There is a magical moment in the life of every old housing society when its tired walls suddenly begin to glow like gold. Paint does not do the glowing. Nor does mopping the staircase or replacing the broken tube lights. No, the glow begins when someone whispers the word redevelopment. The word floats through the society like the aroma of fresh biryani. Eyes widen. Spines straighten. People who have never smiled at one another suddenly grin like long lost cousins.

Old parents start seeing visions. They picture their future grandchildren living with them till their last years, even as their grown sons and daughters begin their own daydreams. They walk past car showrooms and say to themselves, that SUV looks perfect for me and even give bold glances at fifty-inch televisions. Many of them stop working late hours. Why bother when dad’s house is about to multiply from two bedrooms to four. Promotions become less important than builders’ business cards.

And then the fun begins. Suspicion creeps in like a cat sneaking into the kitchen. Watch the residents as they observe each other. Someone is seen having tea with a builder. Eyebrows shoot up. Somebody else is spotted in a posh restaurant shaking hands with a man wearing a shiny shirt. Accusations begin to fly without sound. Everyone becomes a detective.  Messages start circulating. People stand outside their doors pretending to admire the sky while actually spying on neighbours.

At meetings, everybody becomes an expert. The retired school teacher knows building regulations better than the municipal commissioner. The medical doctor explains structural engineering with the confidence of building the Bandra Worli Sea Link. The friendly dentist who has only drilled teeth now drills into redevelopment agreements with fierce enthusiasm. And somewhere in a corner sits some quiet old gentleman who says nothing, because he’s scared his hard earned money invested in his flat will disappear faster than his thousand rupee notes did after demonetisation!

This is also a time when members forget past loyalties. They push aside those who have faithfully served the society for years and fall instantly in love with those who promise them fifteen hundred square feet bedrooms. They believe men who swear they will give them personal swimming pools and gold-plated taps. Then somebody stands up and says softly, friends, let us be realistic. Freshly promised gold may soon begin to look like brass.

Redevelopment needs one thing more than cement, bricks and steel. It needs absolute trust. It needs members to choose leaders who have earned respect, not those who arrive with glittering smiles. It needs unity. And funny enough, it needs fewer people interfering, not more. The dream becomes reality when there are only two sides; the builder and the members and when troublemakers and secret traitors are politely shown the exit.

Till then enjoy the glow. And please stop dreaming of indoor waterfalls unless you also plan to install umbrellas in your living room…!

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