Home Is Where The... Red Floor Is!

I am a sucker for homes and furniture but it is the red oxide floor that turns me on. Heck, I am obsessed with them. If you have red floors, I may never leave your house!

Jo Vaada Kiya Hai…

“You can just handover the flat. No need to lay tiles. We will anyway redo it” — we said to the builders after nearly six years of waiting for a flat that was promised within 18 months. I am not complaining — some of my colleagues/friends lost money and had no house to complain about.

“Jo vaada kiya hai woh toh sab denge. Tiles bhi laga ke denge.”¹ — the manager declared.

We went back after a few months. The tiles were laid. Lifeless, dead, morgue-ish white hospital tiles that were still settling down in places and where they had settled they looked like they wanted to pop out and run away. Them and me both!

“Your flat is ready for handover, madam. Sir.” The manager said with a completely misplaced sense of pride.

The handed-over flat was very dodgy — balcony doors barely opened till about 45 degrees, bay windows didn’t close, the walls were barely straight, there was a running crack on the wall throughout the house about a feet from the ceiling, and on one very windy afternoon, during construction, when the door slammed, a piece of the wall supporting the door frame… fell.

Our house, soon after the handover, when we ripped it apart.

Too late to give up on it, we decided to set it right. And that was a slippery slope.

The doors and windows had to go; new sliding doors were (researched and) ordered. The wall was repaired. And the running crack was filled in; not that it mattered — that stubborn crack reappeared as soon we moved in.

But most importantly, the tiles were ripped out to lay a new floor.

A new red oxide floor.

Mera Wala Red…

My great grandparents house in Kadam Kuan in Patna was my favourite home in Patna. It was my favourite for various reasons.

I looked forward to the gaggle of cousins during the holidays and lots of good food (the meat-bhaat and mutton chop were to die for). Plus, mum had spent a good number of years with her nana-nani, so that love, affection and fondness percolated down to her kids as well. I wasn’t their first great grandchild, but I belonged to their favourite grandchild. That was good enough for me!

But what I really loved about that house was the openness, bigness and redness of the place.

It was a double storeyed bungalow with wide verandahs opening into beautiful balconies, cane furniture for the outdoors, a spacious foyer with yellow-white tiles (the kind of tiles that could camouflage spilled butterscotch/pineapple pastry and perhaps the only thing I never took a liking to in that house), multilevel lawn and courtyard, broad staircase with solid side rails, big rooms with tall windows, high ceilings with wooden beams, an actual dining room with small windows, (mum’s) Nana’s office with a massive table and boss-chair, a bathroom with brass faucets, a long verandah with rooms on one side and the courtyard on the other, and most importantly, red oxide floors with black borders.

My nani’s flat, also in Patna, had yellowish-grey mosaic tiles. Our house in Telco Colony had grey cement floors (which I liked a lot- simple, non-fussy, matter of fact). But the red floor keeda that crept in my brain and refused to crawl out, was all Kadam Kuan.

While the memories of the exterior of that house is ochre, the interior is very red.

So when it came down to buying our own house, the red floor became a non negotiable. And not tiles but red oxide floors. I was prepared to get a suitable mason from anywhere. Anywhere.

Red Oxide, Eggs and Mustard Oil

“Aapko ande se pareshani toh nahi?”

“nahi, kyon?”

“Cement aur red oxide mein anda aur sarson tel milayenge toh rang nikhrega.”

We had found a mason. He was a referred to us by Udit’s KG teacher Liddle Aunty. Plus, he came as a package deal along with the carpenter and the painter. He decided he was up for the job — he was a Bihari and a mason (who had of course seen a lot of red floors back home). He offered to make a sample to prove his skills — a square foot sample.

By the away, along with the red, Udit wanted one yellow floor as well. For fun. I was in. Why not? So the mason made two small samples one with red and black and one with yellow (yellow oxide). I was traveling to Kabul (another day, another story), so Udit sent me a photo. It looked good. He looked capable enough. At this stage I was still a few weeks away from realising that while he could lay the floor (somewhat), he didn't know how to polish it. Absolutely no clue.

