Changing neighbourhoods

We barely know each other but still feel connected

Growing up as a young child in Kolkata, the neighbourhood was our life. Our friends were from there, and in the absence of relatives, the neighbours were our family. Near our house was a large empty area, which was the evening meeting place of all the children in our neighbourhood. It was called Manimala, and we children of mixed ages sang, danced, and played games led by the older children. We felt safe there, and our parents were happy.

Homes were almost stuck to one another, and sounds and aromas wafted freely between them. We could look into the kitchen next door and see our neighbour cutting fish, which was quite a novelty for me. When the vegetable cart came by, that was an opportunity to gather over brinjals and beans to have a leisurely chat.

A close friend and I had matching ‘he’ and she’ dolls, so a wedding was arranged and celebrated with much ado. As the girl’s ‘mother’, I prepared a trousseau of tiny cots, mattresses, and sheets. My friend made clothes for the bride and groom. After the wedding and the departure of my doll, I would peer longingly into their home from our kitchen window and feel reassured when my friend held up the two dolls for me to see!

During the partition riots in Kolkata, our neighbour, who had a hidden basement, would quickly usher us all in there when we heard the warning calls from the women of the neighbourhood. Even though I was too young to see the gravity of the situation, I could sense the urgency and the fellow feelings among us. 

Now, years and years later, and in a very different city, my contact with my neighbourhood is when the garbage truck comes by. But it’s a quick one — hand over the bucket and step back! Neighbours drive out of their homes and away. A brief wave is all we have time for. Mothers and fathers come to their gates to put their children on the school bus, but again, all we have space for is “Have a good day!”

I actually feel closer to the walkers and vendors I meet and greet each morning. We know one another’s routes and routines. We smile at each other, as if to say, “Oh good, you are OK!” We never stop and chat. We don’t know each other’s names, addresses, or any other details of our personal lives. And yet I feel connected to them and think of them as my neighbours.

But there is one special day when the whole neighbourhood comes together. We meet and greet each other on the street. We stop to exchange news and catch up on one another’s well-being. We wear our best clothes and huge smiles on our faces and show one another the mark on our finger.
We are all part of a much larger neighbourhood!