THE FIRST DAY IN A NEW NEIGHBOURHOOD

THE FIRST DAY IN A NEW NEIGHBOURHOOD

The promotion of my husband to the higher echelon in the corporate sector called for a change in status of living. Overnight we were shifted from the cozy middle class neighborhood to the portals of the elite. A plush house on the 15th floor of the multi story apartment facing the sea was allotted to us.

The news spread like wild fire in our middle class neighborhood. Soon we became the cynsore of all eyes. Having visited the apartment a couple of times, I started out reeling lengthy descriptions of the place to my neighbors. The view of crystal clear sea from its huge French windows, an array of lifts whizzing us up and down the apartment with clock wise precision, the uniformed attendant saluting every time we move in and out of the lifts, the large rooms inside the apartment were literally we can play roller skates and hide and seek games. They seemed to have abundant appetite to hear every detail about out impending dwelling. All these tales filled my listeners with awe while I and my son Nikhil strutted around like proud peacocks.

Soon the day dawned for our move. Packing our meager belongings in the huge truck, which arrived, and bidding farewell to the umpteen friends, well-wishers, acquaintances, we boarded the company car and arrived at the new elite neighborhood.

I, a product of middle class, found the entire exercise novel. Geting down from our chauffeur driven car, we found our truck had arived with all our belongings. Soon uniformed attendants of the office picked up the luggage efficiently and deposited it in the house in a trice. It took just a day to unpack our things and arrange them in the spacious house. However against the poshness of the house with wall to wall carpeting, sleek walls painted with emulsion paints, huge ornately framed windows, our furniture looked grossly inadequate and out of place. We made a mental note to upgrade every object in the house.

With higher responsibility of the job weighing on him, my husband left for office early next day. Myself and, my five year old son Nikhil were left in the huge house. The very spaciousness I was proud of seems to engulf me. I looked out of the windows, to see the rythematic waves of the sea, repeatedly hitting the huge jutting rocks; there was not a soul to be found in the sea face, while the hot sun beat down on the glistening waters, and huge black granite rocks, which stood like monsters close to the sea.

I switched on the TV for comfort; soon the droning voices of the lack luster programmers were getting on my nerves. I thought I will endure the silence better then the impersonal voices. Myself and Nikhil, never avid TV watchers, we had preferred to get our kicks and excitement in interaction with the multitudes of people surrounding us.

I decided to heat the meal for Nikhil and me. I then found the matchbox missing, perhaps my husband had taken it for his cigarettes. I felt aghast. I have to negotiate the 15th floor twice over, walk over two furlongs to the huge departmental store in the corner, with the hot sun beating over and Nikhil in toe all for a match box?

In my old neighborhood all I need to have done is to call out from my kitchen to Kamali, the door across, she would have sent the matchbox with her little son Ramu. Nikhil started crying with hunger, though the dough was ready how to make roti without starting the `chula’

I opened the door cautiously and looked at the door opposite. There were only two houses occupying the spacious 15th floor. In ornate letters was written the name Mr. Verma on the imposing door. With trepidation I went near and rang the bell. It began to chime a long musical tune. I was taken aback having used to the shrill alarm call of the local bells. I waited with bated breath, as though the curtain is going to rise to show me some mysterious scene. But alas nothing of the sort happened. I waited for an eternity, and again rang the bell. There was no answer. Perhaps the occupants were out. With Nikhil impatiently tugging my sari, I decided to try my luck elsewhere. Picking up the keys of the self-lock, I closed my front door walked down the stairs to the 14th floor and looked around. I could see two more ornate doors with the name of the owners ornately written tastefully in gilt-edged wooden frames. Keeping my fingers crossed I rang one of the bells. To my relief soon I heard footsteps, the door creaked open, and I was greeted by uniform attendant who looked at me enquiringly. Suddenly I who had always prided for my carefree ways became self-conscious. What a picture I must be making in my tucked in sari oiled and plaited hair and crying little Nikhil at my helms. Nevertheless I took courage and introduced myself as a new tenant upstairs and told the purpose of my visit. To procure a simple matchbox. The attendant promptly saluted me. Marched in and came back with half a packet of matchboxes as though he was ashamed to give a single matchbox. I thanked him, took one match box and took to my heels, feeling a bit let down with the encounter, making a firm resolution never in future to run out of essentials in this high brow neighborhood.

The food prepared the siesta over; Nikhil who was habituated to his evening outings started getting cranky. The evenings always used to be a gala affair for us. Myself and Nikhil used to get ready and go down at our building. While Nikhil used to run around and play with half a dozen children of his age, we mothers used to happily indulge in chitchat. sharing every matter of our heart, right from problem with servants, tantrums of our children, squabbles with the in laws, discords with the husband. No doubt lot of gossip used to be mixed with our talk. Coming back home after such an exercise always used to keep me sane. What people used to dismiss as small talk and gossip had in some strange way given meaning to the humdrum life of cooking, cleaning, washing etc. Fond of friends and quick to warm to the people, I was never hesitant to share my secrets.

I decided to give a try in my new neighborhood. With Nikhil in toe getting ready, I sailed down the elevator and reached the ground level. The compound was huge which was but natural for a building of that size. But there was not a single child to be found there. Soon an array of impressive cards started arriving inside the compound one after another. the occupants eyed me and Nikhil quizzingly and drove past to park in the allotted slots below the ground level. After standing there for half an hour, while Nikhil was making an attempt to play alone with his yellow plastic ball and I feeling thoroughly demoralized, fled upstairs taking a protesting Nikhil.

I felt eons of time over when I could hear the bell chime and my tired husband returned back to his refuge. Taking a look at his tired look, I bolted up my pent up emotions.

Would it be wise to tell him the place a symbol and pinnacle of his achievements, an honor given to him to stay in high society against God knows what numerous ordeals he faces in his own arena.

For his enthusiastic comments about the sea breeze and carpeted floors I tried to whip up some enthusiasm and decided along with the furniture the up gradation is required of me and Nikhil too, to get adjusted to the bare walls, concrete structures devoid of the warmth of the human voices and laughter.