On Sunday evening, in the small multipurpose room on the first floor of A block in Mayur Palli, the monthly meeting for the residents was coming to a close. On the last Sunday of every month, the Ping-Pong tables were pushed aside, the young boys and girls who used that space to play games and flirt with each other were sent home, and the board members and any residents who had grievances to share would settle into old plastic chairs for two hours. Four tubelights along the edges of the room gave a cold, clinical quality to the light, and two old metal standing fans creaked noisily in opposite corners, forcing everyone to speak loudly. Every meeting ended with a discussion about having ceiling fans installed in the multipurpose room.
Many residents had grievances to share on these Sunday evenings. Tonight, there had already been the following—on the main billboard, Mrs. Patnaik had glued a notice to sell stuffed teddy bears over Mr. Prasad’s notice that he was looking for a new mechanic. How long should notices be allowed to stay up uncovered? Mr. Ruddra was cutting his toenails off the edge of his balcony and the half-moon clippings were falling into Mrs. Kulkarni’s potted plants on the balcony below. Could he please be asked to stop? Mr. Ghosh should have warned the B block residents that his furniture was being delivered at night. Mr. Baggaria had confused the sound and rumbling of the cupboards being taken up the stairs for an earthquake and gone running down the stairs in a state of panic in his pajamas. Mr. Rastogi suspected that Mr. Sen was stealing his newspaper in the morning, completing the crossword puzzle, and then replacing it.
The last order of business had been Mr. Jha letting everyone know about their new tenants—the Ramaswamys, a young couple from Chennai. They were not officially required to get approval for their tenants, but now that they had told all their neighbors that they were moving, Mrs. Jha had insisted that it was in good form to go to the meeting and tell the board about the Ramaswamys.
“You know how people here can be,” she said. “We don’t want the tenants to feel unwelcome from the minute they come in.”
“I’m looking forward to having neighbors who interfere less,” Mr. Jha had said.
He was pleased that he had more money, and he wanted to travel more and spend more freely. He wanted the new car, the home with a driveway, crystal chandeliers, sparkling water, better shower heads, and softer shoes. He wanted to be a member of a private club. He wanted to get a bidet installed in the master bathroom. And he knew that if he did any of that while still living in Mayur Palli, he could face criticism and judgment. He did not think life needed to be a lengthy experiment in sacrifice.
“Mr. Jha, what work do they do, the Ramaswamys?” Mr. Gupta, presiding over the meeting, asked. He had been the president for the last six years because the only other person who had run against him was Mrs. Ghosh, and Mr. Gupta had found it easy to convince everyone that the idea of a woman being the president was preposterous. As a compromise, he made Mrs. Ghosh the “head of communications,” which meant that she was responsible for writing a newsletter after the meetings and leaving copies in everyone’s mailboxes. Mrs. Ghosh would sometimes attach her favorite recipes along with the newsletter—she had dreams of putting together a cookbook. The neighbors suspected her dreams would go unrealized because in her last recipe for fish with mustard curry, the first paragraph called for a large chopped onion, only for the onions never to be used.
“The husband will be working for Standard Chartered Bank, and the wife—also an IIT graduate, I’m told—teaches bharatanatyam dance classes in Chennai and may start a class for some of the young girls around here.”
“Dance classes become fronts for brothels too easily,” Mr. Ruddra objected.
“That is a very good point,” Mr. Prasad said. “Dance classes cannot be allowed.”
“I’m sure Mr. Gupta will make sure nothing untoward goes on,” Mr. Jha said. He wanted to go home. Mr. Ruddra thought everything was a front for a brothel. When the new air-conditioned coffee shop opened across from the gates, he spent hours monitoring the young women who went in and out. One of the women finally complained to the manager and Mr. Ruddra was told that he could not sit there without making a purchase.
Mr. Gupta leaned back in his chair, pushed his fingers together like a steeple, and nodded.
“Interesting. Mr. Ruddra does bring up a good point. Mr. Jha, you will have to ask Mr. Ramaswamy to come and see me before his wife starts running a business from their home.”
“Of course,” Mr. Jha said. “I will make sure of that. Is that it for today, then?”
“Mr. Jha,” Mr. Ruddra added. “Would you mind telling us why you are renting out this apartment? Surely you don’t need the money?”
“Maybe they’re getting carpets made of gold thread,” Mrs. Sen said.
“Or lightbulbs with diamonds,” Mr. Prasad added.
“Or a twelve-foot-high fence to keep the commoners out,” Mr. Madhavan said.
A small laugh went through the crowd.
“Don’t be silly,” Mr. Jha said, eager to end this meeting. The fence that was in place was sufficient and, frankly, lightbulbs with diamonds was not a terrible idea and if he wanted to get that done, he should have the freedom to get it done. But he said none of that. “We don’t want to leave this lovely apartment empty. It’ll be nice for another family to enjoy it for now and who knows what we may do in the future, or where we may live.”
“You mean you may move back here?” Mr. Gupta said.
“Perhaps,” Mr. Jha said. He had no intention of moving back to Mayur Palli after living in Gurgaon, but he also did not want his neighbors and friends to dislike him. They were, after all, their closest friends in Delhi, and what if making new friends in Gurgaon was not as easy?
“Oh, that will be just lovely,” Mrs. Patnaik said from the back. “This will always be your home.”
“You may return here to the masses someday?” Mr. Gupta said. “That will require lots of adjusting.”
“Yes, it will. And so will moving to Gurgaon in the first place. All of this will require adjusting, and my wife and I are doing exactly that. We are not building carpets of gold and our lightbulbs will…probably…not have any diamonds on them, but we are moving. And we will have full-length mirrors in our home. Mr. Gupta, this is the life that my family has chosen, and I assure you, we will adjust. I have always adjusted. Are we finished here?”