The Next Door Family

  
When someone asks me, “Who are your neighbours?”, I simply say “I don’t know. I suppose they are North-Indians because they speak Hindi.” Seriously, I am clueless about them and what they are upto. We live here in Flat No. 1C and they live there in Flat No. 1D. We have seen them and they must have seen us. We have heard them conversing in their family and they must have heard us conversing in our family. And that substantiates our sensory organs have no serious complaints. Readers, you might be assuming both the families are socially inept. Not at all. The fundamental fact is that the mutually shared physical wall between Flat Nos. 1C and 1D of our apartment sets our amiable spaces poles apart. If that lame excuse cannot be counted, I would like to bring your attention to the blatant reality. That is, our families just don’t bother building a bridge or even mending good fences by bulldozing that "Berlin wall."   

It would be a white lie if I point my finger only towards cultural and linguistic barriers for widening the gap between us: If it were so my Papa wouldn’t have had invited the ex-residents of Flat No. 1D (North-Indians) for my Chechi’s wedding taken place in Kerala. If it were so, my Mommy wouldn’t have had given that neighbourhood Auntie (a Tamilian) Puttu-making lessons when we lived in Kanyakumari for years. If it were so, my Chettan wouldn’t have had a happy childhood with his first cousins born to a Gujarati mother. If it were so, my Chechi wouldn’t have had gone for clubbing with her Telugu best friend in her township. If it were so, I myself wouldn’t have had socialized with my non-malayalee friends. Quite akin to the aforesaid scenario, nothing solid ever happened between us and our present fellow neighbours. Only God knows why it has been so. There have been neither gives nor takes so far except a very few formal talks between me and the elder son out there.

Both the families know there is no fault in exchanging greeting glances. Yet, that thought to be put into practice do not even cross our narrow minds. On a fine Sunday morning, my Papa and I met the elder son at the parking lot. Apparently, the guy saw us first and he seemed to be in Hamletian dilemma: “To smile or not to smile. I wished I could smile at him but was scared of his reflexes. You see...I don’t have clairvoyant powers to foretell his movements. What if he brushes aside me and I get offended??!!     

Nonetheless, it is not tough for me and my family to confess that they make lovely neighbours. When I yelled at home for no specific reason, they under no circumstances took it seriously. When I laughed out damn loudly, they by no means ever complained that that I would ruin their younger son’s studies. When the Auntie out there ordered their house-maid to clean the mess appeared in our corridor (right infront of our flat), I realized that we can always count on them for help. When my mommy and I forgot to set up morning alarm and we over-slept on working days, that Auntie’s Puja Ghanti came to our rescue. When there was nobody at home and a Flipkart delivery boy came searching for me, the elder one brought the news to my notice in spite of the lack of acquaintance between our families.      

Pangs of envy engulf me as a working mother’s daughter like me see the elder one and the younger one call out “Mommy” and come home after a long day. And their stay-at-home mother greets them with their favourite hot food. I presume she is a Master Chef because the aroma of cuisines from their flat is fabulous. The other day I saw Auntie sending the younger one to school. The boy stopped waving at her only when he reached his car. Before getting into the vehicle he didn’t forget to wink at Auntie as well. I miss out such fond events in my life since my working mom never got quality time like that with me. But I don’t really feel bad because my working parents brought up their daughters to juggle well with the hectic world in order to make them independent enough. When I see Auntie and her mister taking an evening walk together around our apartment over weekends, there is a reassured and renewed spirit on their faces. They appear to me like those love birds made for each other. Touchwood!!    

Only a perfect family can be good neighbours. I can undoubtedly say our neighbours have always been so; no matter how faintly aloof we are. And my heart mourns for not capable of demolishing that "Berlin Wall." I wish I possibly get a magic wand and wave over them so that our neighbours themselves come and say Hello to us. Or I get that inner strength to go say a big Hi to them before we vacate the flat by the mid of November.