So the floor was broken, levelled, red oxide mixed with eggs and mustard oil and cement and what not, new red oxide floor laid, watered, more watered, water left, water drained. The mason was chuffed with himself. As was I.

But the final stages remained. He got one of those big floor polishing buffing machines and with it came its very bouncer-like operator. The machine was plugged in. And we waited. With the very first WHIRRR of the big bulky beast a big chunk of the floor whirled out and split, as did our hearts. The four of us were a mix of tears, rage, despair, disbelief, nonchalance, and What-The-Fucks.

The mason got back to work. Now the broken floor was broken, levelled, and once again red oxide mixed with eggs and mustard oil and cement and what not, new red oxide floor laid, watered, more watered, water left, water drained. This time the mason wasn’t so chuffed with himself. As neither was I. Not yet.

We were once again at that dreaded stage of polishing. Once again the bouncer-like operator was there but only this time he had a small hand-operated buffing machine. The machine was plugged in. The whirrr didn’t break open the floor this time, it just left the floor with a coating of white powder. The house looked liked a sugar-coated red velvet cake. The white powder that could neither be swept nor washed away.

This time there was only rage and What-The-Fuck.

The mason turned up the next day with some liquid, which according to him, within a week would restore the redness of my floor. We gave him a patch for Act 3. And then after a week asked him to leave and to NEVER show up again.

I was now sure he used all that egg and mustard oil to make egg curry for himself.

The patches, the first round of floors, and the "What The Fuck" me with the sugar-coated red velvet cake of a floor.

Act Four

We shifted in the sugar-coated red velvet cake house. The floor had to be redeemed. I was going to get it painted. Our painter Munna Lal was summoned. He was confident “Bas diwaal wala hi paint laga denge”.

I googled ferociously. And INDIGO popped up. THERE WAS A COMPANY THAT MADE FLOOR PAINTS. Hallelujah! Munna Lal and I got on a phone call with the company. They gave us a step by step crash course on painting floors.

And Voila! Red, black, yellow, green paints were bought. Red and black is the overriding theme of the house but we decided to make one room ‘the yellow room’. I was thrilled.

Dil (constantly) Dhoondta Hai…Wo Kaarigar

I love my house. Yes, now 7 years later, the floor is beginning to show cracks. In fact the dining room floor is the weakest; craters formed as a result of the table and chairs have been concealed with a combination of rug and chatais.

We dont sweep things under the carpet. We put carpets on them.

I love my house. But there are days when I find myself confused and worried mad on whether the next time round (which could be 10 years from now) I should do red tiles or paint it once again or do red tiles or…

And then someone comes home, their eyes light up and they tell you “how much we love this floor”. And that’s it. My faith and love (and everything else) is restored in red floors, once again.

This is a cycle and I am not fighting it. But the red floor keeda in me is constantly scouting for artisans.

In fact, just the other weekend we were at a Haveli in Bulandshahr. Its claim to fame-Rocky-Rani was shot here! This was a 200 year old Haveli with stables, huge gates, old offices, open grounds, high ceilings, tall stairs and of course, red floor.

So while our guide Inder Pal was busy explaining how the maharaja shot, decapitated (or not), and stuffed the tiger, I jumped in “Acha Inder Pal ji, Yeh red oxide wale kaarigar idhar aas paas rehte hai?”. It took Inder Pal a few seconds to change gears and tell me that there were masons/artisans in the village itself. Noted, sir. The next time I am repairing my floors, you are the first call I make Inder Pal ji.

He moved on tour guiding the rest of the group, I stayed on in the room with the red floor, chuffed at the fact that either Inder Pal’s men or Indigo will keep my bat-shit crazy love for red floors alive and kicking for the rest of my life.

The painted floors after 7 years. And all those mats that we have swept under the table.

1. We will give everything that we promised. Even tiles.

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The seeds of this essay was sown in April during our informal

Ochre Sky Stories

writing circle sessions. Khusboo, one of our writers in our circle proposed the prompt “if there were no prescriptions to follow what would be home” after a super session on “what home means to you”. At the end of the session, it turned out I am materialistic and truly, deeply, madly in love with the architecture of homes and red floors.