As someone who has spent over half of her life living in balconied houses, I had always assumed that the joys of apartment-dwelling would come naturally to me. Not so, I have come to realise of late. And Bengaluru, with all its cosmopolitan charms, has played a big role in bringing this thought, well, home.
This morning, as a resident of J (or is it K?) Block ran into me, the realisation came instantly that I need to hone my head-nodding skills, that make you look exactly like a busy executive, rushing from a household errand to a con-call, or online presentation or whatever else that they do in their super-‘tied-up’ schedule. But here I was, in front of her, trapped into hearing the preparations being made by the society’s cultural group for Rajyotsava celebrations coming up at month-end. Yes, one month is not a long-enough postponement when it comes to community gatherings.
Especially, when the residents are still getting over the Deepavali camaraderie, and when their garba pictures continue to get likes on social media.So, no, sorry, I have, as usual, no time to join the occasion, I told her. And little interest, I told myself, before asking my head, ‘Am I turning into a recluse?’ What has changed in the past couple of decades, that is pushing me towards a more cocooned existence than being part of the bonhomie that marks condo complexes? From a first-floor flat in the serene Pandara Road area of Lutyen’s Delhi, to one of the first swimming-pool, gym, squash court-embedded ‘societies’ in Noida, I would have thought I had gathered enough experience of living amid all kinds of ambience, at various heights.
But the last few years in namma ooru have been a different affair. Apartments win all the way, no doubt, with their easy maintenance, at-arm’s-length conveniences, better security, and of course, the friends that children can always be surrounded with. With several hundred flats around, you can’t really have an idle living, with a baby bawling next door, a bunch of kids on bicycles loudly calling Rithvik or Rohan beneath his fourth-floor flat, and your phone buzzing with WhatsApp messages about a piece of clothing that has drifted in from someone’s balcony.
Add to that the cheery frenzy about organising festival celebrations, calls for ‘please donate with an open heart’, and arguments over ‘but we booked the club house first’, and I don’t regret putting the phone group on mute. But how does Bengaluru fit in here, you ask? Well, melting-pot does turn out to have some uncomfortably hot edges. So after the Ganesh Chaturthi committee prices the food coupons at Rs 250, the Durgotsav organisers scale it up to Rs 400, and throw in a fashion show for kids. Members of the Onam group cannot agree over the cap for the weight of flowers allowed for each pookalam in the competition, while those behind Deepavali celebrations cannot decide the spot for bursting crackers. Without obviously seeming to try to outdo the other, all of them seek everyone’s ‘positive support and encouragement’. Some even get invitation cards printed, and come with kids in tow, who sweetly extend the invite and monetary contribution slip to your abdomen. The parents tell you how they also accept cheques, or phone transfer. And I wonder if turning recluse is such a bad option, after all.
Pallavi Srivastava
Senior Asst Editor
spallavi@newindianexpress.com