My Abominable Neighbour

I moved into a new rented apartment in Garia area of Kolkata, I had finalised this particular area as it provided easy commute to the metro-station, local train station and the bus stop was right below the apartment. I was introduced to Mrs. Chakraborty my neighbour who had been living there for ten years now. She was a short and stout lady perhaps in her early sixties, with a pair of big brown curious eyes with a beautiful but rough voice. Her shoulder length salt and pepper hair were tied in a ponytail.

I finished the shifting work as well arranged my belongings in the new apartment. It had a cane three seater sofa in the living room, a refrigerator in the dining room, a small cot, dresser and built in wardrobe in the bedroom. I was exhausted from the days jog and as I had no television connection then watched a movie on my laptop and slept on the sofa.

Next morning was awakened by the sound of doorbell. It was Mrs. Chakraborty, " the grill door of your apartment is open its not safe as you live alone keep it locked and look in the peephole before opening". I smiled and thanked her for the advice. She enquired, "what were you doing?" I sheepishly replied, " oh! just got up, thinking to make coffee and noodles". She commanded, "Go get fresh and come to my place, my maid is about to come and prepare breakfast". I couldn't agree more and immediately accepted her offer.

After a while in a fresh set of clothes I knocked at Mrs. chakraborty's doors. She opened it and instead of inviting me in said, "oh! sorry my maid is not coming as her son is ill, I'm afraid we have to have coffee and noodles at your place". I was flabbergasted and unwillingly made coffee and noodles for both of us. Whilst drinking coffee her phone rang and she walked to her door holding her phone in one hand and my coffee mug in another.

From then began a series of neighbourly shares, whenever I cooked some special dish the aroma would reach her and she would knock and ask. "what are you cooking, lovely aroma in the corridors". I would say ' oh! just carrot halwa, chhole, palak puri, methi paratha etc etc. Mrs. Chakraborty would say , "you know so much of cooking good." I reluctantly had to feed my self invited guest. This didn't stop here whenever I returned to my apartment and unlocked the door she would open hers and say, "today you are early" or "you are late", "where have you been it's Sunday". Apparently there were knocks asking can I get a cup of curd, glass of milk, bowl of cereal, a slide of cheese, few onions, couple of tomatoes, a piece of ginger or today's newspaper. If I'm going out 'shona can you get Misti doi on your way back', 'two envelopes of this size', 'a packet of this biscuit' or singhada or jhalmuri from the corner hawker.

The things she took were never returned or paid for. I believed in doing good heedlessly. But when she came to my place and asked to switch to her favourite Bengali television channel and got glued to it. I got terribly annoyed. I'm still in a state of surprise and shock. But perhaps inevitably things didn't stay this way. I found another job in another city and got ready to face another neighbour.