Too Small for the Big Picture
(An immigrant experience in
homeownership).
Malathi Nidadavolu
***
My name is Malathi, nicknamed Smallathi, always in the front row
in group pictures. Back home I was considered average height. Here in the
States, just cute.
I sit in my livingroom watching the snowflakes
as they whirl and descend on the branches; hear the nerve wracking noises of
the snow plow from below my unit. They seem to highlight the anomaly in my
little world. Up until now the jarring noise from the snow plow has been music
to my ears.
It's ten years today since I moved in. I've
been watching the snowflakes gracing the window panes, some balancing on the
bare branches of the trees on the lot line, and flocks of birds forming a sharp
cone and heading south. A strong urge for hot tea springs my head. I go to the
kitchen, fill a cup with water from the faucet, and put it in the microwave.
Flop, flop ... drops of water trickle from the
faucet to a beat. Probably it's not shut it fully. I push the handle down,
swing it left and right. The trickle stops. Ha, my mistake. I drop a teabag in
the cup, and return to the dazzling sight of the rising sun. The whiteout
cloaks the branches.
***
I recall my realtor's words when I started
looking for a house. "For you, condo is the way to go," she, Jenny,
said. ''You can own a home without worrying about shoveling snow or mowing
lawn. Trust me, that rattling of those machines will be music to your ears. You
may even enjoy watching 'em with a book in your lap. ... It's a small complex
you see, just four buildings, thirty-two units, just like your home in
I could see that she was trying to impress me
with her knowledge of my culture. I turned away.
"Beautiful view of the trees and the lake
farther up there," she said.
I strained my eyes to see the water glistening
through the branches.
I had nothing to say. Sold! I moved to my own
place the following month.
***
A car pulls out from the garage across from my
unit and stops. A lady gets out of the car, goes into the garage, returns with
a shovel, and starts clearing the snow that piled up in front of her garage
entry. That means I have to do the same. I go out and shovel the snow in front
of my garage. She sees me and smiles, I
smile back. No big deal, shoveling a little snow is not all that bad.
But the faucet is another story, it is erratic,
sometimes drips and other times doesn't. I can't decide whether I should call a
plumber or not. Maybe the manager can help me. It seems such a small problem.
I call the manager.
"Hello."
"Hello, this is Malathi."
"Who? Monica?"
"No, not Monica, Malathi. I am in South
Oaks complex."
He doesn't remember, which is understandable.
He manages three complexes.
"Sorry, what's your name again, Molina?"
I waddle through the spelling. "No, not
Malina. Malathi. Em as in mother, A as in ..." I go blank.. I can't think
of a word that starts with A.
"M
as in Mary, A as in Adam?"
"Yesyesyes, sir. Adam. And then L as in
lost."
"N as in
"No, L," I yell, almost. Better be
careful lest I should offend him.
I get through my name. Now, to the real
problem.
"My kitchen faucet is leaking?"
"What?"
"Leak ... uh ...Faucet. The faucet
leaking."
"Ma'am, you've to speak slowly. Tell me
again. Start with your unit number."
I start all over again. Like English
composition class. Spellings, similes, metaphors, ...
"The problem inside your unit is your
responsibility. You need to call a plumber."
"Okay," I hang up. I don't know any
plumber. I was hoping the manager could find a plumber for me. I'm wrong, hum.
What the heck, maybe easier to live with an occasionally leaking faucet than
finding a plumber. I decide to postpone the call until the faucet gets real
bad.
It has not always been like this. At the beginning
there was no professional manager. The unit owners formed into an association
in my third year. Everybody pitched in, yard work, gardening, little repairs,
suggestions for improvements ... we worked together. We hired professionals for
snow removal, mowing the lawn, and trimming the trees, etc. We all felt the
pleasure of living in a condo, pride of homeowenership. For over four years
now, we have a board of directors, a manager; and things are changing fast.
The
board calls for a meeting. The president looks around, counts the heads,
twenty-three, "We've quorum."
President's report, Secretary's report,
Treasurer's report. President speaks of a brilliant idea suggested by the
manager; he says his plan helps our units to appreciate in value. He suggests
to buy the piece of land between our complex and the lake and build more units.
A great investment opportunity, he says. The board of directors agrees. A
couple of unit owners disagree. Who owns the building? We all own, we'll be
shareholders Who's got the money for such a big project?
"I
can advance the money," the manager says.
Somebody from the back row says, "We
thought all units are owner-occupied."
"We'll offer the units with a rent-to-own
option. In a few years, we can convert them to owner-occupied. Since there is a
lake, the units will be sold as lakefront properties. The entire complex
appreciates in value."
There is one more glitch. Before we embark on
that project, we need to make improvements on our lot. Chop the trees and put
something contemporary like a rock park.
"No, we like the trees. They serve as a
barricade sheilding our buildings from the street."
"The trees are old and rotting. They're
going to come down soon enough. You don't want that kind of problems."
He has readymade answers for every question
raised. Every rule has loopholes, only you have to find them ...
The discussion is over. A unit owner in the
front row makes a motion and another seconds it. The secretary counts the votes
- eleven 'yeah's, eight 'nay's and four abbstain. The motion carried.
