“It is not
working,” I murmured.
Wait for some
time, it will,” Rani murmured back.
We had been in
bed for some time. Perhaps for an hour, perhaps more.
Our bed is
about a foot away from a thin, ordinary glass pane. On the other side, about twenty
feet apart, runs a road. A speed breaker adorns the road at a strategic angle
from our flat. Vehicles apply brake when they are bang opposite our window, releasing
a high decibel screech that hovers in the air for several seconds. Many
vehicles, especially lorries carrying gas cylinders, fail to decelerate
sufficiently, resulting in generation of a cacophony of sorts as they jump over
the speed breaker. Exposed to the madness for four years, I can distinguish the
type of each vehicle with a fine degree of accuracy from just the sound of its
screech.
The street
noise is ever present in different avatars. As the traffic thins down at night,
screeches transform into all pervading wails. Torturing of a silencer-less
engine with high acceleration, siren of an ambulance, nocturnal roll-call of
dogs, tick-tock of the wall clock, running of the condensing unit of the split
air-conditioner in the hyper store below – even the start-stop cycle of the
compressor of the refrigerator near the kitchen – my ears are attuned to appreciate
all input and convert it into information useful for the brain but quite
useless for me.
Something was
missing that night. The comforting sound of the refrigerator. I never knew that
I had unknowingly analysed it so well. It started with a ‘tuck’, followed by
the harmony produced when water enters a half-filled cistern, signing off with
a small thud with a unique echo.
I had not
heard a single cistern filling sound that night, except for the occasion when I
had actually used the loo.
A bad omen.
Had our refrigerator hit the bucket?
When you are
married to the same person continuously for as many years as I have been, you
do not start your conversation from the beginning. You approach the topic at
any point. It saves time and the effort invested in speaking. For example,
there is no need to elaborate that while your newspaper has not been delivered,
and while your neighbour blissfully sleeps, his newspaper rots in front of his
door, throwing at you an excellent opportunity to indulge in undisclosed
co-operation. I just tell Rani, “Uska Le
Lo (Take his)”. She returns within
two minutes beaming a smile, the newspaper in her hand.
She must have
been asleep, but perhaps her brain was also recording the absence of the
refrigerator sound. She said, “It happens. Do not worry, it will start.”
The disadvantage
of studying engineering is that you know more about certain things. ‘Tuck’ must
always be followed by the water-gushing-in-the-cistern sound. A solo tuck is worse
that your friend not bringing his ravishing wife along when calling on you.
I struggled to
catch sleep. My ears struggled to catch the reassuring gurgle of the gas flow.
Fifteen minutes passed. I got up. The stabiliser was on. I opened the refrigerator
door. The inside lamp was on. I flicked the switch off and on, tugged at the
wires, kicked the compressor. The appliance remained unresponsive like a government
official.
No point in
waking up Rani, I thought, going back to the bed. Two minutes elapsed. Rani got
up. I heard the sound of the switch being flicked, the refrigerator door being
opened, Rani saying something to herself.
“Inform the
mechanic who repaired our water heater some months ago,” I said.
Satisfied that
the refrigerator had conked off, we soon fell asleep.
“Should I call
up the mechanic?” asked Rani.
It was about
seven in the morning. The mechanic looked young. Young people stay in bed
longer. Considering the outside chance that the mechanic would have gotten up
by now, he might be busy with his morning ablutions, I thought.
Rani read my
thoughts. “I will call him at 7:30,” she declared.
Half an hour later,
she announced, “He does not repair refrigerators.”
Finally a
mechanic was arranged. He declared that the refrigerator was dead, but could be
brought back to life with a replacement of the compressor and filling of gas,
the entire exercise costing five thousand bucks. The news was conveyed to me
over phone.
“Five
thousand? Wouldn’t it be better to invest seven thousand more and buy a brand
new fridge?” I recalled buying a double-door fridge at twelve thousand three
years ago.
We celebrated Christmas
fridge hunting.
The fridge
section of Big Bazaar displayed various kinds of footwear. Rani started examining
the displays in a manner that is so natural to a woman. She even started enquiring
about a specific type of sandal I have been walking in for four years, and
located a sufficiently ugly pair.
“But haven’t
we come to look for a fridge?” I protested.
“Fridge Kahan Hain?” she asked an
employee.
“We have only
one fridge,” pat came the reply.
I can
appreciate statements such as “I have only one husband”, but a store keeping
only one fridge was beyond my imagination.
The good thing
was, rather than spending the allocated forty-five minutes, we ticked off Big
Bazaar in five minutes.
The bad thing
was, we reached E Zone a full fifteen minutes before its standard opening time.
The pep talk
at E Zone extended fifteen minutes beyond the opening time. Employees attending
the pep talk glanced at us standing outside the half-down shutters, and
continued their session, ending it with a chorus of “Come what may, day by day,
I will get better and better”.
We walked to
the row of neatly arranged refrigerators, looking at the price tags. An
employee who had just become better asked what it was that we were looking for.
It was pretty sensible. In old days a refrigerator was advertised with a
penguin. We were looking for the penguin, the better salesman might have suspected.
We walked out –
the price range was much above the twelve thousand mark.
The third stop
of the day was Girias. The shop had about fifty refrigerators lined up. We
began the inspection of the price tags.
“The prices
are similar to those at E Zone,” I told Rani.
The salesman
interjected, “No, no, these prices are just indicative. Talk to the manager and
bargain!”
Bargaining price
down from Rs.17,500 to Rs.12,000 is beyond our declared or hidden talents. We
looked at each other, defeated but not destroyed and definitely determined to
resume the hunt at a fourth place.
The fourth
place, Classic, and the fifth, Shree Electronics, proved it beyond doubt that
no double door fridge can be purchased in India at a price below Rs.17,500.
Giving up is
for cowards. “Examine the seller to the sellers tomorrow,” I told Rani.
Metro sells to
sellers. I have seen Metro advertisements of 40% discount on refrigerators. Why
twelve thousand, at such discount a fridge of Rs.17,500 can be had for Rs.10,500,
I surmised.
By the next
afternoon we knew that there was no difference between the prices at Metro and
elsewhere.
“One last try.
We will visit Sai Galaxy today, and if nothing materialises, we will get the
refrigerator repaired,” we agreed.
Forty-five
minutes of bargaining at Sai Galaxy, and the price did not move even a bit
below Rs.17,500. And then, a non-salesman type employee whispered something to
the owner.
“You can have
a Videocon refrigerator at Rs.14,500. If you exchange your existing refrigerator,
you will have to pay Rs.13,500,” said the owner, almost apologetically.
“Videocon?!!”
After the Sharps, Panasonics, Samsungs and LGs, Videocon appeared to be a very poor
choice.
“Show it,” we
said reluctantly.
The carton was
opened. A shiny maroon refrigerator with floral pattern emerged. It was a
double door, frost free refrigerator, no doubt. The price printed on the carton
read Rs.15,999. The date of manufacture was November 2013.
I looked at
Rani.
“We have to
use it only for three years. Even though it is Videocon, it should not fail
within three years,” Rani said.
“It carries a
5-year warranty on compressor, and a one year warranty on the remaining items,”
added the salesman.
“Le Lete Hain (Let us buy it),”
we said in unison.
An hour later,
the fridge stood near the kitchen. The old fridge was gone, after providing us
with old age excitement.
संदेश
