And the door bell - it keeps on ringing!

Typically, the Chennai household is up early - awakened by the milk delivery boy at 5 a.m. (a co-operative of milk producers put together their yield for the day, mixed in generously with milk powder, my mother will say, and are sold as sachets of milk - about a quart each. They are trucked in to chennai milk centers at the wee hours of the morn, and young boys or grouchy old men do their rounds delivering it to doorsteps). The paper boy may also have been instructed to ring the door bell, while dropping it at the door step (mine has learnt to high fling it to the 2nd floor balcony!). In some households, fresh flowers are delivered both in the morning and evening (that is getting rarer these days), followed by the arrival of the maid. The course of the morning sees the vegetable vendor and the fruit vendor. ( In my mother in law's neighborhood, the latter can be a specialist - only bringing several varieties of bananas. So, if you are looking something else, you might have another ringing your door bell). If you have scheduled your street's ironing chap to stop by every couple of days to pick up your ironing, then you will have a caller just when you are about to step in to the bathroom, and don't forget, he will be back later in the day to return those ironed shirts ... when you may be elbow deep in dough!

And if you were looking to get some peace and quiet during the day, the endless courier delivery boys keep you running to the door several times a day. The greater your investments, the more frequent the ringing. These days companies find it more secure to send dividend checks, annual reports, and the like, via these lads that ride a motorbike all over town, dropping off envelopes and collecting signatures, troubling those afternoon nappers. (Ramesh theorizes that the system has been so designed to promote the the solid Brahmin value that one should sleep little!)

Our day is a little different - we have left express instructions for the milk boy NOT to ring the bell, I buy my flowers, veggies and fruits at the store, and have cleverly given all of you Ramesh's parents' postal address.

This is a newly built apartment. Our neighbor upstairs is still having work done, and the ever revolving security staff (known as "watchmen") are still learning the ropes, I do have a lot of knocks on the door. (Akbar is usually spread out right at the entry way, much to the consternation of most callers, catching the crossing breezes. He has yet to bark at anyone, much to mine!) I thought I might share the happenings of a recent busy morning:

It begins with the arrival of the maid, followed by the ironing lady, who has come to pick up the day's ironing (and will later return to bring in the starched sarees from two days ago), then the neighbors from upstairs pop in to tell me that most of the carpentry is complete in their house, and would I please begin parking my car in the space allotted to me (the carpenters were working in our space for the last month.) I was assured that the space had been properly swept, was invited to review it for stray nails (which I declined and thanked for their diligence). After our goodbyes, the next caller was the building's common area cleaner. Her sister-in-law was just married two days ago. So she was there to give me a traditional offering of betel leaf, turmeric, bananas and coconut. (I accepted it guilitily for I had not attended the wedding, and was not prepared with the expected gift in Rupees!)

I had not quite made it back to the beans that I was cutting on the kitchen counter, when the door bell rings again. It is the ironing lady with the starched sarees from two days ago, along with the watchman, and another chap in tow. The latter had been sent by my parents-in-law to collect the remaining wood, sheets of formica and other miscellaenous things from the carpentry work completed a month ago in our apartment. The watchman is not sure whether these guys are legit. He wants my OK to let them move things. I give him the green signal. They will be back, for when they drop off the wood at Ramesh's parents home, a couple more pieces of furniture will be coming back with them for our use. When could I expect them? I ask. It is hard to say. Traffic could be bad.

I instruct my maid to sweep the parking bay clean after the stuff has been removed. She is back, with the watchman again. He has a worker from the Electricity Board. Apparently, he has been instructed to change the meter. Is he legit? I didn't think so. This is a new apartment, I say. All meters are new. Why should he change out any? There is an old one he says, could he have the keys to the meter room? I let the watchman have the keys, and instruct him to be vigilant. It turns out that the EB guy was in the wrong house, after all. The meter numbers did not match. I am relieved.

The neighbor's carpenter drops by. Could he have the keys to the terrace? He needs to put out some freshly painted doors to dry. I thought you were all done, I say. We are, he says. The painters still have a couple of days of work. I give him the key. I have gotten to know him well over the last month. He frequently wants the keys to the terrace.

However, things begin to smell funny when the sewer guys arrive. They are 4 of them and they open up the manhole inside the apartment building's compound wall. The watchman is at my door in a panic. They claim that a complaint was received about a problem. Could I please go to the balcony and talk to them. I do. This is a new building I say, we have no complaints. One guy waves a paper, it says number 43! I lock the door and go down. The paper looks legit enough. I reiterate that we have no complaints. They have the wrong address. On my way up, I see that the watchman has knocked on the doctor's door on the 1st floor. Clearly the watchman is concerned - the doctor is just the "Treasurer" of our building association. The doctor is sure these guys are just here to "case the joint." They have left now, I assure all of us!

I am in the middle of lunch, having a quiet read of the paper, waiting for the clock to approach 1:40 p.m. when I leave to pick up Rajani at school. The door bell rings again. It is the guys with the furniture. Could I put the dog away? He is in the way, not to mention one of them is really scared of dogs. He has been chased and bitten before. The two occasional chairs are moved in to place. And the two really dusty pieces are left in the balcony for later cleaning. I shoo them out of the house, grab my keys and head out, raising the deep tinted glass, turning on the a/c, and tuning to FM Gold: from 1:15 - 2:00, they play old carnatic recordings of the masters.

I shift in to 1st, and drive towards the school. No more door bells - for the next 30 minutes atleast!