OUR NEIGHBOURS

I had spent my childhood in a small 1 BHK room in an urban area. My dad was earning enough for our small family then. Sufficient  for my grandpa, grandma, mom, dad and me. Yes, sweet and small family living in a small house with quite populated surrounding society but not so friendly neighborhood.

Although, grandpa had his fair share of friends , our neighborhood mostly consisted of unfriendly bunch of families. Though, we didn't have much to be jealous of, we did face a silent treatment ever since we started living there. Maybe we were considered alien  in their social community they lived in for years . No one new ever came to inhabit in their society until we came. As my grandpa used to work there ,my grandparents had lived there for a good amount of time. And as his time of retirement was around the corner, he called on my dad to come stay with them if he likes. He being the ideal son, came. Not alone, but with his family, which included me and my mom as well. I was a kid back then, didn't quite understand sarcasm, jealousy, name calling very well. All of which was prominently faced by our family almost on a daily basis.

As I grew old, I started to understand what some of these meant. I used to play with their kids every evening. My mom didn't stop me. Of course she couldn't, I was a kid who needed to play, a crucial part of a child's life. But I wasn't anymore not aware of all the taunts about being an outsider that came our way.

I started developing my identity, and slowly and gradually I realised how hard it must be to be living in an environment full of hatred everywhere.How hard it must be for my parents? A lot I guess but they still protected me from them as much as possible,and kept me with a lot of love and care.

There's one family I haven't told you about.

There was this big mansion kind of house,2 storeyed, in which lived no men, but only women, three to be specific.

These three women each had their own jobs , used to leave for work at their specific timings and return home before night. They mostly wore sarees and salwar suit. [Popular indian attire]
One of them had long hair, always braided, one had short curly hair, and one had simple straight hair, in a pony tail or sometimes braided.

These three weren't the talkative ones, not always in group . Each of them had their own personal identity, with personal customized life they had prepared for themselves. They inspired me.

They ddin't talk much. Not to any of those neighbours. Ddin't interact with them on any of the festivals the entire area did as a community. I sometimes envied their unity. But what good is a unity if you don't diversify. Are humans so scared of losing their culture? And is enriching your culture actually losing it ?

Those women out there used to watch us kids playing from their windows up. They used to smile. Always. When anyone of them used to return from work, they would see us children playing in their garden very often.  But never one of them would scold us. Not until it used to be dark enough for us to go home,they used to inquire. They always gave us a warm, bright smile. A smile so welcoming, it would sooth all your sorrows away. In a world full of negativity they offered us with permission to ruin their garden, play with their plants, cook in their yard, shout like infants, cry, run. They even offered us cookies, cakes and candies like  mango bite,god i love the taste of those cookies i still remember it. I even had a collection of mango bite candies back at home. All the other kids used to be busy playing, shouting out poems, dancing but not appreciating much their presence or their lookout for us. I was attentive towards what they used to do, because I had not ever been given even a smile from the others of our society. To whom, we were outsiders.

They didn't discriminate. They were kind.

And kindness is all what we needed. Kindness is what everyone needs.

They were the only good thing I had back at that place. I wish to be even half as kind, empathetic, and compassionate in life as they were. Its been more than a decade we moved from there. Those women meant hope to me. I remember them as figures of strength, kindness and love. 

That afternoon when I was biding them farewell, the others wanted it too, but I chose not to. I said to her, I would miss her cookies . She smiled and hugged me, that warm and bright moon like smile, embracing. I knew I would miss that smile.
I still do.

Placing some mango bites in my palm, she kissed me on my cheeks and said you have a long way to go, have them when I'm bored and then started to talk to my mom about our departure timings. I stood there, looking up at her face, realizing the role they played in my life. I felt an ache in my heart, a feeling of separation. People say children forget. But infact children don't ever forget anything. Everything that has happened stays with them and plays a role in building the person internally. The way one thinks and works, his/her ideology. The shaping of a person takes place during the growing period but the input is always there, working its way into what we are today.