Mr. and Mrs. Batliwala had been living in their two bedroom apartment in Sunrise Society for as long as they could remember. It was not a tall building, compared to the high rise apartments around. It had just six floors and had been constructed in 1987, when Mr Batliwala’s father was just about to retire from the state urban development department.

Over the years, the building had lost much of its sheen. The building looked ancient with creepers and moss growing on all sides of the building. The small outlets for balconies had vein like red lines running all across. These red lines were the residual water falling from the rusted railing running around the balcony wall. The earthen pots with little green plants were the only piece of beauty on the building. The small old cemented water reservoirs were in sharp contrast to the big black plastic water containers. They spoke volumes about the history of the building.

Mr Rustam Batliwala was still a very happy man and never complained about the age of his residential property. He was thankful enough for inheriting the most eyed and prized property in Mumbai. Amongst all the six siblings, Mr Rustam was the sole heir to the flat. But there was another reason for his unconditional love for the society. He was the area manager for ‘Kone’ in India and took immense pride in using his references in getting the first elevator installed in his society. According to him, his society was amongst the first few in Mumbai to have an automated elevator. 

He made special arrangements for the best and safest elevator to be installed in his building. The society office still has his laminated picture of laying the foundation for the elevator along with his boss and the builder.  Strangely so, his obsession for the machine had not diminished even after so many years.  He believed that his engineering skills will always be handy in the smooth operation of the lift. Whenever there has been a breakdown in its functioning, Mr Rustam would examine and re-examine the elevator himself before calling customer service.

It had been years since he had retired from Kone, but he would still treat the Kone service engineers as his colleagues. His long discussions, about the beauty of the machine and its invention, were not always an alluring topic for the young service engineers. He never shied away from sharing his experiences of similar break downs during his professional prime time. In his colloquial tone he would say – Deekra! You are a rookie. I will guide and assist you. Come this Saturday morning, I shall teach you the nuances of the machine, which your boss must have not told you.  Tell him. Tell him that you have just been to Mr Rustam Batliwala’s house. Your boss will soon lose his sleep!

Needless to say, the young chaps did not welcome this unsolicited advice from the grand old man of Kone.

Another of his preposterous obsession was to personally accompany all his guests in the elevator. He believed that since he had got it installed, he was the caretaker for the lift. By now all his friends and relatives had unwillingly accepted his extended hospitality. However, the ones who felt most awkward were his family members, who would often get embarrassed by these extended attentions of Mr Batliwala. They simply walked off or ignored his comments when in public. 

His wife Naureen and three daughters Afarin, Amira and Azura were a class apart. Mrs Naureen Batliwal pretended to be ultra-sophisticated and never endorsed anything that Mr Batliwala would say or do. Unlike Mr Batliwala, she still liked to believe that she was amongst the elitist of Mumbai Parsi circle. What mattered to her were dressy clothes, frilled tapestry, crochet table cloth, fine bone china, expensive watches and exclusive branded clothes. Knowing her husband’s anomalous ways of living life, she had tried to keep her daughters away from his influence.  No wonder Afarin, Amira and Azura grew up to be firebrands in their own individual ways.

Afarin was in her mid-forties and a spinster. She had been a model in her prime days, but was now associated with different slum schools of Mumbai. She also ran a fashion boutique.

Amira worked for a multinational company at a senior level and travelled the world. She was a divorcee and lived in a different society.

The youngest Azura had just finished her masters in communication from USA.

 Mrs Batliwala took immense pride in the upbringing of her daughters and claimed that had it not been her, the girls would have strayed under the guidance of their father.
 

Amongst the many demands that Mrs Batliwala had of her husband, the most prioritised was to move out of their Sunrise Society. She thought that it no longer matched her profile and it was below her dignity to live in a society which had become a monumental relic. Her conversations were often about shifting to a more posh area – Rustam, when will you move out? This place is a pigeon hole. We should move to a more classy and sophisticated society’

As always Mr Batliwala replied – I don’t have a problem, you have a problem you move out. I shall continue to live here till my last breath. What if the building is old, we still have the best elevator systems in place. Anyways your daughters don’t live with you, so where is the space constraint?

 Mrs Batliwala as always flared her nostrils in anguish and stormed out of the living room.

In a few weeks, the mother received a call from Azura. Upon hanging up the call Mrs Batliwala rushed to Mr Batliwala and bursted out – Rustam, Azura is reaching this Sunday. And as far as I can understand from her conversations, she has a news to break. I think it is about that Afro-American boy she was friends with in her college. My intuition says that she wants to marry him!

