The amazing maze of living in a neighborhood

I think you should call up her daughter to ask how she is doing now. Said my mother.

Why, I don’t even know her so well, and any ways, you are in constant touch with them na.

Ya, but then still, it will look good if you do.

And I did. Because that’s what was supposed to be done.

Formal informality and informal formality was a term I had learnt in school. We would use this term to write in the annual slam book. What is the thing you hate, the page would ask, and this term would be found in 90% of the books. It was a cool term to use, a smart use of words. The meaning of it just gets bigger and messier as we grow up.

Mrs Chadha you sent kadhi chawal to Gupta ji, but only pakodas to me.

Bhaiya ji, your sister didn’t call me on my daughter’s birthday.

Uncle ji, your wife didn’t send me the food when I was down with fever.

It never ends. It just grows like a vineyard. And the problem is if you get into once you can’t get out. Because you have set the expectations! Aunty ji, she had called Mrs. Verma, but she didn’t call me. So, once you begin, there is no looking back. If you dare get out of this chain, then you are rude, arrogant, there is family trouble, you are headed for a divorce, your children have disowned you or you could have also lost your mental balance.

And mind it; gender has nothing to do with it. The uncles of the house would have similar expectations and complaints from the neighborhood kids. Sunny, you didn’t buy me the medicines the other day, but for Shukla Ji, you went running to the store at midnight!

It’s not about being kind, courteous or respectful these days. It’s about showing that you are kind, courteous and respectful. You laugh about Verma aunty’s obese kids when inside your house, ridicule the way Sharma ji treats his wife and Gupta ji loves his dogs more than his children. But when you meet each one of them, you ask about their health, their well-being, their Australian bahu and the new serials they are watching these days.

The modern cities can never relish the fun of being part of nosy neighborhoods. Where the next door aunty knew more about you than your own father, where complaining about the children was a normal thing to do, and where at every hospital admission, the food/chai/biscuits would keep flowing incessantly and the hospital reception would become the new gupshup adda for the elderly.

You have to be there to show you care. The informality of the formality you do and the formality with which you show informality can only be learnt if you are living in a neighborhood!