The Lost Art of Neighbourly Love

The funniest memory I have of my childhood days is- believe it or not- searching for a lock to put on the main door!  Weird, isn’t it? I never remember doors being closed during day time in our building. Throughout the day, all the doors on all the flats in our building remained open. There was so much of openness …one could just walk into anyone’s home without informing/ announcing/ invitation. It was as if we were not neighbours but extended family members. Hence, while travelling out of station, the lock for the main door would be the most searched item…it was never used otherwise.

Children had the option of checking out everyone’s kitchen to see if there was a better option available to the “green, healthy ghaas phoos” made at home. If one felt sleepy, one had to just go to sleep at whosoever’s home one was playing at. No one had heard of booking guests into hotels or lodges…what were neighbours for? Be it a marriage or a mundan in anyone’s family, guests were adjusted in any neighbour’s home.  If there was an emergency at one’s “native place” , parents just left in a hurry, assured that the children would be taken care of by their neighbours.  Just like that….no questions asked. It seemed the most natural thing to do. After all everyone was a migrant back then. Everyone was a stranger to the big, bad world of Bombay.  Be it making pickles and papads during summer or “faraal” during Diwali, every activity was a “joint venture”. All the neighbours got together to make this. We kids has the privilege of being watchmen; we shooed away crows and sparrows and vigilantly guarded our “booty”. No movie was watched “only by hum do aur hamare do”. It was a grand affair with all the neighbours going together- Fathers donning freshly ironed shirts, mothers in their brightest best and we kids wore our biggest smiles. Moving outings were nothing short of pilgrimages- more valued in fact!

I wish I could pass on this legacy of idyllic neighbourly love and sharing to my child. For him these tales are nothing short of fairy tales. For him, it is a Utopian world, beyond his imagination. For him neighbours are those who live behind closed doors, with whom he shares the occasional “hi” or “hello” . He meets them at society functions twice a year.  Sweets and savouries are exchanged with them during the annual Diwali celebrations. For him they are strangers whom he ‘recognizes’, not “knows”.  

How ironic it is that in this age of technology, we can talk to persons on the other side of the planet instantly, but cannot walk across to greet our neighbours. Can we “confirm” our “friends” status with our neighbours once more?