The Ghost Mansion fallacy: Why we build palaces we never live in
Subscribe to enjoy similar stories. It’s a familiar sight in the Indian hinterland—be it the lush green pockets of Kerala, the coastal belts of Konkan or the vast plains of Bihar and Punjab. You drive past rows of modest village homes and suddenly, you see it: A massive, three-storey, brightly painted concrete palace.
It has intricate grillwork, a massive gate and a terrace large enough to play cricket on. But if you look closer, the windows are dark. The gate is rusted shut.
The only occupant is a bored chowkidar (watchman) or perhaps an elderly uncle who uses just one room on the ground floor. This is the Ghost Mansion. It is built by a successful son working in Mumbai, Dubai or Bengaluru.
He poured ₹60 lakh into its construction. He flew down for the grand Griha Pravesh (housewarming), fed the entire village and felt like a king. Three days later, he locked the door and flew back to his 600 sq ft rented apartment in Mumbai/Dubai to argue with his landlord about water timings.
You built a castle for the neighbours to look at while you live in a matchbox apartment in the city to pay for it. In India, real estate is not just an asset – it is a biography. For a family that may have grown up in a mud house or a modest dwelling, building a pucca, multi-storey house is the ultimate certificate of arrival.
It is a billboard that screams to the village: My son made it. The tragic irony is that this house is rarely built for the utility of the occupant. It is built for the Gaze of the Neighbour.
You add a second floor not because you need more rooms, but because Sharmaji’s son built a second-floor last year. Or you install Italian marble in a house that will mostly see dust and spiderwebs. Financially, the Ghost Mansion is one
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