Tags:
Journalism of Courage
During my morning walk yesterday, a strange thing happened. A senior citizen whose name and flat number I did not know, suddenly wished me good morning. That took me by surprise. In the past several years whenever we crossed each other, he never wished me.
In Delhi8217;s Vasant Kunj, where I live, it is not fashionable to wish each other. Neighbours have perfected the art of looking away when a neighbour is illegally constructing an additional room on the first floor, when the ground floor man has done so and the top floor wali is raising another floor.
8216;8216;But dear, it may just happen that he read my middle and might have liked it8217;8217; I said, with all humility. 8216;8216;You are a fool8217;8217;, she said. You don8217;t realise that you have no readership in VK, it is a shop-keeper8217;s colony, full of the neo-rich and the neoliterates8217;8217;.
8216;8216;But dear, he may be a genuine admirer,8217;8217; I said. 8216;8216;There is nothing genuine in Vasant Kunj. Everything is false.8217;8217; 8216;8216;What about the senior citizens?8217;8217; 8216;8216;To be an elderly citizen in VK is a stigma. Nobody wants you, even your son is waiting for you leave for your heavenly abode. He has a young daughter who is dying to occupy your room.8217;8217; While we were discussing all that, the door-bell rang. My wife opened the door. It was the same man who wished me in the morning.
With maximum humility, he said: 8216;8216;Madam, I am your next-door neighbour. I am an insurance man. If you have any problem8230;8217;8217;
Following my wife8217;s instructions, I have now started going for my morning constitutionals 8212; in the evenings.
