Aravind Adiga - Last Man in Tower

A lakh is 100,000 rupees, equivalent to around £1,400 or $2,200.

A crore is 10,000,000 rupees, equivalent to around £140,000 or $220,000.

So Mr Shah’s offer to the members of Vishram Society would translate into a typical windfall of around £210,000 or $330,000 per family.

The average per capita annual income in India in 2008–9 was 37,490 rupees, around £500 or $800.

VAKOLA, SANTA CRUZ (EAST), MUMBAI — 400055

Ground floor:

0A

the security guard’s personal room

0B

allotted to the Secretary of the Society for official work, with an alcove for the cleaning lady to store her broom, disinfectant, and mopping cloth

0C

Felicia Saldanha, 49, and her daughter Radhika, 20; Mr Saldanha, an engineer, is said to work in Vizag

1st floor:

1A

Suresh Nagpal, 54, timber merchant, and wife Mohini, 53

1B

Georgina Rego, 48, social worker, and son Sunil, 14, and daughter Sarah, 11

1C

C. L. Abichandani, hardware specialist, 56, his wife Kamini, 52, and daughters Kavita, 18, and Roopa, 21

2nd floor:

2A

Albert Pinto, 67, retired accountant for the Britannia Biscuit Company, and wife Shelley, 64

2B

Deepak Vij, 57, businessman, his wife Shruti, 43, and daughter Shobha, 21

2C

Ramesh Ajwani, real-estate broker, 50, his wife Rukmini, 47, and sons Rajeev, 13, and Raghav, 10

3rd floor:

3A

Yogesh A. Murthy (known as ‘Masterji’), retired schoolteacher, 61, now living alone after the recent death of his wife Purnima

3B

Given on rent to Ms. Meenakshi, possibly a journalist, single woman of about 25. Owner Shiv Hiranandani (known as ‘Import-Export’) lives in Khar West

3C

Sanjiv Puri, 54, accountant, his wife Sangeeta, 52, and son Ramesh, 18, afflicted with Down’s syndrome

4th floor:

4A

Ashvin Kothari, 55, the Secretary of the Society, occupation unknown, his wife Renuka, 49, and son Siddharth (known as ‘Tinku’), 10

4B

George Lobo, 45, respectable chemist, his wife Carmina, 40, and daughter Selma, 19

4C

Ibrahim Kudwa, 49, internet-store owner, his wife Mumtaz, 33, and children Mohammad, 10, and Mariam, 2

5th floor:

5A

Given on rent to Mr Narayanswami, 35, working in an insurance company in the Bandra-Kurla Financial Centre. Wife said to be in Hyderabad. (Owner Mr Pais lives in Abu Dhabi)

5B

Sudeep Ganguly, 43, proprietor of a stationery shop in Bandra (East), his wife Sharmila, 41, and son Anand, 11

5C

left empty, on request of owner Mr Sean Costello, after the suicide of his son Ferdinand, who jumped from the terrace of the building; owner currently in Qatar, working as chef for American fast-food company

Other regulars:

Mary, 34, the khachada-wali , or cleaning lady; and Ram Khare, 56, the security guard; maids and cooks are employed in most of the households

If you are inquiring about Vishram Society, you will be told right away that it is pucca — absolutely, unimpeachably pucca . This is important to note, because something is not quite pucca about the neighbourhood — the toenail of Santa Cruz called Vakola. On a map of Mumbai, Vakola is a cluster of ambiguous dots that cling polyp-like to the under-side of the domestic airport; on the ground, the polyps turn out to be slums, and spread out on every side of Vishram Society.

At each election, when Mumbai takes stock of herself, it is reported that one-fourth of the city’s slums are here, in the vicinity of the airport — and many older Bombaywallahs are sure anything in or around Vakola must be slummy. (They are not sure how you even pronounce it: Va-KHO-la, or VAA-k’-la?) In such a questionable neighbourhood, Vishram Society is anchored like a dreadnought of middle-class respectability, ready to fire on anyone who might impugn the pucca quality of its inhabitants. For years it was the only good building — which is to say, the only registered co-operative society — in the neighbourhood; it was erected as an experiment in gentrification back in the late 1950s, when Vakola was semi-swamp, a few bright mansions amidst mangroves and malarial clouds. Wild boar and bands of dacoits were rumoured to prowl the banyan trees, and rickshaws and taxis refused to come here after sunset. In gratitude to Vishram Society’s pioneers, who defied bandits and anopheles mosquitoes, braved the dirt lane on their cycles and Bajaj scooters, cut down the trees, built a thick compound wall and hung signs in English on it, the local politicians have decreed that the lane that winds down from the main road to the front gate of the building be called ‘Vishram Society Lane’.

The mangroves are long gone. Other middle-class buildings have come up now — the best of these, so local real-estate brokers say, is Gold Coin Society, but Marigold, Hibiscus, and White Rose grow and grow in reputation — and with the recent arrival of the Grand Hyatt Hotel, a five-star, the area is on the verge of ripening into permanent middle-class propriety. Yet none of this would have been possible without Vishram Society, and the grandmotherly building is spoken of with reverence throughout the neighbourhood.

It is, strictly speaking, two distinct Societies enclosed within the same compound wall. Vishram Society Tower B, which was erected in the late 1970s, stands in the south-east corner of the original plot: seven storeys tall, it is the more desirable building to purchase or rent in, and many young executives who have found work in the nearby Bandra-Kurla financial complex live here with their families.

Tower A is what the neighbours think of as ‘Vishram Society’. It stands in the centre of the compound, six storeys tall; a marble block set into the gate-post says in weathered lettering:

THIS PLAQUE WAS UNVEILED BY SHRI KRISHNA MENON, THE HONOURABLE DEFENCE MINISTER OF INDIA, ON 14 NOVEMBER 1959, BIRTHDAY OF OUR BELOVED PRIME MINISTER, PANDIT JAWAHARLAL NEHRU.

Here things become blurry; you must get down on your knees and peer to make out the last lines:

… HAS ASKED MENON TO CONVEY HIS FONDEST HOPE THAT VISHRAM SOCIETY SHOULD SERVE AS AN EXAMPLE OF ‘GOOD HOUSING FOR GOOD INDIANS’.

ERECTED BY:

MEMBERS OF THE VISHRAM SOCIETY CO-OPERATIVE HOUSING SOCIETY FULLY REGISTERED AND INCORPORATED IN THE CITY OF BOMBAY 14-11-1959

The face of this tower, once pink, is now a rainwater-stained, fungus-licked grey, although veins of primordial pink show wherever the roofing has protected the walls from the monsoon rains. Every flat has iron grilles on the windows: geraniums, jasmines, and the spikes of cacti push through the rusty metal squares. Luxuriant ferns, green and reddish green, blur the corners of some windows, making them look like entrances to small caves.

The more enterprising of the residents have paid for improvements to this shabby exterior — hands have scrubbed around some of the windows, creating aureoles on the façade, further complicating the patchwork of pink, mildew-grey, black, cement-grey, rust-brown, fern-green, and floral red, to which, by midday, are added the patterns of bedsheets and saris put out to dry on the grilles and balconies. An old-fashioned building, Vishram has no lobby; you walk into a dark square entranceway and turn to your left (if you are, or are visiting, Mrs Saldanha of 0C), or climb the dingy stairwell to the homes on the higher floors. (An Otis lift exists, but unreliably so.) Perforated with eight-pointed stars, the wall along the stairwell resembles the screen of the women’s zenana in an old haveli, and hints at secretive, even sinister, goings-on inside.