THERE exists some highly perilous (read nasty) relationships in our society and, for that matter, in all societies all over the world such as the relationship between saas and bahu, na’nd and bhawaj, afsar and matehat, to name a few.
Yet another equally precarious relationship is that of a landlord and his tenant. Although it has not so far gained the amount of notoriety the other three have, it is a well-known fact that landlords and tenants are seldom at peace with each other..
Unfortunately, after my marriage, I had to spend a few years in a rented house and had to put up with what I may call one of the most miserable and humiliating experiences of my life. However, I would, for the present, refrain from apprising you of the atrocities perpetrated by my landlord, and instead tell you the story of another — a friend of mine who, for the sake of anonymity, I would refer to as Charlie!
Charlie, like I said, is an old friend of mine and despite all odds, our friendship has survived over the last three decades. We completed our studies, stepped into practical life and married almost simultaneously. Charlie was a gentleman and remained so till he acquired the status of a landlord. It all started with the renting out of the lower portion of his house to a man called Tirmizi who had a large family — wife and five kids. The first eight or nine months went by fine, but then the trouble started.
On the surface, it was the disturbance that Tirmizi’s children allegedly created and the poor upkeep of the house by the family. But hidden behind these excuses, Charlie, as I came to know, had a selfish motive. Finally, one day he told Tirmizi to vacate the house. But the latter was not in a position to leave right away, so he asked for some time in order to search for a suitable place. But Charlie was getting impatient and the two had frequent arguments over the issue which, at times, turned quite unpleasant.
One day, around midnight, I received a telephone call from Charlie. He was all fired up and told me that Tirmizi had categorically refused to vacate the house. “Come and talk to him before I kill him,” he fumed.
“Look, Charlie,” I said “I am extremely tired right now. I will come tomorrow and see what I can do. Meanwhile, I suggest you take a sedative and go to bed,” and hung up. A short while later, there was another ring. This time it was his wife.
“Come at once, bhai,” she implored. “Charlie has gone berserk. There was a fight between him and Tirmizi this evening. Tirmizi has refused to vacate the house and this has infuriated Charlie.”
“Relax,” I said. “I will come tomorrow and Inshallah everything will be fine.”
“You have no idea what is going on here,” she said. “Charlie is wielding a weapon.”
“A weapon?” I said laughing. “What is it,” I asked.
“It’s an old rusty dagger Charlie inherited from his father...the one his father inherited from his fathers.” She tried to explain.
“Okay, okay. Take it easy,” I said “I know Charlie, he can’t even kill a cockroach.”
“You don’t understand, bhai. I am afraid Charlie might get himself hurt. I am sure you wouldn’t like to see your bhabi widowed.”
“God forbid,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way.”
It was past midnight and clad in kurta-pajama, I was about to go to bed. But saving Charlie’s life was more important. It was January and a cold, piercing wind was blowing. Despite my wife’s earnest pleas not to embark upon such a hazardous journey at this time of night, I hurriedly put on my sweater, wound a woollen muffler around my head and headed towards Charlie’s house on my motorbike. Unfortunately, since I had started off in a hurry, I forgot to carry my wallet which contained my NIC, company ID card, driving licence and other relevant papers. I realized the lapse after I was half way to Charlie’s house.
Charlie’s house lies some 10 kilometres from my place, situated in a thriving commercial area of a respectable neighbourhood, and it didn’t take me more than twenty minutes or so to reach the place. Much to my misfortune, however, while I was at a short distance from Charlie’s house, I was intercepted by a squad of four policeman. The dreaded moment had arrived. They ambushed me in commando style, and pounced on me like prey, pointing their guns towards me. They asked me to accompany them to the police station for further questioning. I had nothing in my pocket at that time, save a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. While searching my pockets, they took out both the items and each lit a cigarette.
A few puffs turned them on and they started cutting jokes among themselves. Taking advantage of this situation, I asked them to return my lighter and let me go. “Lighter or the police station,” one of them said, “the choice is yours.” I had no choice!
The thorough gentleman that Tirmizi was, he received me with extraordinary warmth, offered me a comfortable seat and a hot cup of coffee. “When I rented the premises,” he said, “I told your friend very plainly that I would not be in a position to vacate the house for at least two years, and he had agreed to it.
“I have no intention of occupying Charlie’s house longer than necessary,” he said, adding “the problem is that I have presently nowhere to go. I have a family and I am not moneyed enough to buy a ready-made house.”
I apologized on Charlie’s behalf and requested Tirmizi to take a sympathetic view and vacate the house, to which he said he would as soon as he can. “Look,” he said, “I know Charlie has struck a deal with a Memon party on lucrative terms and plans to convert the front portion of the house into a large shop for commercial purposes. The party has already paid him a substantial amount as security deposit. All that I am asking for is some time so that I can get a suitable place. And I have told him so many times that I will vacate his house as soon as I get one.”
I thanked him for his cooperation and hospitality and came back and told the whole story to Charlie. I asked him to calm down and also warned him not to make any foolish move again. He agreed and I returned home.
Three weeks following this episode, I had a telephone call from Charlie. He was highly excited. “You wouldn’t believe it,” he said “Tirmizi has found a house and will be leaving Sunday next — that is three days from now.”
“What do you expect me to say, damn you,” I said. “Congratulate you or curse you?”
“Whatever,” he said “but do join us on Sunday night. Shagufta has invited the Tirmizis over to dinner as a gesture of goodwill, you know!”
And a lavish dinner it really was. But what made me rub my eyes in disbelief was that Charlie was acting as the perfect, proverbial host. The Tirmizis left soon after dinner amid a great deal of maafi-talafi from both sides. I stayed back for a cup of coffee.
Charlie was in high spirits and so was Shagufta. While I had finished my coffee and was about to leave, there was a telephone call from the party whom Charlie had struck the tenancy deal with. The conversation started in mild, welcome tones but within no time flared into a harsh argument. It was evident from the conversation that the party was asking him to arrange to construct a washroom within the shop which Charlie argued was not part of the deal. He said he could do it provided an additional amount of at least Rs20,000 was paid in advance, which the party was not willing to. Their plea was that they had already offered a huge sum.
“There it goes again!” Shagufta remarked in disapproval.
