The Birth of a Housing Society

 

The Birth of a Housing Society

There was once a family so perfectly balanced that it could have impressed a statistician. Two brothers lived together under one roof with their wives and children—each couple blessed with one son and one daughter. As a result, the household consisted of two men, two women, two boys, and two girls: a neat arithmetic harmony.

This demographic symmetry wasn’t accidental. It was a continuation of their late father’s dying advice: “Stay together, come what may.” And so they did—living as a joint family, rationing food, milk, vegetables, and even sweets with a discipline that could put government planners to shame. They were not rich, but they had enough to maintain their household and sustain their smiles. Their modest grocery business brought neither joy in a boom nor anxiety in a slump; it simply kept the family afloat with quiet consistency.

Both families were non-vegetarian, though the wives had initially declared abstinence from mutton and chicken after marriage—out of newly-wedded piety, perhaps. That resolve lasted two years, until their husbands, tired of cooking meat themselves, gently requested them to resume their old food habits. The request was met not with hesitation but with delight; apparently, they had only been waiting for the invitation.

And thus, this minor culinary discord melted away—almost as if, for the first time, the fragrance of true harmony had wafted through the joint family kitchen.

The children were still quite young—the youngest only five. As they grew, one wondered if they had learnt the rules of good behaviour even before they were born, for they behaved as if discipline came pre-installed. The eldest, a fifteen-year-old girl, was blossoming into a confident and graceful young woman, earning a reputation as an all-rounder, with a particular flair for cooking and painting.

Everything in that household operated in perfect harmony—until one looked a little closer.

The elder brother, Sushant, was a maverick. He questioned old customs, challenged superstitions, and preferred logic over ritual. His younger brother, Sumant, was gentler and more accommodating. Domestic peace was largely maintained by Binoo, Sushant’s devout wife, who balanced her husband’s rationalism with an excess of religiosity—sometimes even overriding him.

Yet Sushant held firm on two non-negotiable principles: (1) The family would worship only the deities their father had worshipped—no new Babas, no self-styled Gurujis. (2) They would never sell their father’s ancestral land to any builder or developer.

In hindsight, Sushant sensed a strange chain of cause and effect—first, the emergence of new gods; then, the breakdown of joint families; and, somewhere in between the two, bulldozers replacing ancestral bungalows with matchbox flats. As it transpired, both his cherished principles would soon be tested—and weakened.

When Sushant had formulated those must-directives, everyone had agreed with him. The principles looked innocuous enough—like hanging a garland of lemons and green chillies, or an ash gourd, at the doorstep to ward off evil eyes.

However, soon thereafter, Minoo, Sumant’s wife, introduced a new spiritual flavour to the household, conveniently ignoring Sushant’s edict. It began with her hanging a wall calendar featuring Shri Shri Guruji Babaji, who lately had been seen on the walls and in the puja rooms of others.

Minoo’s father was an avid devotee of Guruji Babaji, whose socio-spiritual empire was rapidly expanding through networking and strategic squatting on government land. Minoo claimed her father’s asthma disappeared as soon as he received Babaji’s mantra and a vial of “magic water” from his ashram. Naturally, she wished her husband to follow the same divine path—for the glory of the family and its business.

Sumant hesitated. “I can’t become anyone’s disciple without my elder brother’s permission,” he said.

So Minoo approached Sushant directly. She knew he was fond of her—always calling her Chhoti Bahu—and hoped her plea would melt his heart. She spoke of her father’s miraculous recovery with tearful conviction.

Sushant listened patiently and smiled. “Look, Chhoti Bahu,” he said gently, “thanks to our father’s blessings, no one in this family suffers from asthma. So, Guruji Babaji has no assignment here.”

Days later, Sumant came armed with fresh testimonials—one devotee of Guruji Babaji had won a lottery, another had been reinstated after suspension. Sushant chuckled. “We’re neither gamblers nor government servants. We run a grocery store. Tell your Guruji to bless those who buy lottery tickets or face departmental inquiries.”

No amount of persuasion worked. Babaji remained outside the gates.

