Metro Plus
Bangalore
Chennai
Delhi
Hyderabad
Kochi
Going UP in life
|
From security to isolation is one little step
|
Security, after all, is the stanchion of the middle class
"SECURITY! SECURITY!" You hear a woman on the ground floor summon the man who stands guard at the gate of your apartment block. She could have yelled "Guard!" but for its disconcerting similarity to "God". "Watchman" is gradually losing currency. Flat owners, who hire employees of security agencies to watch over their property, prefer to refer to them as "security", as in: "You can drop it off at the gate and security will bring it to me later" or "That thin security with the moustache is a Bihari".
Security is, after all, the stanchion of the middle-class. One of its reasons for choosing flats over houses is safety. Or so it says. Actually it doesn't have much of a choice, given land prices, but anyway... Even older people who once held apartments in deep disdain ("like living in a prison") now shake their heads knowingly and remark, "Very safe. There's 24-hour security." But they'll put iron grills in the fifth floor window, all the same. And there's the peephole in the front door just to make sure.
The prison analogy is not wide of the mark. Fancy words like "condominium" notwithstanding, some flats are remarkably fortress-like — you half expect an electrified fence. High-rise sprawls such as the Asian Games Village give off an air of eerie desolation (strange how thousands huddled together can appear so lonely). Most apartments are equipped with a sentry box and a register to monitor flow. In some, the watchman beeps you on the intercom when your friends drop in, and announces their names like a butler ushering in guests.
But the watchman is only human. The strain of being constantly on his toes begins to tell on his behaviour, which grows rather erratic. He'll frisk servants and grill harmless visitors but allow pizza delivery boys to whizz in unimpeded at all hours of the day and night. Some nights he'll suddenly begin to blow his whistle and tap his stick and once he has woken you up he'll sink into an uncanny silence, the secret of which will be uncovered by those who return home in the wee hours to hear gentle snores from his cubicle.
From security to isolation is one little step. It is easy to become insular. Brief hellos are exchanged on the stairway landing. Chance meetings with neighbours are more likely to occur when you're buying vegetables or dining out than at home — if you know your neighbours, in the first place. The stranger who knocks on your door and borrows a hammer or a stool moved in next door yesterday. The last you'll see of her is when she returns your possessions, for she will move out six months later and another will take her place. The removal van seems to be permanently stationed in the front yard where it is forever loading and unloading large cardboard boxes. Who cares to keep track of arrival and departures?
Voluntary segregation is not the norm, however. You can see a new form of the joint family system developing when heirs or siblings buy flats in the same condominiums. Residents in smaller condos tend to fling themselves heart and soul into community life. They meet every evening in the garden, they borrow curd and curry leaves, they go to yoga class, they join the Laughter Club. You'll see them, of a Sunday morning, filling two hired mini-buses with picnic packs and hilarity, off to Lal Bagh or Nandi Hills. They're always game for celebrations — of Holi, Deepavali, Independence Day, New Year's Day, and even Women's Day. And they stick to the rules — well, most of the time.
Oh yes, the rules, I haven't told you about them. They could be any of the following: no dogs, no pets, no vendors, no bachelors, no parking for "outside vehicles", leave the garbage out between 7 a.m. and 8 a.m. only, do not hang your clothes from the balcony. (This last is usually ignored and the façade of most apartments resembles one, vast, flapping, colourful United Nations.) Violations are scrupulously checked, and messages on the notice board often begin ominously: "It has been noticed that some residents have been... ." If you live in a house you won't have to follow militaristic orders like "Door to terrace shall be locked after 10 p.m." or "Don't step over balcony to take short cut to parking lot".
Some of you might be patting yourselves on the back for having bought a house, but it may be too early to crow over your good fortune. At some point in your lives you might be constrained to live on a higher plane, as it were. Urban planners are fond of saying that the only way to go is up, so you had better be prepared for peculiarities of apartment living.
Be prepared for the inevitable scraps, the general body meetings, the children bouncing footballs off your bumper, the car alarm that goes off in the middle of the night, the thumping of 32 little feet as dancing practice goes on upstairs for the Children's Day function.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a camera flash go off. I look out of the window to see a subdued wedding party. Bride and groom, accompanied by immediate family, head for a new flat, a new life. Anonymous they come, anonymous they shall leave.
C.K. MEENA
Printer friendly
page
Send this article to Friends by
E-Mail
Metro Plus
Bangalore
Chennai
Delhi
Hyderabad
Kochi
|
