Owner's Pride?

Buying a home always has a special place in our heart.  But while its human nature to want to have a place to belong, a home isn't just where you are, it's who you are. And it's true that part of why my home feels like mine is because I'm the one paying for it, not my parents. Doesn’t matter if it is the 1st buy or 3rd, whether it is for our own living purpose or just investment. Before putting our hard-earned money we will do every risk analysis involved in under-construction project. We go through the endless options whether there is some place with better schools, a better neighborhood, more green space, and on and on. 

And in a under-construction project we may go every month to check the progress and when the builder demands for the last 95% amount, we start to weave dreams about how and what we are going to do when we get into our home. For the 1st time buyers this is the most exciting phase. The countdown begins before the builder gives possession.

And then days turn into months and months into years and there is no sign of builder giving possession.

Like every home buyer excited with what the project was offering and the promising brochure etc. We booked our dream home in January 2015 paying 95% amount as the building was ready and only garden and other amenities work was to be done as told to us by their Sales rep.

Today it is March 2016 and still there is no sign of the podium or the club house or even MSEB connection.

What can a middle class man do in such a case? The most heard answer is go to Consumer Court.

Where we have to persuade others and are forced by the builder to chase the woven dream through endless work with no chance of justifiable or applicable results.

But the problem doesn’t end here(Read here).

Assured possession as per the agreement and Sales VP in August 2015, I started planning for the interior July. Since I wanted to buy furniture online from Urban Ladder, I decided to draw the plan in Auto CAD. And so we went to measure the flat and when we made the outline. We were baffled as nothing matched. The measurements of each rooms were 6 inches to 12 inches lesser than that mentioned in the brochure on the basis of which we had decided to go for buying the flat. And when we did the sum of each rooms, passage, foyer, terrace, balcony etc. the value came as a great shock - it was so unexpected.

The builder was cheating in Carpet area.

For most of us we are not even aware of this term as all the builders sell on “Saleable” area.

And the funny part is that the builder justified this deficiency by “Plaster thickness”. I mean c’mon plaster thickness will eat up 8-12 inches of your room size.

And what’s more ironic is that the government has imposed builders to mention carpet area in the agreement but the definition of carpet area – what to include and what to exclude is not clear in the government documents. And they take advantage of such loop holes.

Most buyers don’t even know these government documents and rely on whatever the builder say. But the sad part is that even after knowing that the builder has cheated we do not want to fight.

We are ready to get in an argument with a rickshaw wala for charging us extra or for change.

We will not tolerate if the sabji – wala gives one tomato less.

But we will tolerate if the builders cheat by not giving what they promise. We are victimized because we feel that we have become prisoners of the developers.

Why because he has power, money and panel of lawyers and what do we have hungry mouths to feed, heavy baggage of home loan EMI, credits and bills to pay, demanding boss at work and a despondent spouse at home, spiced with a grumpy neighbour.. Piss off..

This is why Builders take the buyer for granted. The laws are in place, all we have to do is to take up the fight.

No one in my complex is willing to fight with the builder although their apartments has the same issues. There is a lack of motivation and collective responsibility.

“Do they have any idea what they are taking on? This isn’t an easy project.”

We must become more assertive when faced with such contentious situations.  I have begun my own quiet war (Read here).

Update: Builder Mafia Raaj Hatao
http://ravikarandeekarsblog.blogspot.in/2016/05/pune-flat-buyers-declare-war-on-builder-mafia-raaj.html?m=1

"Alas, I have begun my loneliest walk. But whoever is of my kind, cannot escape such an hour, the hour which says to him, 'Only now are you going your way to greatness. Peak and abyss, they are now joined together, for all things are baptized in a well of eternity, and lie beyond good and evil.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

Let Your Hair Do the Talking...

We give and we give and we give until we are empty.

When Did The Tables Turn?
It’s amazing really. As children and young adults, we become accustomed to someone taking care of us. Even as we gain more and more responsibility and autonomy, there is still that special someone who checks up on us. Makes sure we are eating…makes sure we have what we need…makes sure we are ok. For many of us, if we are lucky, that person is our mom.

But then all of the sudden, the tables turn…we pop out a baby and BAM! We are the ones who are supposed to be taking care of this other person, 100% responsible for their health, safety and well-being. No one really trains you for this and Heaven knows nothing can prepare you for it.

So we do what moms for centuries before us have been doing. We take the horse by the saddle, throw every ounce of our being into raising this little person and realize, finally, Dear God, how our own mother must have loved us.
Because through it all, we don’t complain, we don’t regret our choice in life…in fact, it’s quite the opposite. We wonder, how in the world we got to be so lucky!

