Sushmita Bose :
In school, one of our lessons at moral science class was ‘Love thy neighbour as thyself’. That, I felt, was a tall order: if you loved yourself above all others (and even if most of us hate to admit it, it’s probably true that we all suffer from a surfeit of self-love), it implied neighbours would (or should) occupy the top-most rung of love, a notch higher than family and dear friends.
While growing up (and attending abovementioned moral science classes), I would be witness to some peculiar goings-on in my own neighbourhood (infested with neighbours I had been instructed to love). The college-going male progeny of our next-door neighbours would make catcalls whenever my girlfriends and I would amble out for a leisurely stroll in the evenings.
Our part-time maid informed us that some other neighbours (whose houses she tended to as well) wanted “info” on our eating habits; how many times we had mutton a week topped their list of queries.
Later, when I was in college, an elderly neighbour asked my dad, point-blank, if the “boy” who had dropped by at our place was someone I was “secretly having an affair with” (“But why would he visit my house in broad daylight if I was secretly having an affair with him?” was my kneejerk mumble). And so on and so forth. Net, net: these neighbours weren’t particularly ‘lovable’. I never loved them. Forget loving them as much as myself.
Of course, I knew of folks who had far more cordial relations with those who lived around them. My grandparents, for instance.
They lived in the suburbs, and their door would be always open – literally – for neighbours to drop in for a chat and a cuppa tea (and no, not once was their house robbed). When I’d asked my granddad if he “loved” his neighbours, he snapped, “Hell, no! But I have to tolerate them because of her [pointing towards my grandma].” “Do you love your neighbours?”
I asked my grandmother this time. “I love everyone – but you the most,” was her rather unhelpful answer, accompanied by a kiss on the top of my head.
In my present state, I don’t really know who my neighbours are, though I do recognise a few faces now and then – like the man who lives in the apartment opposite mine (whose very cute – and lovable – 2-year-old had knocked on my door a few times on Halloween to ask for candy, and then more candy), who nods his head and gives me a tight smile each time our facing doors open simultaneously.
If you’ve gotten my drift this far, I am not a big fan of neighbours per se; nevertheless, it’s a sad commentary of our social lives that neighbours are getting blotted out. Because (I would assume) there’s something elemental about bonding with those we share proximity with. Like it happens on Wisteria Lane in Desperate Housewives.
Real life tells a different story. A study conducted in the UK recently reveals shocking stats.
Gloucestershire Echo reports: “A quarter of people admitted hiding from their neighbours to avoid small talk, 25% do all they can to avoid a long conversation, while 14% specifically moved to an area where neighbours were more inclined to keep themselves to themselves.
The majority – 41% – settled for simply nodding to their neighbours, and no more. Disputes also emerged as a common factor: 10% of people admitted to regularly arguing with their neighbours – with loud music (14%), fighting over car parking spaces (10%), garden boundaries (10%) and noisy children (8%) the most common complaints.
A shocking 4% have even taken legal action against them!”
The other night, I was lugging shopping bags after a visit to the supermarket, and trying to catch the elevator. The doors were open, and there was my neighbour – yes, someone I recognised, the lady who lives down my corridor – striding towards them, right in front of me. She eased herself through the door, turned around to face me and pushed the ‘close’ button; as I stood helplessly a few feet away, the door shut in my face (I didn’t want to attempt a crazy scramble and disgrace myself further).
Love thy neighbour? Er, I know I’m not living up to my moral science lessons, but I think I’ll pass.
(Sushmita Bose is Khaleej Times’ features editor and editor of wknd. magazine. [email protected])
