Collaborative advice during pump repair

So let us set the situation for you. 

Last night the pump that pushes up the water from the underground tank to the overhead ones decided to quit.

As far as I know, I have done nothing to offend this instrument, since I don't know its sex I cannot be accused of being discriminatory and it just decided to do a protest work stoppage on its own.

I was crouched in the mud late last night, undoing the plug where you pour in water in case of an air bubble, trying to point a flashlight at the plug with my left, using my right with a crescent wrench trying to undo the damn thing. Once out, i ever so carefully poured in water to top it off, and then it sank down, just like my spirits, and I realized that this was serious.

My wife, who was a Mermaid in a previous life, believes the answer to everything is simply more water, and if that is not enough, add yet more. 

Obviously, this disaster put a marked crimp in her ablutions plans for the night and left her mouth set in a very thin line indeed, it is the kind of line that you simply don't ignore if you value 100% of your anatomy, or at the very least, your eardrums.

We contacted our handy man, who is exceptionally capable, (No, you may not have his name, number, address, email, TikTok handle or nickname) and this morning he brought a plumber whom he recommended.

After doing the identical procedure that I had practised last night, he pronounced the pump had passed on to greater rewards and is presently busy digging, placing pipes, valves, moving the new pump that I just got back from warranty repair and eventually, I pray, we will have water in the taps again and my Darling's mouth will go back to looking its full lipped self and I won't be wounded by dagger looks anymore. ITS NOT MY FAULT, DEAR! makes zero impression.

Anyway, while downstairs trying to explain to the plumber what I wanted, which is to hook up the recently constructed, additional water tank and use the old one for rainwater, I was instantly surrounded by neighbors who appeared as if beamed in from the Enterprise. Even our helper, Sunita, of 12 years, chimed in with fast Hindi suggestions as to what should be done, ignoring totally the desperate Angrez with the wallet whom the plumber appears to understand, but who is unable to continue without being verbally misdirected. 

So.

Wife is upstairs, explaining what she wants.

Neighbors with teenage son are expressing their wishes.

Handy Man has his own ideas.

Helper has hers.

Plumber knows what he wants.

And, of course, I am flapping my gums to no avail.

I thought of showing the plumber my wallet to remind him of where his funds were coming from, but then everyone around me would have been in the grip of an avaricious gleam and slight trembling that ACTUAL CASH in Rs 500 notes was being displayed and they might, conceivably, get some from the Inglis with little Hindi. Been there, done that!

Instead, I left them and their opinions to their labours in the hope that the final product will actually bring water to my beloved, calm the household, and won't end up looking like some demented structure dreamed up by M.C. Esher on an LSD trip.

Wish me well, and if the plumber is as good as I think he is, you can't have his contact data either! He's mine!

Update (3hrs later)

Apparently this plumber takes methamphetamine!  Zip Zap the pipe spaghetti is done and if power had not gone I could pump water for my girl, but this will not happen so the thin lips remain.

See for yourself:

Don't you love the secure platform it was placed on? Indian Jugad again.

( I typed Jugad and Blogger changed it to Jihad automatically. Perhaps that change should be disabled in Blogger?)