gurgaon. He contacted his friends and their
friends in the merchant navy and convinced them to invest in a housing
society promoted by him. In 2000, he managed to persuade about fifteen
people, and Mariners began its operations. HUDA sanctioned land to them
within four months of submitting the application. In 2001 the project was
formally launched. 

But due to a shortage of funds financiers were also called in. The company
has built 40 flats on an acre of land. Gradually more people started
investing in Mariners. One year down all the flats were booked.   Ananth
looks satisfied, ensconced in his office. He is thinking about new projects
now. One in Gurgaon and another  in NOIDA. He is confident of getting
clients for this new project too. 

We settle down to talk. He speaks frankly.  His taquiya kalam is `yaar’
pronounced as yaa. I ask him about the  property scene in Delhi. He
responds thoughtfully. It’s pretty bad yaa. South Delhi is suppressed…
but the land prices elsewhere are sky rocketing… 
Dwarka is on fire yaa…

Dwarka, which was a planners’ nightmare a few years ago has suddenly
undergone a facelift courtesy Delhi Metro. Although Metro hasn’t started
its services yet, but in a few years time when Metro commences operation in
the area, Dwarka will be connected to Delhi supposedly through the safest,
cheapest and fastest mode of transportation. This is bound to impact land
prices in Dwarka in a big way. According to Ananth 40 to 50 per cent more
units were sold last year as compared to the previous year. I inquire
further. He looks at the window. Far below I can see the slow serpentine
traffic crawling its way to the red light. 

The problem is basically with DDA yaa… there are six- seven hundred
societies waiting for the DDA to allot land… HUDA is very quick… they
allot within 3-4 months… yahaan to 20-20 saal se land nahi mila… 

But what do they do with the land. I prod. He scratches his thin, well-
kept beard, then in a quick motion pushing the air with his hands, as if to
clear a confusion, says, “see”. I look at his palms as if they were a
key to understanding the security- property- politician-moneyed- migrant-
retired army officers’- housing society- RWA-DDA-planners’-business
man- smart cards- Nishan- pictometry-films on terror-the crime programmes-
Bhagidari- TV serials-hosing debate linkages. I see three or four clear
lines but there are hundreds of thousands other lines that are strangely
connected to each other. At times they criss-cross, intersect, and take a
detour to thousands of other small, medium and big lines. It’s confusing.
I give up.    

DDA is making their own flats… these MIG-HIG things… they cost more and
are of atrocious quality…DDA gives contractors 700 rupees/ sq. feet and
to housing societies 600 rupees/ sq. feet… ultimately they are making
money some where yaa… if damages, project delay costs etc are added up,
the cost comes to around nine hundred rupees/ sq. feet. Then they pass it
off to the consumers.

He elaborates his point further. About two years ago they were selling a
three bedroom flat for 14 lakh rupees, while housing societies were selling
the same for 13 lakh rupees… The quality of society and DDA were no match
at all... DDA was just crap…yaa… They are not giving any land to the
societies... I don’t know why... They should have given the entire land
to housing societies... Let them do it… see… the basic problem is
housing yaa… housing could have been solved anyway… They are keeping
that milch cow there any way… saara land aapne pas rakha hua hai unhoone.
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                                                                           
                 

I experience a feeling of déjà vu. Ananth’s way of describing land
through a metaphor of milch cow is pastoral and agrarian just like the New
Zealand housing society fliers or Times classified advertisements about
property. For him the DDA is the `other’, which he refers to as,
“they” and expects that if the entire land of DDA is handed over to
housing societies… the problem of housing will be solved. This opinion
was quite similar to something I heard a year ago from somebody else in not
an entirely different context. Last year, while researching for my final
year film on surveillance and the city, I met Mrs. Sharma, a resident of
Ishwar Nagar colony, a posh area in south Delhi. Her grouse was with the
MCD. A public park of her colony belonged to the MCD, which was open to
access by all and sundry. She would tell me that the colony was 
‘maintained’ by the residents, `us’ she said. Maintain here refers to
fortification of her colony by gating and installation of security guards.
She felt that the MCD should transfer the maintenance [control] of park to
the colony RWA. Little did I realize that what she was telling me was no
less than prophetic. A few months ago the Delhi government gave an order to
hand over the public parks to the resident welfare associations, which was
close on heels of a high court order that legalized the construction of
gates on public land by private resident welfare associations. The gift was
part of a package. Other additional `responsibility’ included gradual
takeover of all the historical monuments [maintained by ASI] coming under
the zone of influence of respective RWA. So for example, a public park in
GK-I, which is also the site of a 14th century Tughlak era ruin and
maintained  by NDTV on behalf of the MCD will now fall under the GK RWA.   
    
             
The office has huge glass windows. Sunlight streams through them. Outside
the sky is clear; I notice a pair of sparrows perched on the window- sill.
The room is getting claustrophobic. It’s a story I’ve heard before. A
part of me wants to leave.
      
Ananth starts talking about Mariners. …We are making houses
basically…We are going for bigger units than normal… Higher standards
of furniture… These units are for higher income group…Multi story
apartments… 7-8 stories but can go up to 10-14 stories…. Each building
has around 40 flats on an acre of plot…it costs around 2000 rupee/sq.
feet… totally furnished…each flat comes to around 40 lakh rupees.

