They live right next door. A wall of moderate thickness and medium height separates both the ground floor flats – mine and theirs. The wall has railings. If I scramble over I’ll land on their extended verandah. But I have never dared to do that.
Not that we are too pally. Now and then we engage in polite conversation. “Hi! How are you? Doing well?” Such like. I often see the lady of the house drying clothes on the clothesline. It’s kind of a reminder to me that I also have a pile in the washing machine.
Her house help comes in the afternoon. Between twelve and one. I hear the main gate opening. Then the splash of water. She cleans the verandah regularly.
These everyday noises ensure that life is going on. Like clockwork. There’s something very comforting about that.
***
At night locking the main gate my eyes involuntarily stray towards their door. The iron door is closed but the wooden door is ajar. Even I have the same arrangement in my flat. A grilled iron door opening on the outside and a wooden door opening on the inside. Two sturdy doors. For security.
Through the iron door I can see a portion of their sitting room. The lights are on. Snatches of conversation spill out. There’s something very reassuring about that.
***
Lately I am not seeing the lady of the house around. She suffers from pulmonary infection. The bouts of cough are not audible either. The iron door is also closed. So is the wooden one.
Perhaps she has gone to her daughter’s place for a few days. Or to her son’s in Australia. She was not comfortable with her daughter-in-law though I heard. But distance makes hearts grow fonder. She must be missing her granddaughter.
The house help comes everyday. I hear the gate being unlatched. The lady must have left an extra pair of keys with her. The maid is an old hand …. trustworthy.
I sigh deeply.
***
There’s an odd kind of wistfulness in the air. Journey abroad means long absence. I don’t sit on the balcony any longer. It’s awkward.
Though we were not very close but their quiet presence was a big part of my daily routine. I realise it now. As dusk deepens the silence deepens too. The whole neighborhood seems unusually quiet. Even the smallest sound amplifies. It’s ominous.
I am thinking of going out for a few days. Friend’s. Or relative’s. But everyone is so busy. Everyone so short of time.
***
Yesterday afternoon I heard the sound of their main gate opening. Must be the house help. I listened intently. It seemed somebody unlocked the door from inside. Didn’t hear the turning of the key from outside.
I came out to find the girl cleaning the verandah. On a sudden impulse I thought of asking her. But on second thought I stopped. What if she took it the wrong way.
After a while I heard the door being latched from inside. Did that mean someone’s there?
***
This morning I heard the lady talking to her husband. They were having their morning tea in the verandah. The door to their flat was also ajar. I could see it from my balcony.
The house help came in the afternoon as usual. I heard her chatting with the lady about myriad household chores.
I was to pay my aunt a visit for a week or so. But now I guess I am going to phone and tell her that I won’t be coming anytime soon.
The hands of time are again moving in a cadence of their own.
***
I wrote this story in Bangla first. The English post is not exactly a transliteration. Both languages have unique turn of phrases. So those who can read Bangla will find the difference. The link to the post is given below.
http://vanderloost.blogspot.com/2025/08/blog-post_31.html?m=1
I love this. So relatable.
A couple of years ago I was greeted by a lady whom I only used to see on busstop. From a nod to faint smile, then exchanging morning greetings. We never went ahead and introduce ourselves. Then after a gap of couple of months or was it after Covid, I don’t remember but we met once on a mountain trail and God! We started talking to each other like we were old friends. So funny isn’t it.
I haven’t seen her after that. Life is strange.
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I know sometimes people just flit in and out of our lives but they do leave behind indelible footprints in our memories.
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I had this same experience . . . Not with this lady of course . . . .but a middle aged man.
I was just finishing college at waiting at the bus stop in the snow, all the buses were delayed.This man started talking about his life, how his wife of 25 years emptied out their bank account and took off with a younger man, his children drifted apart from him.
I couldn’t help but look at him and think “this feels like a scene from a Hollywood film”. Was it real, such a surreal moment at the bus stop, in the snow, waiting for the bus.
The bus came but somehow I wanted to carry on listening to his story but the bus came, and the man said ” isn’t this your bus ?”. I said yes and I went thinking that was such a strange moment.
Never to see the man again.
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Strange experiences. Yours and Rupali’s. I don’t know from where you access my links but I am grateful for your detailed comments. It helps to know varied perspectives. And that is what is required.
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A fascinating story. How little we may know our nearest neighbours
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Yes, true. We are quite disconnected within our own community 😔
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I love talking to my neighbours esp having a catch up in the garden in the nice sunny weather, to learn everything about them.Good relations.
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That presents a very pretty picture. I wish you’d tell me your name.
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My name is Meenu.
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A very profound and soulful story! As humans, we sometimes remain connected to each other in such unspoken yet meaningful ways!
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You are spot on. The unspoken and meaningful connection. They are such a significant yet underrated part of our lives.
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Wow!
The thrilling life of verandah espionage—who knew neighborly tea could be so edge-of-the-seat exciting! 😄
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Thank you Mr. P
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Welcome, GC.
Enjoy your routine that includes weather.😄
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I enjoyed your story very much – and like that it ended with the neighbor being back and the routine/balance resuming.
On a side note, we recently had a neighbor move and I feel a sense of loss. We knew he was moving for a while and he was only a short term neighbor – so it is not really a deep grieving – but I feel the loss and in my heart know he is gone. This part of your story really connected to W’s moving away:
“their quiet presence was a big part of my daily routine. I realise it now. As dusk deepens the silence deepens too…”
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Thank you Yvette. I am glad as well as sad that the post resonates with you. Sad because you have lost a good neighbour.
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well he was only a short term neighbor – but I feel that loss – and stories like this help explain how for some folks – it throws off the balance – hmmmm
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It’s part fiction. Part reality. Only through experience can you appreciate the mundane connections of your life.
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well said!
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A beautifully quiet, observant piece — it captures the rhythm of everyday life, the comfort of routine, and how absence can deepen our sense of connection. Subtle yet powerful.
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Thank you very much. Your words are extremely encouraging.
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A lovely story GC! Very real and relatable.
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Thank you Sadje. Part fiction part reality.
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I guessed. Beautifully written
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Thank you Sadje
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You’re welcome ☺️
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Sometimes we can have deep meaningful relationships without the need for repetitive conversation, the daily niceties of asking “how was your day ?”.
You smile lightly, give a little wave, an acknowledgement of sorts.
There is a great feeling of friendliness and satisfaction from giving your time to a friend, a neighbour, maybe chatting to a stranger at the bus stop or train station. You listen, you learn, you certainly learn to never moan about the little things in your own life cos in the bigger picture they simply dont matter.
If covid has taught me one thing, its truly never put things off, go where you want to, see who you want to, spend time with family and friends, do your best, and have no regrets. Life is passing all of us by far too quickly. We must make the most of each given day.
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I wish you’d start blogging on WP. You’ve so much inside you.
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WP big, im a little apprehensive.
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Dear Geet Ji
I can’t stop praising you for your command on pen.
Thank you for liking my post ‘Potion’ 🙏
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Thank you for your appreciation
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We can all relate to your story, Geeta.
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👍 👍 Thank you Mary
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