 Mr Batliwala fumbled the coffee mug and with a startled look, said – Impossible! I shall see to it that this does not happen.

He stepped out of his house and did what he did best at such times; travelled up and down his prized elevator.  In between the six floors of the building, he bumped into his neighbours and passed a suppressed smile. Of course everyone in the society understood that Mr Batliwala is upset and angry.

When after an hour he was home, Mrs Batliwala did not end her outburst
 – see had we been living in one of those upscale societies, we wouldn’t have to feel so small in front of that Afro-American boyfriend of Azura. What impression will he take about this pigeon hole his girlfriend’s parents are living in?

Her husband lost control of his temper and spoke through his eyes
–dare you call him Azura’s boyfriend.  This alliance is not happening. Do you get that?

In any case, finally the day arrived and everyone was present other than the globetrotting Amira to welcome Azura and Daniel. After much persuasion Mr Batliwala was convinced to at least accept him as a guest to his house, if not anything else. All the ladies were running around getting the house in order. The eats were ready. The table was laid with the best crockery. The house was exhaustively dusted and cleaned, smelling profusely of fresh Colin spray. The family was dressed in their best attire. In the backdrop, Mrs Batliwala had played soothing old English classics. Their joy was a little undermined, since Mr Batliwala was not okay with the business of inviting someone, whom he thought was a threat to his diminishing community.
As the player played Beatles’ ‘You know I love you, I’ll always be true’, a resounding bell rang. Mrs Naureen dressed in her off white satin dress with peter pan collars elegantly walked to open the door, while the rest of them were seated at their respective places.
-Hey! My darling Azura…. My baby…..Love you dear… Come on in sweetie.
-Hi Mom, how have you been? Meet Daniel… Daniel that is my Mom, Mrs Naureen Batliwala…Mom, this is Daniel.
-Good Evening Mrs Naureen. How have you been?
-I am fine dear. Thanks for the lovely flowers Daniel… Oh I love lilies.

After the pleasantries were passed, Mrs Batliwala ushered them in. Inside there was a warm exchange of greetings between the hosts and the guest.  It was a pleasant Mumbai evening, but even the air-conditioner could not cool off the raised pique of Mr Rustam. As a cordial host, Mrs Batliwala offered drinks and snacks to Daniel. He spoke about his family, life in USA and his maiden visit to India. He spoke at length about everything he observed about India, especially the suffocating traffic snarls from the airport. Azura for once was shy and was sitting on the arm of the single sofa seat where her mother was seated.

The record player changed from Beatles to Eric Clapton but Mr Batliwala was in no mood to converse with Daniel. The girls giggled and went inside to catch up on everything in their lives. Suddenly the living room was quiet with only Daniel and Mr and Mrs Batliwala.
-Rustam, why don’t you tell Daniel about Mumbai and its history? Mrs Batliwala urged.
Mr Batliwala was in no mind set to get involved in any sort of conversation with Daniel and he turned his face towards the veranda, staring outside. Then,suddenly something changed in him.  He looked back at his wife and very warmly said,
-Of course, how about starting with the history of Sunrise Society? Daniel, would you mind stepping out with me for a stroll?

Daniel stood a little puzzled, wondering that they did not need to step out of the house in the heat of Mumbai to talk about the city. But he smoothly obeyed Mr Batliwala, only to start a healthy relationship with his future father in law.
-Not at all Sir….Right after you.

Mrs Naureen was not impressed and gave warning glances to her husband from the corner of her eyes. She knew what her husband up to.
-Rustam, Daniel is too tired. Let him stay back…. Hmmm may be next time.
-No, Mrs Naureen, that is perfectly fine….I would love to accompany Mr Batliwala. Insisted Daniel.

So there goes the future son-in-law. Mr Batliwala chortled and left the house in a jiffy leaving Mrs Batliwala behind
-Oh God!! Have mercy on the young boy. He does not know what he has chosen, cried Mrs Batliwala.
On hearing this loud wail of their mother, both the girls came out. Upon noticing the absence of their father and Daniel, girls understood what must have happened.
-Dad has simply lost it.  What was the need to go out with Daniel…? My poor baby! I know what Dad will brag about to him, spoke Azura
Amira fell back on the sofa,
-RB loves to do this……So my dear sister …..Another one bites the dust.