Then came another tempter—the builder. He told the ladies that their neighbour had sold his plot in exchange for two flats in a new apartment complex. “Imagine,” he said, “private kitchens, personal balconies—your own space!” The idea spread like wildfire through the family.

When Sushant heard the whispers, he remained unmoved. “Why do we need two flats when the existing six rooms already house eight people?” he reasoned. “Look how exhausted the ladies are maintaining one house—imagine the burden of two!”

Finally, the builder himself called on Sushant, only to be turned away at the door. The atmosphere grew tense. All their ambitions to “move forward” were thus thwarted by the elder brother, the senior-most member of the joint family. Such a hindrance!

Not long after, a new visitor appeared—a man claiming to be Guruji Babaji’s senior disciple and astrologer-in-chief to several powerful politicians. He spoke with ominous calm:

Your household lacks peace, and this is a recent development. An unseen malevolent force is creeping into your home. As is often the case, it first causes discord, then financial hardship, and ultimately illness. Only our Guruji Babaji can prevent this.

When Sushant scoffed, the man mentioned migraines among the afflictions Babaji could heal. Ironically, Sushant did suffer from migraine attacks. Out of curiosity—or perhaps politeness—he accepted a small bottle of “blessed water.”

A week later, the disciple returned for feedback.

“There’s some effect,” Sushant said vaguely, eager to end the exchange.

“Then,” said the man eagerly, “accept Guruji Babaji as your Guru. His divine halo will cure everything—and then you’ll live happily forever.”

This time, Sushant lost his temper. “You people are trying to trap my family into your cult. It won’t work!”

But alas! Before leaving, the man dropped a bombshell:

“Your younger brother Sumant has already accepted Babaji’s mentorship. He’s even climbed a few rungs in Guruji Babaji’s spiritual hierarchy—and receives a stipend from the new devotees’ offerings!”

The revelation shook the household. Confronted, Sumant admitted the truth. Tension boiled over.

The very next day, the builder reappeared—offering the same tempting deal: two flats, not a rupee's worth of investment. Weary of conflict and wary of further manipulation, Sushant relented, and the ancestral land was handed over. The builder housed the family in a rented place at his own expense, demolished the old home, completed the construction within eighteen months, and finally handed Binu and Meenu the keys to two gleaming flats—ready for occupation.

Months later, the bitter irony surfaced: whispers circulated that the “ace disciple” of Babaji—armed with astrological acumen—had also received a flat as his commission for convincing the brothers to sell their homestead plot. He was, in fact, Minoo’s father’s trusted agent or proxy, although the truth about that ownership remained neatly buried for the time being.

The joint family still lived together—but now divided by concrete walls instead of invisible harmony. Instead of one kitchen, two kitchens became operational! Though they continued to sit together at meals, there was a doubt about how long this arrangement would last. It was open to doubt whether such an arrangement would endure! The builder profited by crores; the disciple gained a flat; and Guruji Babaji acquired two new followers—along with a generous donation.

When the brothers moved into their separate flats, Binoo and Minoo handled the shifting, while Sushant focused on two sacred installations—the family deity and their father’s photograph. Both were carried to his flat: God to remain under Binoo’s care, and Father to adorn Sushant’s bedroom wall.

Sumant, meanwhile, installed an expensive portrait of Shri Shri Guruji Babaji in his new divine room, inaugurating it with chants and offerings. Babaji himself blessed the occasion with a recorded video message, later posted on social media, where it attracted millions of views. In the caption, Minoo claimed to have collected Bibhuti dust from the sacred portrait of their most revered mentor. How blessed they were!

Luckily, Sushant fell ill on that holy day—sparing himself the ordeal of attending the installation ceremony of Shri Shri Guruji Babaji. Lying in bed, he found himself unable to imagine what the future might hold, however hard he tried.

Weeks later, sitting in his plush new living room, Sushant smiled wryly.
“So,” he murmured, “Babaji did perform a miracle after all—he converted a joint family into a housing society.”

They were still discussing a name for the society—preferably one beginning with the prefix Guruji Babaji.

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By

Ananta Narayan Nanda

30/10/2025

Bhubaneswar

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Visit the following Amazon links for the ebook of the author's The Legacy: Tales from the Postal Trail 

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