Covid Flashback

I live in a large apartment complex on an arterial road in Bangalore. I always liked the fact that I can’t hear much traffic noise from where my flat is situated, away from the road. Every morning I hear cuckoos, mynahs, and squirrels chirping away. Sparrows and crows adding their two bits too. But it was always just for a short spell every day between waking up and rushing off to join the mayhem.

Now, compelled by Covid circumstances to stay inside all day I can’t help but pay more attention to sounds of nature outside my window. Noises from other apartments also break the stillness occasionally. And as I sit, in-between laundry and lunch, I also can’t help but think back to another place, another time when I was so enveloped in the sounds of nature and silence.

As a newlywed, I arrived in Springfield Illinois, ready for anything. I took on a big house and its upkeep with a vigor and marveled at the silence all around it. It was a pretty neighborhood. Plenty of tall oak trees, green lawns and your typical, average middle-class American houses with their open front yards and fenced-in backyards. We had a gigantic dead oak tree in the middle of our front yard. I often wondered what would happen to the house and us if it fell.

My husband worked long hours. A general physician and a psychiatrist, he was an “Attending” (basically means you’re not a student anymore but a real doctor) at the local hospital. Therefore, I had a lot of time on my hands. Granted there was always housework to do, but as we were just the two of us, i.e. limited laundry, cooking and vacuuming, there was plenty of free time too.

Soon after I had settled in and gotten over the jetlag, I became curious about what was outside, beyond the dead oak. Every morning I would cautiously venture onto the threshold, wondering if someone or something would accost me. It seemed to be preternaturally quiet. Not a soul to be seen. I was nervous about getting locked out, about getting lost, about some racist attack, about everything. I had to muster up some courage before I ventured past the front steps and onto the lane. Like this, I incrementally expanded my acquaintance with the neighborhood.

As Spring gave onto Summer, it became too hot inside, and I wanted some fresh air. I began to leave the front door open while I did my chores around the house. A couple of days of this, and one day I heard a sharp knock at the door. It was a neighbor from across the street. It was shocking to meet another human being, and I could not find my voice. “Are you OK?” he asked, grey eyes behind spectacles sizing me up, grey hair tousled in the wind. I had obviously upset him.

“Yes, thank you, I’m fine,” I said, recovering, and blinking at this apparition.

“Your door is open,” he informed me. “And we wondered if something was wrong or if there had been a break-in? So, I decided to come and check.” Wow, so that’s what it takes to meet a neighbor, I thought. I reassured him that I had only opened the door for fresh air, and he went away after a rather belated welcome to the neighborhood. I did eventually become friends with these neighbors who turned out to be quite a nice couple. They even babysat my son once or twice.

Here, in busy old Bangalore, even under Covid circumstances, I still don’t know my immediate neighbors. They keep their distance and I keep mine. I seldom open the door for anything let alone “fresh” air.