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Unfortunately the gods decreed trouble in the marriage of Vijay and Rekha. The single bathroom upstairs turned into a bone of contention so big that the whole house could not contain it.

Did the new bride find it inconvenient to creep to the bathroom in the corridor after sex? Did she feel embarrassed washing her hands and brushing her teeth in full view? Did she find it awkward to knock on the latrine door when she couldn’t wait for Ajay, Seema, or her in-laws to finish using it? Did the adjustment process break down when she had to confront a sink, toilet, and bathing area in separate corners of the house?

The results of what she felt were to be heard in the words that began to reverberate upstairs before spilling into the flat below.

‘Why did you get me married if there is no place to even pee?’ complained Vijay, who had had no problem peeing before his marriage.

Complained Sushila to Sona: ‘Ajay, Seema and their child are in one room, we two in one, Vijay and Rekha in one, and in the last is the dining table, fridge, sofa, and TV, with no room to even put your leg. Big problem the bathroom, now that Rekha is expecting. She has to go – if there is someone she has to wait, then she gets cramps. Big, big problem. But downstairs it is easy, you cannot understand, only four, plus the angan and outer veranda in which to spread out.’

Sona was not receptive. ‘You forget Virat and Asha, who are here the whole day,’ she said coldly. There had been a time when nine people had been crammed into the downstairs four rooms, but in the spirit of family they accommodated each other. As she started on this, Sushila yawned and left. She knew each note of Sona’s song, further acquaintance was not desired.

Finally Pyare Lal came to the point in a conversation with Yashpal. ‘Vijay wants us to move to a bigger house. With a growing family, it is very difficult.’

Yashpal was incredulous. Marriage had turned the boy’s head. He offered to explain to Vijay how it was important to tolerate, you cannot go far in life if you are always thinking of yourself, but Pyare Lal declined on his son’s behalf. Sometimes there was a genuine problem, he implored his brother to see that. And if Vijay goes we will all have to follow. His mother cannot bear for him to live separately.

‘One couple can come downstairs,’ offered Yashpal as a solution.

‘Bhai Sahib, your heart is too-too big, but now that Rekha is pregnant she needs her mother-in-law’s attention, while Seema’s daughter cannot even sleep without her grandmother. Separation is impossible.’

‘What is the solution?’ demanded Yashpal plaintively, not dreaming that Pyare Lal had one.

Pull down this house and build a modern one, a modern house that would remove the angan and give them all more floor space, with bedrooms that had attached bathrooms.

Pull down their whole house, just because of a few adjustment problems – what kind of drastic solution was this? Would he be condoning separation, or diffusing tension? Yashpal, now head of the family, was not sure. Would they be able to function with everybody’s interests in mind, if they couldn’t even live together? He wished his father was alive. Pyare Lal would have been forced to keep a tighter rein on Vijay.

Now the builder Pyare Lal had acquired so fortuitously through his younger son’s in-laws came into the picture. Yashpal was dead against any consultation, fearing it as a first step towards major reconstruction.

‘What is the harm in just talking, he is family, no question of any payment for just talking,’ pointed out Pyare Lal. Besides, his brother just had to look around him to see that tearing down single dwelling units in order to construct flats was the face of the future.

Yashpal said nothing. In a joint family, compromise is of the essence, but a strong power structure meant it had to be done less often. Again he thought of his father.

Pyare Lal to his wife: ‘I wish he wasn’t so slow, so careful. How can you do business if you are never willing to take risks?’

To hear her husband talk like this was balm to Sushila’s soul. At last he was coming into his own and asserting his particular vision. All these years, he had been held back by the cautious, careful hand of his father, mindful of his brother’s good opinion, content with being subservient, content to grow at a snail’s pace.

It was not his fault. He was the youngest, what could he do by himself? Now he had sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren, now he was a patriarch in his own right.

Sushila looked into the future and saw partition. The new addition to the shop had resulted in two clear units which made division natural, as natural as day divided from night.

‘He says he is going to talk to a builder,’ said Yashpal to Sona that evening, ‘but in fact I think discussions have already taken place.’

‘Yes, let him consult, let him pay money to see a professional.’

