I hope you don't mind

“I hope you don’t mind, I needed to borrow something” ventured the shy voice behind the door.

“This is always how it starts” Mrs. Sharma thought to herself, “they come for sugar and stay for dinner. Or borrow your mixer and forget to return.”

Mrs. Sharma was not antisocial, she just liked herself more than she liked other people; and found that to be far better company, was all. So what if that deemed her a recluse? As if she cared!

Mrs. Sharma was your regular middle aged- north indian- saree¹ wearing- belan² wielding- god fearing- but single mother of two. Her late husband having left her in the lurch years ago did little to diminish the intensity with which she approached life; but it did leave her with a guarded, if not cynical, approach to society. Her profession didn’t help matters either- as a government school administrator, she had to change towns every five years- always on the move, with two teenagers in tow!

This time, she wanted to stay put for a while though, and maybe Delhi was a place where one could; or so she hoped.

It had been a week since the move now, and it was almost at the end of her leave; and with half the boxes in the living room still unpacked, panic was starting to set in. Mrs. Sharma was still deciding which box to tackle first, when she was interrupted by this brazen request. “What kind of place is this, where they come borrowing even before welcoming to the society?” she thought to herself as she opened the door a crack, ready to dismiss the caller, even if it were the Prime Minister itself.

Far from the PM though, the voice belonged to a timid, young- north indian- saree wearing- spatula wielding- all fearing- very not-single woman (judging by her bindi³, of course). “Excuse me, and I hope you don’t mind, but I was in the middle of preparing dinner and I have run out of ghee⁴. Can I borrow just a dab?”  

Grunting her acknowledgement and leaving the door open to signal her to wait, Mrs. Sharma decided to fetch some and be done with it. She returned from the kitchen minutes later with just about a dab of the requested ghee, and slammed the door shut without waiting for the thank you to end.

“I know such kind very well! And heaven knows I have enough on my hands as is.” With that out of the way, she returned to the boxes and her dilemma.

No sooner had she decided upon the box- “let me start with the books!”- that the timid voice came calling, again. It was sugar this time.

Mrs. Sharma found herself admiring her own patience as she acquiesced again, and actually lent a full cup of sugar this time. But she made sure her expression conveyed all fair warning- that this interruption better be the last one. And she felt sure that the voice could not get any more timid, in any case.

With a sigh, she closed the door again and returned to stacking. She actually finished half the box, when there was another call, this time, some almonds, hopefully?

Mrs. Sharma was at the end of her rope this time, and glared the other one for a full minute before deciding against refusal; it looked like the delhi air was making her slow, or was it the age catching up? In any case, she counted precisely 5 almonds, and clarified to the young woman while dropping them in her outstretched hand, “Is it just you, or is everyone in this city this nosy? I do have a lot of work to do, so go borrowing some place else, if YOU DON’T MIND.”

Satisfied with the clarity she hoped she provided, Mrs. Sharma closed the door again, with just the right mix of slam and shut.

Then she returned to her unpacking.

With almost two hours of non stop unwrapping, stacking and dusting, Mrs. Sharma had conquered half the boxes, and considered rewarding herself with a cup of tea. With the kids in school, it would be just one cup, but she was no stranger to the precise proportions needed to master just one cup of tea, and no more- a feat much less common than one would think.

She was just about to pour her brew when the call came again, but it sounded quieter this time, or maybe because the kitchen was further from the door than the living room was.

Mrs. Sharma could hardly believe the audacity she was being faced with. She decided to end this foolishness once and for all as she flung open the door, ready to launch into a tirade on privacy, personal space and the lack of respect for it in the Indian society. Every once in a while, she needed to set these boundaries in place, and maybe this was one of those cities, where you need to reinforce this message less than a week of your moving in! So be it!

“Listen Lady!” she started, but stopped short, when she noticed there wasn’t an empty bowl that her caller carried this time; but a tray with two steaming cups of tea and two bowls of hot gulabjamuns⁵!

“I hope you don’t mind, but I am new to this place, and I was wondering if you would like to share some tea?”