My nephew and niece-in-law stay in one of the sprawling, well guarded blocks of high rises complete with a swimming pool, mini mart, beauty parlour, tennis court, gymn and spa. Well, I am talking about Bangalore.
Life is, needless to say, orderly and organised. Though to me, it appears to be quite insulated compared to my humble abode in the Capital where public accessibility is unenviably high.
Everybody knows everyone. Being a ground floor flat the door bell does not stop ringing. Sometimes the callers are known and at other total strangers. Our one and only vegetable seller, Kaalu, makes it a point to holler from outside, “Didi ! Kichhu laagbe.” (Didi! Do you require any vegetables). To which I can easily reply back from inside.
Sometimes it’s the construction worker next door requesting for a bottle of drinking water at other it’s the representatives from the Blind School for odd donation.
If the neighbours are having a loud debate I am privy to it. So is Kaalu who positions his vegetable cart strategically to listen in comfortably.
The gardener’s hose pipe is “stationed” inside my balcony. His entry is, therefore, quite expected whenever the parks require to be watered. So is the flat painter’s tall bamboo ladder which is placed inside the shaft. The shaft key is in yours truly’s “safe keeping”. Need I say the rest?
During a sudden load shedding next door Bhabhiji has to enquire whether I am an equal sufferer. Same is the case on disrupted water supply. Let’s not broach the subject of online deliveries. It can be anybody’s.
In short, if you love people and a continuous interruption in your daily routine this is the locality to be.
In sharp contrast, at my nephew’s the door bell rings only if there is an order placed on or off line, on pre-planned visits of extended family/friends/visitors, during fixed times by house helps. Life is peaceful, eh?
Waiting for the lift, the deathly quiet on the landing is unnerving. The doors to the three other flats on the same floor are tightly shut. I often have an overpowering urge to place my ears on one of them to make sure if there are really any occupants inside.
But the apprehension of being caught red handed does not evoke pleasant feelings.
I thus refrain.
I’d select something in-between the total quiet of your nephew’s apartment and yours. Some activity but not too much. 😂😂😂
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I agree with you. Something between total isolation and disturbing crowd 😔
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Yup, not the total quiet nor the feeling of living in chaos.
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Yes, I know what you mean
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👍🏼👍🏼👍🏼
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It looks as if your home is not your own
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😂😂😂😂
It’s pleasantly chaotic which at times can very well get on the nerves.
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My long, may be boring response. (My analysis)
City living, two flavours 😄
One comes with doorbells, friendly hollers, borrowed hoses, shared power cuts, and life knocking every five minutes.
The other comes with silence so deep it feels like a library with lifts.
One gives stories, laughter, and ocassional community meetings.
The other gives peace… and the urge to check if humans still exist behind closed doors.
Different comforts, same charm.
Chaos has a heartbeat, GC. 😀
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It does…And your analysis is forever enriching in an amusing way.
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Thank you, GC.
That means a lot.
🙏
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A wonderfully observant and gently humorous piece. The contrast between porous, people-rich living and the cocooned calm of gated high-rises is drawn with warmth rather than judgement. Your everyday details—Kaalu’s call, the shared hosepipe, the ringing doorbell—bring alive a sense of community that is messy, intrusive, yet deeply human. The ending, with its quiet unease in the sterile silence of the high-rise, lingers beautifully. A charming reflection on how “order” and “life” don’t always occupy the same space.
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Wow! How you have captured the essence of this post. Thank you so much for your appreciation and evaluation.
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