What a crock, my heart moans. Look at the
numbers. In a complex of thirty-two owners, a board of five draft a proposal
and six more approve it. Just eleven, that is 33%, and they succeed in getting
a proposal put in place. Put it another way, twentyone unit owners - nine unit
owners who did not care to show up, eight nays, and four absentions - donot
support this proposal. Still the motion carried.
My pleasure of homeownership starts to fizzle.
A white hair gleans on my dark sleeve. Am I losing my hair? Am I going to lose
an arm and a leg, and a piece of my mind too with all the new things that are
being proposed to help the complex appreciate in value?
Then comes my heating bill. A whopping one
hundred and fifty percent higher than the preceding season, a shocker. I always
kept the thermostat setting at the same level. I get online and check the
degree days in
Six months go by, no word from the manager.
Maybe too busy for small things like my heating bill. For someone who could
advance money for an eight-unit building, $200.00 is probably lunch money. Or,
is it just me?
Finally, I receive a letter from the manager.
There is no explanation for the ridiculous hike in my bills; just a reminder, a
"past overdue" notice. It ticks me off. What happened to my request
to check the bill for accuracy?
I sit down to write another letter reminding
him politely of the contents in my previous letter. I know they, the board and
the manager, prefer a phonecall but I am not a phone person. We in
Anyway, I start writing again, giving all the
details why I thought the bill was a mistake. Once again, no response.
A few weeks go by, and a third bill arrives
with the amounts showing past overdue. What is he doing with my letters? Is
this his way of telling me that I must call if I want his attention?
Frustrated, I write to the board. I don't hear
from them, but the manager shows up.
"Let me check your thermostat," he
says.
"It's working fine. It's new. I installed
last year."
"Let's see. That's a start."
I say okay. After a few minutes he tells me the
thermostat is working fine.
"What next?"
He says he'll be back next week and leaves.
A month goes by. No sign of the manager. Time
for the next billing cycle. I get the bill for October. I did not notice that
the heat was on in October. Nevertheless I got the bill showing my usage and
the amount due. My anger reaches a new level.
I ask my neighbor about their heating bills.
Nothing unusual in his bill. I tell him my sad story.
"Well, the manager has no time to look
into all the details," he says.
Details? I don't understand. I am not talking
about a twenty or thirty dollar hike; two hundred dollars is big enough amount,
a cause for concern for me at least. If I let it continue, this year my heating
bill will exceed my mortgage. My blood boils. Somebody has to account for this
atrocity. Manager is not giving me answers, nor the board president or the
secretary. And I can't expect answers from the other unit owners.
I find an attorney and try to explain the
problem. He shakes his head, "No, you don't want to involve me in this.
Try to work it out with the management."
"Can you send the manager or the board a
letter at least?"
"No, I don't think that's a good idea.
Let's see what the manager says."
I am losing it on the double. I turn on the TV.
Peoples court is on. A tenant suing the manager and the manager countersuing
the tenant. The case is about the plaintiff blaming the manager for not taking
care of repairs and the manager, claiming he never got a phonecall from the
tenant.
Amusing, almost similar to my situation. I pull
up my chair and turn up the volume.
I go over various scenarios in my mind, what if
I drag my manager and the board of directors to the court.
The judge on the 24" screen delivers the
verdict, "It is your word against his. You say you'd written to him and he
says he never received your letters. You don't have his replies to show that he
had received them. I feel sorry for you but I need evidence. Without evidence
you have no case."
I slouch in my couch and let the steam out. I
hate the judges who say "You have a case but you did not prove it."
In disgust, I flip the channel.
The president is delivering his weekly speech,
clutching the dais tight.
"We are winning." Really? Why don't
you talk about the soldiers who are being killed every day and the families
that depended on them?
"We are making progress." What
progress? Where're we heading?
"The economy is booming. We have created
150,000 new jobs." People are taking low-paid jobs with no benefits. Does
that count? You call that economic boom?
The president throws his arms into the air and
says with a plastic smile, "You should look at the big picture."
The big picture - that throws me off. Next
president, next war, next disaster - the same argument, the big picture ... the
greater good. There lies the crux of the problem. You look up, look at the big
picture, and you lose sight of the little people at the ground zero level. They
don't mean a thing for those who are looking up and looking at the big picture.
I get the message. This complex is growing big and I am too small for the big
picture. Something inside my head snaps. I am not going to go away without letting
the big picture folks feel my existence.
I sit down to write my last letter to the
manager.
"I haven't heard from you in a month. I'm
not going to wait for one more season, go through the same rigmorale one more
time, and let you blame it on the power company and the hurricane Katrina for
the big hike in my next heating bill. If you don't or can't do it, I'll arrange
for an inspection by a professional heating system inspector myself and deduct
the cost from the condo fee."
This time the letter goes by registered post,
requesting for aknowledgement.
"Don't hold your breath. You know you
can't squeeze blood from a turnip," my neighbor says.
I see her point. I pick up the phone to call
Jenny, my realtor. "Let's meet. I want to move out."
She comes in that evening. "Where do you
want to move?", she asks, with her eyes gawking the lot across from the
street.
I see the big picture again, writ large on her
face.
***
(Published in
www.MuseIndia.com, September 2006)