BENGALURU: The new year brought with it the challenge of finding a new home for myself. Finding a home as a bachelor is one of the most challenging endeavours in India. Indian parents should mention it when coaxing children to get married. “Get married, beta.
Else, nobody will give you a house on rent”. With age, one gets used to looking at things from the other’s perspective. I can understand why wars happen, why stock markets crash, why there is inequality even in the world’s richest countries. But I am yet to wrap my head around houseowners’ prejudice against bachelors. Bachelors, they say, get drunk and destroy the house.
But bachelors have to wake up and go to work too. They constantly live under scrutinising eyes. They deal with incessant questions about their bachelor status. I have always found the question baffling - ‘Are you bachelor or family?’. Bachelors come from families too, you know. It’s not like we were found in a jungle, raised by wolves!
As a child, my favourite stories involved Lord Hanuman beating up evil rakshasas. Perhaps it was my devotion to my favourite God, but I have remained a bachelor. But I suspect if Lord Hanuman assumed human form and looked for houses, house-owners would flat out refuse to give Him a flat on rent. Then there are the brokers to deal with.
Even with the mushrooming of a gazillion property apps, the people who really know the intricacies of apartments are the brokers. Apps might show you a million properties sourced from the most advanced AI, but only a broker knows if there are water problems in summers; if there is sunlight in the mornings! And if you suffer the great fortune of looking for a flat in Bengaluru, you also have to break an FD to cough up the 11 months of security deposit.
And finally, there are the house-owners. Respectable members of the society who pay taxes and contribute to the economy. And yet, they look at bachelors as trolls, vampires, and werewolves. As lesser beings who wreck everything in their way like a poorly designed video game. Even if one overcomes all these challenges, there is the question of what one does for a living. When I told them I am a standup comedian, one of the brokers smirked.
‘Only software’, he said, with the confidence of an immigration officer. I tried telling them I’m a journalist too. But journalists are not respected as much as we were in the ’90s, when every film featured an ethical, kurta-jhola wearing journalist who dies after passing on crucial information to the cops. I also review movies, but even mentioning the word ‘film’ in the conversation shuts more doors on my face than Tom while chasing Jerry around the house.
As the month draws to a close, I am still running around looking for a roof above my head. The bachelors of India urgently need to change the impression of bachelors around the country. For years, Dr Abdul J Kalam was the most well-known bachelor of the country. Today, we have the likes of Rishabh Pant, Arjun Kapoor and Rahul Gandhi.
The way things are going, I have better chances of working hard, saving money, and buying my own house – than finding one on rent. If you own a house, I implore you to change your opinion on bachelors. We are humans too. As for me, dear Reader – if you don’t see this column next week, please know that Yours Truly is taking shelter inside a railway pipe, and it gets rather hard to type!
(The writer’s views are his own)