Small town chutiyaap

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The new house help walked in today morning and within 30 mins wanted to know who is the woman at home I call “aunty”. “Whoa”, I thought, “does she read my blog?”

(Ha ha ha. Social media whore 24/7).

Before she jumped to the topic of my childlessness because are you even an Indian if you haven’t questioned a 30+ years old woman what’s inside or not inside her uterus; I gave her the same reply I give my colleagues “Let’s keep this strictly professional. You are here for a specific task, focus on that and don’t let other things distract you”.

I don’t blame her. The information will be peddled to her employers who are jobless and sitting at home judging other people’s lives.

Few months back when I was locked out of the house, I bumped into my neighbour. I was shocked. There were other people on the same floor? Except for the Japanese across from us (who I haven’t seen yet but know he is alive by his stash of beer bottles in the garbage), I assumed the entire floor was empty. The lady was VERY friendly (in my books, it is defined as ‘creepy’) and aware that I live in Mumbai while KC lives here. We share a common cook so she had gossiped about me. I wish my own friends and family were this interested in my life.

I have interacted with the cook for 15 days and she has never gossiped about anyone. All we talk about is food. Nothing more, nothing less. Which made me realise that maybe she isn’t the gossip but the neighbour is. You have to encourage such discussions for people to talk about random strangers.

In this country, you can live in a high end apartment building in a cosmopolitan area (Dwarkaites, do NOT laugh. Gurgaon is more cosmopolitan than Delhi, no doubt about it) but can’t escape the small town chutiyaap.


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