What walls are for

People Like Us

The young filmmaker has no patience for such time-consuming things as deciding the interiors of his new apartment, but needs to have the rooms looking like they're out of the pages of a design magazine.

"You'll help, won't you, you're a friend," he pleads. "We haven't met in three years," I point out to him. "That's Delhi," he says, "never know when you'll see your friend next." "Or not at all," I add. In vain, for in the end he persuades me to come for a once-over.

From the fourth floor, overlooking a garden, the filmmaker dishes out his brief. "I want a huge baithak here," he says, " a place where I can do riyaaz, practice music." "In this tiny space?" I survey the room critically. "Knock down a wall, or two," he suggests helpfully.

"I'd like an island counter in the kitchen," says his wife, "for chopping things, or assembling them." My manners are too good to suggest the kitchen's the size of a broom cupboard, but the filmmaker sees the look in my eyes. "I know," he says, "but feel free to knock down a wall, or two."

By now I'm getting the hang of things. So when he says he'd like a larger bedroom, I nod sagely. "Sure," I agree, "it'll just mean knocking down a wall, or two."

By the time we're through checking out the balcony and the children's den, we've eliminated the need for most walls. It's a contractor's dream come true, and the one I find to employ for that task is so overjoyed, he moves in his team of demolishers before the film-maker can change his mind.

In two days, poof, the walls are gone. "I think we need to draw up a blueprint of where you want the rooms to be," I suggest, gazing apprehensively at all the space. "Right here's where the baithak should be," says my friend.

"But that's where it was originally," I say. "I know," he agrees, "but honestly, this is the best spot, so let's put up a wall or two, segregate it from the rest of the house."

"Right," I say, "what about the kids room?" "Right where it was," he says, "make no change, a wall or two built up, should do it." "Should I put back the kitchen walls too?" I ask. "You'll have to," he says, "no other place for it."

"But your wife said it was too small," I remind him. "Women," he says, "they complain all the time. Doesn't mean a thing. Just put back a wall, or two, and it'll be fine." And yes, we agree, the master bedroom needs a wall, or two, too, so the residents can have some privacy.

I'm musing on this turn of events "" no fault of mine, as you'll see "" when my aunt, currently resident with us because she's buying an apartment in the neighbourhood breaks into my reverie.

"The living room's too small, the way I see it, you'll have to do something about it." "The kitchen too," I anticipate her. "Right," she says, "right, what will you do?" "Knock down a wall, or two," I suggest. "Exactly what I had in mind," she echoes, "just the thing, a wall down, or two."

"Mind you," she continues, "I think the the bedrooms are small too, same as the balcony." I know," I say, "we'll have to enlarge them, knock down a wall, or two." "A wall," she agrees, "or two. But what do we do then?"

"Simple," I say, "we'll just put back a wall, or two, get the spaces back. It'll look terrific." "You're a genius," says my aunt, giving me a hug, "imagine the difference a wall, or two, can make."