Ok the walls of my bedroom are the same colour as the rest of the apartment. Pink! A light, sickly looking pink. The colour of Gelusil syrup. I’ll wait a second until your queasiness dissipates.
Ok now that you are back I’ll tell you what happened and how we got stuck with this sick colour. Back in 2006 my folks and I sold our former home, a nice big house in the suburbs, due to a cash problem caused by my dad’s business going bust and we owing a lot of money to the company that we used to do wholesale distributions for. With the interest going up over the years the option was to sell our house and we got a lot of money for it. We also needed to buy a new place and the idea of an apartment in the city came up. This was because of two reasons 1) after living in the area for as long as we did, we wanted to be near the city 2) my dad wanted to be close to my sister and her children who also live in the city area just minutes away from our current place.
The person we sold the house to, paid half the amount first and gave us enough time to find a new place before we had to vacate the house. However in between he came and asked my dad if we could vacate the place by the end of September as his family wanted to celebrate Onam in their new house. So that gave us very few weeks to find a new place, purchase it and move our stuff in. So we sttled on the only place that was within our budget and, most importantly, was ready to be occupied by the end of September. If that person could have held off moving into our old house till the initially agreed date, we would have been living in a much better place than this one. Anyway, we settled on this place and made the arrangements. Now the initial paint colour for the apartment was to be a nice, inoffensive beige as selected by my mom but the stupid workers & painters opened up the wrong cans of paint. They approached my dad and asked if they could continue as once opened they cannot replace it or it will be charged from their wages. My dad was tired, we had to move in within a few days and so said yes! Without checking with mom or me.
So imagine the horror on mom’s face and mine (I was the last one to see it as I was arranging furniture to be sold and some to be moved to the apartment from our old house) when we saw the colour. My dad explained what happened and I was pissed off but didn’t say anything to the workers/painters either. So what does that say about us? We are pushovers and we have had very little luck in such matters.