Mr Batliwala called for the elevator and waited for it to arrive on his sixth floor flat. Daniel was nervous and repeatedly wiping his sweat with a dry tissue. The heat was unbearable for an American, but for Mr Batliwala the weather was perfect. Soon the elevator arrived and they both entered. Inside, it was the most unkempt and abused enclosure. The number names for the respective floors were worn out to the extent of wipe out. One could only guess from the contoured figures, what floor were they on. All three steel walls of the elevator were eroded enough because of constant brushing by the commuters. One can only imagine how the floor mat must be looking after so many residents stepping and walking over it over so many years. There was adequate space for only eight people. Even a single soul more, would halt the machine. Wonder how would the lift man manage to sit on the flower pot sized stool. In his presence the lift could not accommodate more than six people. The red coloured betel chewing spits were so visible in the corners. One could only think of taking the stairs than using the highly infested elevator. There were no fans installed, so in case the electricity went off, the commuter could die of suffocation than panic.  The only source of air was the entry door.  It was again ancient, made out of lattice shaped steel body for the air to enter and exit. Every time the elevator opened or closed it made a nerve chilling annoying sound. But the best part about travelling in Mr Batliwala’s elevator was, as it went up and down one could view the happening at all the floors. Since the doors were see through and not opaque, it was fun to catch up on society living. Daniel was sure of not touching anything, least he would catch infection.

-So Mr Daniel, this is the technology I got for my people so many years back. When people could not think of living in high rise buildings, I gave them this boon. Look at the beauty of the machine. See the smooth landing and take-off. Isn’t this marvellous? Launched Mr Batliwala
-Yes of course, it is a beauty. By the way, which floor Sir? asked Daniel politely.
-What is the hurry young man? When I was your age, I was called the magic man. Elevator companies would call me for my expert acumen and experience. You see the machine in which you are standing is a masterpiece. Bragged Mr Batliwala.
-Undoubtedly Sir, Should I press the ground floor? Asked an irritated Daniel.

During Mr Batliwala’s monologues there were residents mounting and dismounting the lift. For them it was not an unusual sight. They had seen Mr Batliwala do it for so many years now.  They were privy to his lectures on elevators, their history, origin, the mechanical beauty of the existing elevator and so on and so forth. But it was awkward for Daniel for he had never come across a bizarre situation like this one. There were residents who were passing sneered smirks at each other. Daniel had already spent some thirty minutes in the lift, peacefully listening to Mr Batliwala, but now it was like testing his patience. He wanted to shout at Mr Batliwala, but he controlled his emotions. Anything like that would only worsen the situation for him and Azura.
-Mr Batliwala, I have to make an urgent call, could we stop the lift so that I can make the call, implored Daniel.
-Oh! Am I boring you? No problem son, I shall press the ground floor, said Mr Batliwala.
As soon as the elevator stopped, he jumped out of the lift and closed the door.
-Sir, please open the door, I too want to step out. I am unable to open the door from inside, cried Daniel.
-Sure son, but the elevator will take you to the sixth floor…You see there is a better network connectivity. You can make your calls peacefully from there, chuckled Mr Batliwala.
Daniel oscillated his head in disgust and waited for the lift to reach back to the sixth floor.

Gloated Mr Batliwala rushed to the elevator control room and lifted the pulley, which meant that Daniel would get stranded in the elevator, until Mr Batliwala did not open it for him. The guy in the control room did not question him, since Mr Batliwala would pounce back on him, with his authority and expertise. He thought he could now play his cards and ask Daniel not to marry his daughter. While in the control room he thought that if Azura married Daniel, then it meant more diminishing number of Parsi’s in India -No this is not possible. I have to contribute towards my community. He left the pulley as it was and wanted Daniel to feel the discomfort of getting marooned in an elevator, though he planned to release him in a short time.

Mr Batliwala walked back home and took the stairs, least he would bump into Daniel.
As he stood outside the gate of his house, he heard loud laughter and noise. He wondered if all was well with ladies in the house. Panic stricken he rang the bell, only to be surprised by the not so pleasant presence of Daniel.
-Hello Sir, Good to see you back. So the stairs have really sapped you off your energy. Please come in and have a glass of water, said Daniel with a hint of piquancy.
Mr Batliwala was rattled and flabbergasted to see Daniel in his house, making light hearted conversations with the ladies.
-Well Mr Batliwala, since you never asked, so I never said. But my job saved me today from the misadventure. I am Technology Manager at the Research and Development wing of Kone Pvt Ltd. I am stationed at their head office in USA and outings like today are a pleasure walk for us, said Daniel.