Since 2012, the only neighbours I have known are my landlords. Landlords, those most dreaded of acquaintances. Like many others, I have often bemoaned this species, willing them to be banished to an exclusive land of their own, from where they can operate their business of exploiting their tenants — if they find any, that is.

I have heard of tenant-landlord relationships in big cities. I am informed that there are papers to be signed by both parties after which a property is let out. In smaller places, like the one where I come from and the places where I have worked, especially in cases of one- or two-room tenements where a professional, especially one in a transferable job and a government one at that, can stay, such accommodation is easier to move into, if not easier to find. No paperwork is involved and the shondhaan — search — occurs through a chain of acquaintances. It usually happens that the landlord turns out to be a relative of a person who works in the same office as the person looking for a house.

I suppose it is a perk of living in a small place. Everything operates on word of mouth. However, this arrangement comes with its own riders. These usually have to do with what time the front gate will be locked at night, how many times and for how long the water pump will be switched on in a day and what food can be cooked in the house, etc.

Since my days in Pakur to my current life in Chandil, it has become a ritual to call my landlord at 08.30 pm sharp and tell him to keep the front gate open as I’ll be home late. Work in a government health centre in a small town extends well beyond the 9-5 routine but there is something about landlords and that magic........

© Indian Express