The Builder

We are headed to meet this builder for rental property and are late. My friend tells me he is particular about time. We finally reach the office building, it's a multi-story concrete in what seems like an upscale locality. We enter the office, it's looks contemporary. I mean it. Everything is either glass or finished wood; you can't miss the feel of elegance about the place. The glass table is one of the most simple and superb designs I've seen, for a a coffee table. A guy leads us into the cabin.

The builder is dressed in black, a sindoori timki and has a gamcha like cloth around his neck. His frame is small, hair looks rough, and he's young. His clothes are a stark contrast against the finesse of the wood in his desk. My friend introduces me, all of us shake hands and we take a seat. He keeps doing something with a couple of check books, while we sit in silence. His hand movements, now that I recollect, are peculiar. He moves his hand a few times over the check before signing it. Occasionally, he looks up, talks to my friend, and rarely makes eye contact with me. We share a few formal laughs. He orders water for us; water is brought, we have it and return the cups to the coasters. Then the documents we are waiting for are brought by someone, we finish our business and take leave.

Earlier my friend had told me that this person is doing the Sabrimala Vratham and that he'll be undergoing certain austerities until forty days, like wearing all black, wearing no shoes, etc, and so the black. That he is a millionaire who earns a few lacs per month in rent from his property. The money reaches before the man. And so, when we sit in his office, the silence is embedded with weight. Money is power.