Rare is the community

It happened years ago. I arrived in Jalandhar a little after midnight from Mussourie to appalling heat, so oppressive that it had become dif...

It happened years ago. I arrived in Jalandhar a little after midnight from Mussourie to appalling heat, so oppressive that it had become difficult to sleep after an exhausting rail journey in a packed compartment. I recollect I attempted reading Owen Beattie8217;s Buried By Ice for soporific effect, hoping to kill the heat with the arctic setting of the novel.

I had rented a place in Kanwar Ranjit Singh8217;s house located in an up-market area, rather discriminatory for my liking. Ranjit Singh, an old Etonian nearing his eighties, belonged to the royalty. Though a heart patient, he would often slip into my room when his wife was out shopping, ask me to fetch a quarter of whisky, one Wills Navy Cut, a plate of rogan josh and half a dozen tandoori chapattis. The doctors had given strict instructions for abstinence, but he managed the odd fling.

We would then begin our afternoon sessions accompanied by discussions on the decline of the aristocracy in England or the repressive public school system that turned you into a rebel.

As I lay back in the furnace of a room, I remembered those exhilarating afternoons with him. I had not met him for over two months and I had learnt that he was not keeping too well. I looked forward to seeing him in the morning. As it turned out, I was to see him before sunrise.

Trying to dose off, I kept the front door ajar with the hope that some balmy air would filter in. In those days very few people used water coolers and air conditioners were a luxury. I must have dozed for no more than half an hour when suddenly, as I turned in bed, I saw two men sitting on the carpet, rummaging through my clothes.

The shock was like waking up in the middle of the night to find a snake in your bed. My scream made the intruders jump out of their skins and they darted across the room. I too jumped out of bed and leapt after them only to hit against the door they were trying to push shut. I pushed at the half-closed door only to feel tough resistance from the other side. In the struggle that ensued, my hand came between the doors. I yelped in pain; they let go and I emerged on the lawn. I chased them till the wall, but they were quick and I was left shouting.

What astonished me then and still amazes me now is the apathy of the neighbours. Not a soul stirred, my neighbours slept on, unperturbed.

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To this day, I marvel at the behavior of my neighbours in the posh neighbourhood, especially when I compare it with what happened when thieves entered a house in my village near Gurdaspur. On hearing the screams, the whole village came out to nab the thief. Community life is rare these days, especially in the city.