In one apartment block, the floor sequence in the elevator was "8, 9, 10, 11, 12, T, 14, 15..."
In Andheri, living on a higher floor is not a good idea. On the 18th floor, one side had a view of slums, while the other was of the rooftops of residential Andheri, in itself a rather glum sight.
If the builder says it'll be ready in six months, add another six to his estimate.
Builders will throw in words like 'Diwali' and 'New Year' to influence you. Eg. "It'll be ready for possession by Diwali." Why Diwali, you ask? It's an auspicious time to buy a house or make major changes, according to Hindu tradition as I know it.
Building societies are a monstrous pain in the butt. Any changes you would like to make in your flat, a place you have spent your own money on, have to be approved by a fat, balding, wheezing building secretary who isn't getting any.
Going by the intensity of the schpeil a builder gave me about the Otis elevators, home buyers are influenced by the smoothness of their elevator rides. "And it has 24-hour music too," he added.
Builders begin by assuming you're an ass. One took me to a tenth-floor window and pointed at the barren ground that lay below. "Look there," he said, "you have a view of a garden."
"What? Where?" I asked.
"There, where you are looking. It is a garden."
"But it doesn't have any grass and there is nothing there. There's no one there. What makes it a garden?"
"It is government-owned and there is a sign outside the plot that says it is a garden."
I didn't know what to say.