But herein lies the problem – As a mom to my two beautiful, kind-hearted little girls, I feel such fortune that God blessed them to me. That he chose ME, lowly me who is not deserving of such good fortune, to be their mother. And my feeling of gratitude and indebtedness is so great, that I can think only of how to be a better mom…to give more…to spend more time with them…to, in turn, do less for myself.

And it’s not a good thing – it’s not a proud feeling. That I put myself last…because I know that it is not a smart choice – for my mind, for my body, for my husband, for my family.
And yet, I so often do.

My Hair Tells It’s Own Story

My sweet friend, Asha, my personal "hair-stylist" I say that coz she loved that and I mostly would be her 'guinea pig' as she always cut my hair….and she did a fine job of it or be the one suggesting hair cuts for me in the salon.

But moving away and having a child ruined that set-up and here was a grown woman with a child that had not had her hair cut in a year. And color?! Well never…

Add on to that, I usually had it pulled back in a homely low pony that did nothing for the lack of a cut.
I just didn’t think that taking the time to cut and color my hair was what I should be doing when my job was to raise my little girls.
But you know what I’ve learned over the past 5 years living across from her?

That when I get my hair cut, it makes me FEEL better…and that makes me happier…and that makes me a better mom. Because that feeling of confidence and oh wow, maybe I am a real person carries over into my day-to-day with my children and husband.

I’m not saying I do it as often as I should…but I’m much improved from 5 years ago!

So over the past 7 years, I’ve really been working on some things to improve Me…things that either keep me healthy, make sure I am healthy, remind me that I once was something other than a Mom. That I am a woman…I am a person…I am someone of value, outside of being a mother.

I make sure if I’m sick…I go to the doctor. Because I wouldn’t hesitate to take my own kids when I thought they had a sinus infection or bronchitis.

I schedule regular hair cuts…sometimes regular means every 12 weeks…sometimes 24 weeks…but it’s still better than 12 months!

I give myself a break of making home cooked meals every once in a while and we all go out to eat.

There Are Still Miles To Go…miles to go

And there are many more things I’m STILL working on: scheduling date nights with my hubby…getting to a comfort level of leaving my girls with my mom…thinking it’s OK to go out to dinner with just my girlfriends.

But I will get there…and so will you. But it has to be a concerted effort.

We have to think we are worth it.
Because at the end of the day, if we don’t take care of ourselves, if we give and give and give until we are all used up…what do we truly have to give to our children? What will be left? Not much, that’s for sure.

And when you feel that you just can’t make that doctor’s appointment or spend that time alone, ask yourself this…Would My Mom Let Me Treat Her Daughter That Way? I think we all know the answer.  

To My Firstborn…I’m Sorry

When my girls were babies and soft and snugly and smelled good all the time, I never would have needed to remind me to give them Kisses.

But what started to scare me, that’s right, scare me, was that as I watched my older daughter growing up, becoming more independent, I noticed a shift in myself that was so slight it was almost unrecognizable…until it was. 

I realized that as I was cuddling her younger sister and giving kisses at every turn, there seemed to be an invisible barrier between Trisha and me. 

There is something about being able to hold your child, to carry them, that seems to create and foster a closeness. That proximity to my face seemed to create the perfect environment for a kiss on the mouth, a snuggle, an extra hug. This made realize that the sibling getting the short end of the stick is my daughter, my sassy first-born. 

I would grab her and hug her and kiss her as she wandered off into dreamland. But I was angry with myself…angry at letting her fledgling independence create this barrier…and angry because I knew it was more me that had let that happen than her. Because she was only 5 and she’s still a little girl. And she still needs her mom more than anyone and needs to know that I love her and get those kisses throughout the day.

And last night when she came crying in my room, "mamma I am not getting sleep", after a very long time (we stop co-sleeping after soumya's birth) I went to put her to sleep. And I was finding myself laying in bed at night next to Trisha asking myself…Have I even kissed her today? I hugged her I know, yes I’m certain I at least hugged her. But did I wrap my arms around her and give her a kiss and tell her how much I love her today just for being her?

So I told myself I wasn’t going to let this happen. Because if anyone could change it, I could. And I was going to start right away. So here’s a quick letter of apology I drafted to her in my rare down time while she was at school

My Dahling Trisha,

I’m sorry because you will always get the worst version of me as a mom. I say that only half jokingly.  For the first almost 3 years of your life, had someone asked me if I was the best mom in the world, I would have answered unequivocally and quite unabashedly that yes, yes of course I was. 

