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We moved in two weeks ago…

For almost one-and-a- half months prior to that, there were workers in our house.. masons, carpenters, painters, plumbers, electricians, polishers… an army of more than 15 different people at different times getting the house in place for my family of  two to move in.

I visited the house often during the day to get a sense of the space, get a vibe, supervise and take a call if there were any roadblocks. I would sit and watch the workers toiling over corners,  watching their work translate into my home.

But how did they feel here.. building, toiling, sweating over something endlessly when they could never own it?

My husband  said they won’t feel any different from the engineers at a BMW workshop who build a beautiful machine they can never own… would I  pause and think of them as unfortunate?

But is it the same thing?

I came in the other day to explain how I wanted the pillar in the drawing room with bricks THIS way and NOT that… as it gave me three more inches.

And then I paused…

I wondered  if the worker thought I was greedy. His entire house is probably the size of my kitchen, and there might be more than six people living there.. with shared spaces, shared corners even for couples.

I live in this entire space with just one more person. How much more do I need to be happy?

Another time, a friend  came to check out the house. She lives in Gurgaon in a huge apartment and we bickered about Mumbai and its matchbox houses while the carpenter kept hammering the nails into the ‘wall-to-wall-to-ceiling’ wardrobe. When I came in early morning or late at night, I saw their work clothes tucked away in the corner. Each time a worker came in, he removed his neat pants and shirt and put on his worn, dirty, work clothes and settled down for a day of work. His ‘out-side; clothes neatly hanging from the corner of the cupboard.

While my friend asked, “Is that enough space for all your clothes?  You guys really have less storage. Are you sure?”

And then there was the matter of ringing the bell. I always rang the bell and yes, it was my house, and I did have the keys to the house… but didn’t want to shock or surprise the workers. I would ring once, hoping they would hear it above the sound of the drill machine, the mechanical saw…I would ring once more, and wait.

We’ve moved in now. The workers come in occasionally for some tiny chores that have spilled over. The toilet they were using is now mine, the house has now taken on my personality, my colours. They tread carefully, almost worried they will leave behind a mark.  Just as I tip-toed among the wood shavings, nails and hammer a month ago. The carpenter who built my cupboard, bookshelf, kitchen from the scratch now pauses and asks me tentatively, ‘Madam, can I use this loo now?’ 

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Bhavani Ramesh is a traveller by choice, a photographer by interest and a writer by desire. She works at audiocompass.in. She blogs at merrytogoaround.com & tweets @bhavan1.