‘It is not a question of money – he is a relative of Rekha’s.’

Sona was silent. Luck was living upstairs as usual.

‘He will either build or move,’ went on Yashpal.

‘Let him move.’

‘It is not so simple,’ sighed Yashpal. ‘He will need money for moving. Where will he get it but from the business?’

‘Always you are thinking of him. Does he ever think of you?’

‘He has a growing family. He says his share for himself and his two sons is three-fifths, two-fifths for me and my son.’

Sona’s jaw dropped. Such greed was never seen on the face of the earth, such manipulation, such blackmail. ‘One thing is to ask, another is to get,’ she said grimly. ‘And why two-fifths? What about Vicky? We keep him, his wife, his child, we should have at least half.’

‘You know he will say sister’s son. Besides, Baoji never intended Vicky to be an actual owner.’

Sona ground her teeth. She realised the Vicky wicket was weak, it would not hold under a determined onslaught.

‘Anyway,’ continued Yashpal, ‘his sons are just married. They are full of energy, they want this and that, it must be difficult for him.’

‘Why are you always seeing the other side, why can’t you think of us?’ wailed Sona.

‘You want me to fight my brother?’

That was exactly what Sona wanted, but what could she say? The odds were against them. The upstairs family were two married sons, with one powerful set of in-laws, whereas Raju, poor boy, was only in Class XII. Let him grow up, how he would help his father, how he would demand their rights, but for now she did not think her husband was capable of winning any fight.

Next day, after work, with misery-lined face Yashpal told Sona, ‘I don’t think we have any choice, we will have to do as he wants, or he will leave.’

‘Let him leave, what do we care?’

No answer. Kaliyug indeed, where blood eats blood, and nothing is sacrosanct.

Another tack. ‘Where will they go? It is just a threat, do not listen to him.’

Yashpal remained lost in his own thoughts. Their family had changed since his father had died. Pyare Lal was tense and irritable, always wanting more. Maybe there had been some sense in his father’s refusal to do certain things. When he was around they never experienced such tension.

It was to Sona that Pyare Lal first brought the plans. ‘I thought you should see them before anybody else, Bhabhi,’ he said, stepping into her section in the middle of the day.

‘I know nothing about business,’ said Sona, hastily covering her head before her brother-in-law, and looking curiously at the rolled bluish sheets in his hand.

‘It is not a question of business, Bhabhi, it is a question of our home. See, what all space the man is giving us. I told him to make the best, most spacious flat for my brother and Bhabhi, ours does not matter so much.’

He sat down, pulled the Sunmica table close to him, and laid the plans out.

‘I do not understand these things,’ repeated the Bhabhi nervously.

‘Arre, I will explain. Look, you are on the first floor. Fourteen hundred square feet we are allowed, but actually he is giving us 1650. He is a clever man. Rekha’s own chacha, real brother of her own father. See, with a bathroom attached to every bedroom, no inconvenience for anybody. When Raju marries there will be no problem, not like with Vijay.’

He laughed lightly. As Sona refused to join him, he continued pointing to squares on the plan. ‘Here a modern kitchen with place for a fridge. No running to another room every time you want a tomato. And see, a little puja room, so you won’t have to sit praying and sweating in the kitchen. On this side there is a veranda that overlooks the park. I know you like fresh air, Bhabhi, you will be able to sit outside in the evening and see all our grandchildren playing. This man has a very clever architect, one who will design beautiful ceilings with flowers in plaster of paris. There will be chandeliers in every room, the floors will be of marble, like the shop, but with Rekha’s uncle all the designing will be done cheap-cheap. I have seen a house he has decorated. If you like, I can take you and my brother?’

Sona found her voice. ‘No need, Bhai Sahib, if you are happy, we are happy.’ She stared at the plan and could make nothing of it. But her brother-in-law’s words, poured smoothly like ghee into her ears, yes, she could make something of that. She could make herself a woman in a magazine ad for kitchen appliances.

Pyare Lal continued to unfurl his own dream. The new house would have four floors plus a basement. The builder would keep two floors and the basement, and give them two floors along with fifty lakhs cash. Ten lakhs to each family and the rest to be put into the shop. They would grow and grow.

