Mary

Mary is a real estate agent.
She has been an agent before I was born. She must have started in the 50's; if there was such agents in 50's.

I had fixed an apartment to stay temporarily even before I left India, thanks to many possibilities the internet has opened up for my generation. But finding an apartment for long-term became a challenge. That had to be optimised in a complex plane, as the mathematicians say. Budget, distance, and the facilities, strictly in that order, had to be tackled very delicately and with skill. So we searched in internet, walked around, made phone calls, visited several apartments, and finally made a call to an agent. It was a number given below an "Alouer" (read 'alew') sign. I thought I was talking to the owner. But it was an agent. French can be a very confusing, especially if you have English prejudices.

Calling an agent certainly was not in my mind. I have known such agents, and I personally prefer to avoid them. Mary spoke to me very nicely over phone. It took my slow brain a few minutes to register that I was talking to an agent. By then she knew where I work, that I do not drive a car, I do not even have bicycle, and I hate to spend money or time on transport. She had a way of talking, like a school teacher or nurse; some times sweet and caring, sometimes stern and commanding. So when she said she can show me several apartments in the area, I smelled a rat. I knew it was a shrewd, cunning, greedy real estate agent.

So I played smart, and did not go to meet her at 5'O clock sharp, as she had asked me to. Then she called me at 5.05; She said she has been waiting for me. I said I have work. She reminded me that I had promised her to meet her at 5, and it is five minutes late already, and she has been waiting. She was a headmistress then, and I ran to meet her. But when I reached the place, there was nobody.

Of course, I did not count a frail old lady in her seventies sitting there on a bench. Montreal population is largely very young students and very old pensioners. The old people are seen walking around with their only comfort, small dogs. They live in apartments all alone. And when they die, someone will know somehow, and they dial 911 for emergency services, then the police will take care. Till then they are treated well with publicly supported hospitals, parks, and in public transport. They enjoy considerable discounts on all services, and generally roam around trying to see their place in a world they have built up.

So I ignored Mary until she asked me if I am looking for the agent, for this frail old woman was the agent. Half my misgivings went away when I saw her, she was indeed a sweet old lady. She was short, hardly four feet and with short white hair. She was wearing small black skirt and blouse, and I suspect that's her work clothes; I have never seen in the last four months in any other attire. She was weak too. But her ways were pleasant, and people seemed to like her. She was formal somewhat, and asked everyone "Hello! how are you" on the way. Her phone rang continuously, she attended all of them, only to say something like "Hello, Julie, I am in work, I can't talk to you just now. I will call you later".

Mary did find me a cute, small, apartment to stay, meeting all my criteria, and she did not charge me anything. She said she will be paid from the owner. She works for a large real estate company, and the apartment-owner has to pay something to the company to take care of the legal formalities of renting out, and she will in turn get a commission. We had met her several times before and after that, and she gave us lifts a couple of times in her car. And once when it seemed that we would not be able to rent an apartment soon, she offered that we could stay in her home. "I can always go to my daughters' place. Not that I like to live with my daughter ..." When Femi said she has a grand mother who looks like her, she was more than happy. She said she has 9 grand children.

Children leave their parents when they are between 15-20. It is considered a shame to stay with one's parents after that. They are supposed to find some job. Most would have worked in restaurants or other places in small jobs, and they are often very proud to talk about it. They think it built their character, whatever that means. The boy or girl will find their own partners, and often live together. This gives more freedom not only to the children, but also to the parents, to have their own lives. But the flip side is that if you are left without a partner either because of death or divorce, you are left all alone.

Things are fine as long as you have old-age support and pension. Quebec- the province in which I am living- certainly has several social security measures in place (like if you are old and crippled, the public transport company will send a taxi to pick you up and drop to places for the same ticket others pay for the bus service; from what I hear, health care almost free, and they take very good care of old people. I went to the doctor recently, and had to pay only for the medicine. If you are citizen, even medicine is covered. These programs are funded by heavy tax). Though it looks a quiet and benign city, every right and social security measure here was earned through quite bloody struggles. Quebec certainly has a violent history.

But even then Mary has to work. We will never know if it is because she loves her work, or because she has no choice. I had thought that almost all of the old here are living comfortably. Sometimes I have come across very respectable-looking old men acting as security guards in some building. That is a painful sight. To see them in a guard's uniform and opening doors for all and sundry, when they should be sitting at the garden telling stories to the grandchildren. Life is not that kind to many- even in Montreal.

Mary came to Montreal from Greece long back. In fact, she says she is Greek, though she has been born and brought up here. That's the fate of most people here- to live without roots. They are born and brought up here for generations- but they are still Americans, British, Jemaican's, Chinese or Indians. Blacks came to Canada during American civil war, to escape slavery and certain death. Irish started pouring here during the harsh potato famine in 1840s. The Greeks also came from poor villages. The whole country is made up of people from different parts of the world came to escape from the harsh realities of their own mother-land. Over two centuries they struggled with wild nature, harsh weather, and fought several colonial masters, and now with their own masters, laying down their lives to gain whatever concessions and rights they have.

I often see Mary talking to her clients. Though still meticulously professional, she always takes some time off to remind me that if I ever have any problem I should contact her. When I don't see her, I often thought of her. Then yesterday I came across a half-page size close-up of wrinkled old face in the front page of 'Globe and Mail'. Globe is running a 7-day series starting yesterday . It is about the retirees forced to go back to work. Mind you, people retire at 65 here. Several big companies have pleaded bankruptcy this year. Employees have suddenly found that the companies have not kept their promise to contribute to the pension fund. According to the journal, about 40% of the pension promises will remain just that- mere promises. "Canadians are facing national pension melt down", says the Globe. It seems next week about 11000 retirees of Nortel Canada is going to demonstrate in Parliament hill, among them an old president of Nortel Canada along with then union leaders. The report tracks down retirees selling homes, selling paintings once they have done as a hobby, trying to find new work and realising that they are too old to be hired. Suddenly a country tells its elderly, we have nothing saved up from your life's toil, get back to work, or starve!

I still see Mary around. I love seeing her, and I hope she is working for the sheer pleasure of it.

 [image from: http://image.shutterstock.com/display_pic_with_logo/172054/172054,1252963225,1/stock-photo-old-lady 37065358.jpg]