I generally prefer to use aliases for my characters. After all, people are rarely as heroic or as villainous as they are portrayed in a few short pages of a story taken out of context. Having said that, there’s one character that I would like my readers to be introduced to. Given the eternal state of our building's affairs, he's likely still running the annual committee, no matter when you are reading this. For the sake of anonymity, let’s just say his name starts with “C” and ends with “unil Agarwal.”
Mr. C was, shall we say, a recognizable figure. If you’ve
ever had an uncle who insists on peering through your peephole through the
wrong side of the door, you know exactly who I’m talking about. These are the
self-appointed unregulated guardians who take it upon themselves to police all
the written and unwritten morals and laws of the society. They’re unemployed
enough to be given petty positions of power and are loud enough to make
themselves heard. Sadly, those are the only two qualities modern leaders must
possess in order to rise above the ranks. As for whether there’s anyone left to
lead… that is a question best left unanswered.
So my family had a problem. Well if we are on the subject,
my family had several problems. But we are choosing to focus on one particular
problem today. Because (1) I don’t expect my readers to be my therapists, (2)
most of you don’t care anyway, and (3) this particular problem will make us
look rather… Goood.
It’s a problem many of the urban rich face: two cars, one
parking space. How did we end up with just one parking space in a premium
building where two spaces were the norm, you ask? Well, the previous owner of
our apartment kept one of the parking spots for himself. You see, he had three
cars. And so, our problem began.
Faced with the dilemma of two cars and only one parking
space, we did what any self-respecting urban family would do—we bought another
parking space in the next building. Of course, we had to purchase an apartment
to go with it, but that’s a tale for another time.
So, now we had two homes for our cars. One in our building, and one next door. It wasn’t too inconvenient, at least as long as our driver was the one fetching the car. But on Sundays, when I’d take the car out for my multiple rounds of... well, let’s just call it "recreational driving," I wanted to park the car in our building. Naturally.
Enter the guest parking. Theoretically, this was the perfect solution. After all, the guest parking was for cars that weren’t usually parked in the building, right? It seemed logical to me. But Mr. C had other ideas. He decreed that guest parking was to be used exclusively by non-residents. If a resident, like me, wanted to park an extra car in the building, well, tough luck. According to Mr. C, the guest parking was meant only for guests. And by "guests," he meant non-residents. The fact that residents were, in a roundabout way, using the guest parking for their guests didn’t seem to bother him. The critical point was that the car should NOT be owned by a resident. And that, as far as Mr. C was concerned, was the law.
So one fine Sunday, as I pulled up to the building’s guest
parking spot, I was greeted by the stern, unblinking eyes of Raju, the building
watchman. Raju was a man who took his job very seriously, perhaps a little too
seriously. His posture was as rigid as the iron gate he guarded, and his eyes
narrowed as he saw me approaching. He was a man of few words, but when he
spoke, it was as if the universe itself had ordained his declarations.
“Saab, you cannot park here,” Raju announced, standing
firmly in front of the guest parking spot like a human barricade.
“Raju, this is the guest parking, and I’m just going to be
here for a couple of hours,” I explained, assuming this would be a
straightforward conversation.
Raju shook his head with the gravity of a man delivering bad
news at a wedding. “Saab, guest parking is for guests. You are not a guest. You
live here.”
“Yes, Raju, I live here. But this car doesn’t! It’s visiting
from the next building. Technically, it’s a guest car,” I countered, thinking
I’d found a loophole in his ironclad logic.
Raju didn’t budge. “Saab, rule is rule. Mr. C told me very
strictly that no resident cars should park in guest parking.”
Of course, Mr. C had something to do with this. His
obsession with enforcing every tiny rule in the building had turned him into a
dictator of sorts. The rule was so that the residents would use their own
parking space instead of using the more convenient guest parking space right
outside the building gate. Not for cars that didn’t have a parking spot. But
logic had left the building long ago. Mr. C had successfully replaced common
sense with rules.
“Raju, this is getting ridiculous. It’s not like I’m parking
here forever. Just a couple of hours. Besides, there’s plenty of space. No
guests are even here!” I gestured toward the empty guest parking spots, hoping
logic would prevail.
A logical argument.
Finally!
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, a familiar
voice boomed from behind me. “Raju! What’s going on here?”
And I saw logic flying
out of the building again.
Mr. C himself had appeared, walking towards us with the air
of a man who had caught someone violating an ancient code. He was wearing his
usual attire: an expression of self-importance and a sweater vest that screamed
“authority.”
“Ah, Mr. C., perfect timing. I was just trying to explain to
Raju that I need to park here for a few hours,” I said, trying to keep my tone
polite, though I could feel my patience wearing thin.
Mr. C looked at me as if I had just suggested we host a rock
concert in the lobby. “Absolutely not! The guest parking is for guests.
Residents cannot use it for their cars. That’s the rule!”
“And why exactly is that the rule? My car is not here most
of the time. It’s only visiting from the next building,” I said, trying to
sound reasonable but fully aware of how absurd this argument was becoming.
Mr. C crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “Because if we
let one resident park here, soon everyone will want to park their extra cars in
the guest spots. Chaos will ensue! We must maintain order.”
I took a deep breath, realizing I was dealing with someone
who had clearly spent too much time memorizing the rulebook and not enough time
living in the real world. But I wasn’t going to back down that easily. “Look,
Mr. C, there’s no chaos here. It’s Sunday, there are no guests, and it’s just
for a few hours.”
Mr. C looked like he was about to launch into another
lecture when Raju suddenly interjected. “Saab, maybe we can make a compromise?”
Both Mr. C and I turned to look at Raju, surprised that he
had something to offer in this power struggle. “Saab, maybe we allow Sir to
park here, but only if he leaves his phone number with me. That way, if a guest
comes, I can call him to move the car.”
Mr. C frowned, clearly unhappy with the idea of bending the
rules, but after a long pause, he nodded. “Fine. But this is a one-time
exception. And only because Raju will ensure the space is cleared if needed.”
I couldn’t believe it. I was actually going to win this
ridiculous battle. “Deal!” I said, more enthusiastically than I probably should
have.
As I handed over my phone number to Raju, Mr. C gave me a
stern look. “Remember, this is a one-time exception. If you try this again,
there will be consequences.”
I nodded, barely able to suppress a smile. “Understood, Mr.
C Thank you for your understanding.”
As I parked the car and walked away, I couldn’t help but feel
a small sense of victory. Sure, I had to leave my number with Raju, and sure,
I’d have to move the car if anyone else needed the spot, but in the world of
absurd building regulations, I had won.
Just as I was about to enter the building, Raju called after
me, “Saab, also, if you could keep the engine running, just in case…”
And with that, I realized, even in victory, you can never
truly win against the absurdity of building politics.