‘I don’t know, Bhai Sahib,’ responded Sona uncertainly. ‘I don’t understand these things. Your brother will decide.’

‘Arre, Bhabhi, once you decide, what is there? You should be happy. I cannot bear to see my sister-in-law in discomfort.’

More avowals of love, devotion, respect, and duty followed before Pyare Lal left his dearest sister-in-law.

All this while, Asha’s ears were the most active part of her. She listened downstairs, she listened upstairs, and noticed that plans for them were conspicuously absent. How was it possible that in the newness they figured nowhere? In a joint family, space is carved out inch by inch, but there has to be material to work with.

‘What do you think will happen?’ she asked her husband as they lay bathed in sweat on the breezeless terrace. The electricity had gone, the little pedestal fan that whipped hot air about was still, its green blades, encased in a rusty metal cage, glinted in the reflected street light.

‘How do I know?’ replied Vicky irritably. ‘Vijay and Ajay are very spoilt.’

‘I suppose Rekha feels the need for a mansion like her father’s. She must think she has married beneath her, but with that dark skin what could she hope for?’

Vicky grunted. What was it to him how anyone looked? He couldn’t tell if Rekha’s appearance was worth more or less in the marriage market; he only knew she dressed intimidatingly and smelt like some of their clients.

Used to filling her husband’s silences with chatter, Asha went on, in an effort to bolster her wavering confidence that their future was going to change for the better, though the means were as yet vague. Vicky, satisfied with a routine that revolved around shop, home, dining table, TV, and bed, never thought beyond the day. But Asha, despite the odds, still preserved shreds of that old sense of opportunity she had felt when she first got the news that she was marrying into a Delhi trader family. All these years it had hibernated, now her gaze narrowed as she watched for any slight shift in the patterns of destiny.

For ten years she had suffered on the roof, seeing neighbouring houses torn up and rebuilt to resemble miniature palaces, with stucco, reflecting glass, arches, and tiles. She had often thought that if the same was to be done to their house they would be able to live properly, but had regretfully concluded that such dislocation was inconceivable in this family. Now Rekha had come, and the inconceivable had become conceivable.

‘If they build maybe we will get a flat,’ she ventured.

Vicky grunted again.

‘Look at that,’ she gestured at the pink hotel that had recently usurped their horizon. ‘Five storeys.’

‘They will get caught and fined. Only three storeys is legal in Karol Bagh.’

Even Asha knew enough to laugh at the word ‘legal’. ‘You are too innocent for business,’ she declared, stroking his arm. ‘Do you think our uncles got legal permission for building on top of the shop? Sona Maji kept complaining of how much it cost to keep the MCD and police happy.’

‘I don’t care, what is it to do with us? Their shop, their business – I get a wage, I have no tension, I can sleep at night. Let them pay bribes, let them keep the whole police force happy, give them tea, cloth, discounts, what is it to me?’

‘Oh-ho, why do you get tensed up for nothing? If they break the house, we should get a flat, that’s all I am saying.’

‘Yes, yes, the people who didn’t let us build a room on the roof, the same people will give us a flat.’

‘If they don’t, where will we go?’

‘Their problem. They can’t throw us out.’

‘We can refuse to vacate the roof. This is our home, we have rights over it.’

Vicky looked at his wife. She smiled at him. He would never have thought of establishing possession of the roof. But in this dog-eat-dog world who else was there to look after you but yourself? He had been exploited all these years, his measly return being board, lodging, and a pittance for salary. Of course, the Banwari Lal sons would get everything worth getting. The blood on that side was thick enough to cut into barfi, on his side it was a pale pink dribble through the house.

His wife had been smart enough to see this, and he gazed at her with appreciation. She deserved a reward, and he pulled her to him quietly so Virat would not get up. ‘Let’s see,’ he whispered. ‘You think too much.’

And Asha knew her words had struck home.

Vicky did some research. Yes, he did have the rights of a tenant, if he construed himself as one. But why not, what else was he? He certainly wasn’t a member of the family, oh no. And people who treated their nears and dears so shabbily deserved no consideration.