I mean, what about all those clothes washed and folded so neatly? And then when you came, I nursed you on demand, I let you sleep when you needed to, I only let people hold you after they had used hand sanitizer. And I held you non-stop, barely giving anyone else a chance to do so

You were my world, wholly and completely. After your beautiful entry into this world, I had finally realized what love was. 

And so, yes, there you have it, I WAS the best mom in the world.

Then…near your 3rd birthday, your baby sister joined our little family. 

And from that day on, I can see that being born first is not really a blessing, my dear. 

You have been a big sister for 5 years now and overall you have done a great job, especially since I have changed as a mom to you in so many ways. I am not as physically, emotionally, and mentally available to you as much as before since I have a baby dependent on me for love and nourishment 24/7.  You have been very understanding despite this.  I think it is because you have always been an independent child.

I hate to break it to you, but for every ounce of crazy you got from me, your sister has gotten a much calmer version of me. Whereas every move you made had me freaked out, I know I have a tendency to refer to your sister as the “calm one” and you, the “lively one.”  In fact, I realize that I compare the two of you quite frequently, but it’s because I can’t get over how extremely different you are.  You both amaze me.

With your sister I realized babies do some weird things and most of them don’t require a visit to the paediatrician. Surprisingly, she has survived many nights without me watching her breathe or holding my hand on her chest and taking her pulse.  Go figure…Cold and congested chest had become your 2nd family. A slight change in weather and you have it. When you quit being an only child, I said goodbye to any idea of us all being healthy at the same time!  Germs are like a family member these days. 

If that was not enough a fussy child in eating that you were, put my patient to its test limit. The variations that I cooked so that something goes in your lil tummy not even half I had to do for Soumya. The moment she became of age to eat solid she started eating with all the ease. As if she had learned how to do so from my womb.

Aah! and how can I forget sleep, hyperactive that you were and are, sleep never touches your eye. Busy in your world, racing through your imagination, sleep is mere waste of time. But with your sister lights out - time to sleep. I’m sorry I focused so much on your stupid sleep schedule. Some of my worst moments as a mother were trying to get you to take a nap that first (and second… and third year). I yelled. I cursed. I cried. Or I left you crying. It seemed so important at the time. You NEEDED sleep. What you didn’t need was a crazed lady yelling at you to sleep. I’m really, really sorry about that.

Soumya has gone potty in almost every imaginable public restroom and, good news for me, learned to go #2 on a real potty way before you ever did. Goodbye scraping poop out from randomly every place.

With you, I lost my temper more easily and got easily frustrated when you wouldn’t listen.  I mean, shouldn’t a 2 year old listen the first time, get dressed quickly and buckle in their car seat?

I’m sorry for all the overzealous discipline. We spanked. We yelled. We doled out way more than our fair share of time outs. Daddy and I were rookies. That’s the truth. We hadn’t yet learned the subtle art of choosing our battles and adjusting our expectations. You took the brunt of that and I’m so sorry.

But it was really rough the first time around.  However, you changed my life for the better and I have learned so much from you after all the years that I can actually relax a little and enjoy being your mom.

But, you see, this apology letter is not really even for these first 5 years of your life.  I mean, it sort of is, but we all know that most of these “mistakes” I made won’t be remembered by you.

What I’m trying to tell you is this…you are ALWAYS going to be my “first.” 
You gave me the greatest gift possible. You made me a mom. In the most intense way possible, YOU are my baby.

You will be the first one to go through those angsty tween years where you aren’t a little girl and you certainly aren’t ready to not be one. 

You will be the first one to test the limits of my patience day in and day out. 

You will be my guinea pig for rewards and punishments.  
You’ll be the one we figure out how to manage homework with.

Training bras, mean girls, curfews, boys….you will be the first to go through each of these phases. So as with anything in life, there will be a learning curve. 

I will learn how to do it better, but you won’t usually be the one to reap that reward. As the oldest, you have the unsavoury role of paving the way through all the phases, and your sister is going to reap the benefits. It’s a crummy trade-off: She’ll watch you get to do everything “cool” first, like driving or owning a phone, and you’ll watch her get the softer side of mom and dad.

But here’s what I can also tell you. 

I won’t always get it right with you.  In fact, more often than not, I will probably get it wrong the first time. 

But please, even when you are mad at me, angry at what I wouldn’t let you do, annoyed with what I made you do…please know that in everything I do, in every choice I make, I am always, always, trying to get back to that place where I believe I am the best mom in the world. You are the reason I continue to learn, and you are my motivation for always wanting to be better.

And it’s no longer me trying to prove it to the world, but to myself.

Love,

Your Mom




Source : Hillary Cole