Changing nature of neighbourly bonds

Sometimes, it takes an earthquake in Gurugram to figure out who your neighbours are.

- Abhishek Asthana

The earth shakes, and people rush out in their pyjamas and assemble in an area where their WiFi can't reach — and see people who they sometimes spot in the lift. Reluctant smiles follow.

This is a completely unscheduled assembly. Some small talk emerges.

"It was really strong," says a middle-aged man, most likely a senior vice-president at an MNC—an open invitation for anyone to respond. I take the bait. “Yeah, the epicentre is somewhere in Haryana, 4.0 magnitude,” I read from my phone.

He is not interested in more science. He spots the missus. A conversation follows.

“Oh, you are the couple who recently moved in?”

“Yeah, it's been two years.”

“We are on the same floor. You guys should come over sometime!”

“Sure! Whenever.”

“Whenever” is a great tool to dodge such societal curveballs. It doesn’t commit a date, shows complete intent, and shifts the onus on to the inviting party to propose a time. So it ends there and we wait for the next earthquake.

This phenomenon is especially pronounced if you are a tenant. No neighbour wants to build a relationship with a temporary inhabitant; hence, the empty invitations at earthquake meetings. Unless the Zomato delivery person accidentally delivers their tandoori momos to you, there is no reason to knock on each others’ doors. Nobody runs out of chaipatti (tea leaves) anymore. They get it in 10 minutes.