Meeting the New Neighbours

We have new neighbours. They first made their presence known a week or so ago, when they knocked on our door to borrow matches for the puja (worship) they were performing in their apartment.

Two days ago, they were back again. I heard a commotion coming from their side of the building. Their balcony faces the street, so I though it may have been a procession happening (the bholanath bull was in the area after all!).

Being very Indian in my behaviour, I opened the door to see what was going on. I quickly shut it again though (although I must admit, not all the way. I did leave the door open enough so that I could peep through it!).

The commotion wasn’t a procession. It was the new neighbours having a heated altercation with the real estate broker. There were at least six of them, and they were all yelling loudly at the broker. The only words I could understand were “paisa” (money) and “chabi” (key).

Yesterday, the new neighbours moved in. I became acquainted with them very quickly because they were knocking on my door almost every 10 minutes.

First, they wanted me to close our security door from inside and remove our door mat and rubbish bin, to make way for their furniture. Next, they wanted to borrow a small table (so the electrician could stand on it to install their ceiling fans).

Then came their biggest request of all. In India, neighbours don’t come to borrow a cup of sugar! Instead, they wanted to connect a cable to our power supply until theirs was turned on in a day or two. Was I understanding them properly? They wanted to use our power supply? I had to phone my husband, who was at work, to deal with this request. Being the big-hearted guy he is, he agreed. Never mind the fact that it’s supposedly illegal.

Ten minutes later, there was another knock on the door. The new neighbours wanted to borrow a portable fan (to cool themselves until the ceiling fans were all installed). I really didn’t understand what they were asking for this time, so they came inside our apartment to look for what they wanted. Thus, the inspection of our apartment commenced. All rooms were thoroughly examined and exclaimed upon (even after it was apparent that we didn’t have a portable fan!).

As I’ve mentioned previously, I find the lack of privacy the hardest thing to deal with in India. Therefore, the familiar feelings of angst started rising. It was exacerbated by the fact that we live in a Gujurati building, these people were Gujuratis, and the numerous bottles of wine that we recently brought back from Sula vineyards were proudly displayed on the kitchen bench (most Gujuratis don’t drink alcohol).

Kyaa kare? I announced to the neighbours that I was going to look inside their apartment. They seemed delighted with this idea. However, I was stunned when I reached their kitchen. It was engulfed in a sea of silver. Every surface was occupied by a silver tin. There was literally nowhere to move. And there were more silver tins, of various shapes and sizes, still waiting to be unpacked. My reaction amused them even more, and we were all laughing.

I discovered that there would only be four people living in the apartment — two parents and a young newly married couple.

They all seemed nice enough, so I decided to be friendly and give them some ladoos (sweets) to welcome them. This earned me another invitation into their apartment, where the usual questions were asked. What are you doing in India? Can you speak Gujurati? Can you cook? What can you cook? Have you cooked dinner yet? (Most of the questions revolved around food, of course). Do you have children?.

Needless to say, there was one more knock on our door last night. To borrow a phone charger.

Early this morning, the knocking recommenced. The new neighbours again. They wanted to warm some milk. Apparently they don’t have gas yet. Or hot water.

It was very bad timing.

I was in the process of warming some leftover chicken for my husband’s breakfast. Gujuratis are vegetarians. And the landlord initially didn’t want to lease our apartment to us because we aren’t Gujuratis or vegetarians. Quickly, I tried to put the chicken back into the fridge. I only partially succeeded. And the wine bottles were still fully on display. The neighbour was in the kitchen for over five minutes, which was plenty of time for her to look at the offensive items.

I’m still reeling from the experience. And I’m left wondering, why do people move into an apartment before having all the necessary facilities (gas, electricity) connected?

Related Posts:

1. The Hardest Thing About Living in Mumbai
2. Adjusting to Having a Maid
3. Inside Our Mumbai Apartment
4. Renting in India: The Contrast Between Western and Indian Landlords
5. Minding my Manners in India
6. A New Piece of Furniture: The Sofa Cum Bed
7. A Visit from my Mother in Law
8. Dealing With Water Cuts in Mumbai

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Tagged as: adjusting to India