I ask about the security apparatus in his housing society. He says…
it’s not much…the usual… enclosed compounds… guards… CCTV…
that’s it…not many security things…guards are there for twenty four
hours… two more come during the night…That’s all…

But quickly adds… in the future projects we are going for gadgets…
heavy amount of gadgets…see… what we are promoting is community
living… they come to us because they want security…First of all now
this security thing is huge… and it is with all the builders too… when
we started the project for merchant navy officers our endeavor was to give
low cost houses to merchant navy officers…see… yaa… its simple….a
society is formed when people come together… they become members…strict
criteria is followed while taking in members… if somebody is very very
this thing… we don’t… we check the profile as far as possible…we
don’t segregate any body… in our society we don’t take business
men…business men jaise hote hain…if some body has an industry its
okay…I don’t know…people don’t want them yaa…bolte hain… petty
businessmen hamare ko bada taang karte hain… oon logeon ki thinking badi
alag hoti hai…usually these are… our’s are very elite… so called
elite clients…they are more academically inclined…so they tell us to
keep them out…zara… unko door rakho…that’s the thinking basically
but if tomorrow these people come we won’t refuse them yaar… so there
is some segregation I guess. 

When Ananth talks about Mariners, he always refers to his organisation in
first person plural- we-. He is not a sailor now, his profession has
changed, and so has his notion of self. –They- includes his former
friends from merchant navy, businessmen and the government officials.  He
calls his apartment complex- a society-, where security guards, CCTV
cameras, are –normal- apparatus of security. He considers his
clients-elite-and at forty lakh per flat he wants to provide them with-low
cost housing.

 Delhi is going through a facelift. Builders like Ananth are pushing for
housing societies where criterion for being a part of housing society is
condensed. For example,  Journalists and their  allotted houses in -Press
Enclave- at Malviya Nagar, Kargil war widows  housed in sector 25 at Dwarka
[Two hundred widows are allotted three bedroom flats for 6 lakh rupees.
They cannot sell/ transfer/rent / lease it to anybody else. If they remarry
the flat will be taken back the government. What is the government’s
interest in perpetuating widowhood on young women, by doling out housing
and other welfare schemes to keep the category of –war widow- alive and
kicking?].

 Ananth carefully skips the question on segregation of members on the basis
of some eligibility by saying “… if somebody is very very this thing…
we don’t… we check the profile as far as possible…”.

 Who comes under the category of –very very this thing- I don’t know as
yet. But I could clearly see an enforcement of social division on the basis
of one’s eligibility to a self same club. I remember as a child in
Udaipur I used to get very intrigued by small employment news items in
local edition of Rajasthan Patrika, seeking qualified Engineers and
Doctors, under a generic heading of ATTENTION  or WANTED, with a caveat, -
sirf Sindhi Bhai hi apply Karen-. 

In Ananth’s world money is not a  barrier any more. Merchant navy
provides good money,  so a petty businessmen, even if he has money, is
discriminated- unko door rakho- [keep them away]-the level of education
becomes a mark to identify a person as –ours-.                 

I start to talk about the security culture in Delhi. Ananth listens, poker
faced, hands folded on his chest, physically stonewalling me … with an
occasional hmmm… then he opens up… comfortable that the question is not
about intricacies of financing a housing society.

…In Delhi we have a very territorial and parochial kind of people…
matlab very… ke bhaiyya hum rahete hain yahan south Dlhi mein…that
thing is there…so what I have is a fortress kind of a thing… this is
where I think security really comes in… Dilli mein itna to hai nahi ke
itne mar kutai chal rahi hai ki security is required so much…it’s not
so bad… but people really love having a lot more security guards…I mean
they don’t want to give access to the common man… there is a tendency
to barricade from the rest of the world…hai..kuch… matlab… we have
that we are a little higher up… the more you project that you are
different… kind of untouchable for the normal person… the more it’s
advantageous out here…

I ask him to give a specific example…. Laburnum… it’s a housing
society in Gurgaon… it’s selling at three crore per flat…that’s
primarily because of this kind of security… wohi 4-5 security guards hote
hain… zarra se apparatus idhar udhar… but ITC made it …they are not
very good flats …but again the name is there…probably our flats have
better stuff over there… but they built it up on a name… such a great
name… NRI’s … officials of other MNC’s have bought them…they made
a group…now they are attracting more of those kinds…stuff is the
same…its four bedroom… they have say… 20% more area than ours… but
they are selling it for five times the price… that’s the way you
package a stuff yaa… and sell it…they have done a good job of it… the
security is a major thing… security ka point of view kaafi hai…        


Laburnum has got an elaborate security system. Residents are provided with
swipe cards to access their own houses. But the interesting thing is, the
ITC group were able to increase the mark up price of their properties by
installing high tech security equipment. Ananth sees a sound business logic
in all this. He is planning to import fingerprint access machines, infrared
sensors and smart cameras for his up coming projects. The security
industrial complex has emerged as a major financial market with the
corporatization of fear. 

I thank him for his time and leave. Later at night I dine out with my old
friends at the New Friends Colony community center. Its well past twelve
when I trot back home. I reach the red light at Maharani Bagh. On the other
side of the road I see three men sitting, sharing bidis. They are probably
sharing a joke. All three of them are armed. All three have uniforms on
them. They have barricaded the road, which goes past by the Kalindi colony.
     
Two of them are constables with the Delhi police, the third is a private
security guard with the Kalindi RWA.

I cross the ring road and enter  Kilokri and run into the night chowkidar
for the first time in six months.