The Neighbour in the UK

The Neighbour in the UK

Govind Belbase

Click to listen I first met Ian while I was walking towards my daughter's house. Standing along the way, we got into a conversation, and he introduced himself. That day, he had also informed me that my neighbour, a woman, had fallen ill and was admitted to the hospital.

She was shorter than me, holding that day's fresh newspaper in her hand. The morning sunlight, like a warm kiss, cast a soft glow on her milk-white face, which seemed to enjoy the beautiful morning. However, she ignored the sunlight and kept looking at me with intent. Her attention was fixed on me, and our eyes met. She was dressed in a kurta and trousers, her graceful figure complemented by a vibrant face and a pointed nose. With a cheerful expression, she addressed me with a smile.

Indeed, it was her voice that had interrupted my focus a little earlier while I was tending to the plants in my new front garden. We had only been in this new house for two days. It was a sunny Sunday, and I was busy with my garden tools, pruning plants in the warm sunlight.

Suddenly, I heard a "Good Morning" in English, striking my ears. I straightened up and looked in the direction of the voice, taking off my headphones from my ears and hanging them around my neck, holding gardening shears in my right hand.

Like a nymph sent to break the meditation of a sage, she had successfully disrupted my concentration. She was my neighbour on the right side of our house. A message from the Bible encouraging friendship with neighbours crossed my mind, making me think she had called out to me for the same reason. I felt a sense of gratitude for that Bible message. She introduced herself in a pleasant tone, explaining that she lived alone in that house. Her short, boyish hair barely covered her neck, around which a scarf was draped like a snake coiled around Lord Shiva's neck, with one end of it falling to her left chest.

I am someone with a different skin tone, hair colour, and culture from hers. We had different customs, but we were now neighbours, living in adjoining houses on the same piece of land. She was born and raised in Ireland. She loved dancing and used to be deeply involved in music. After marrying a Serbian gentleman who used to work with the British Air Force, she moved into that house. However, she explained that her husband hadn’t been with her for the last few years.

She also shared her fondness for gardening and flowering plants. Indeed, when I first came to view the house, I had noticed her front and backyard brimming with blossoming flowers and branches trimmed neatly, much like a young woman fresh out of a beauty parlour. Our new garden, on the other hand, was an unkempt mess, resembling an old lady left untended for months. Inspired by my neighbour’s lush garden, I decided I wouldn’t be able to make mine quite as vibrant but would aim to make it at least presentable.

Her garden had even sparked a sense of rivalry in me. I felt a sort of "ego," as Sigmund Freud would describe, seeing her garden flourish. It was the super-ego pushing me to roll up my sleeves and start working in the garden. Our front and backyard had been left overgrown and tangled, almost witch-like who was described in my back ancestral village, a mess I had resolved to transform into something more inviting. However, since that "Good Morning," her friendly greeting had swept away any feelings of inferiority about my garden. I was drawn towards her and wanted to give her a sweet fragrance of neighbourly friendship in return. So, I engaged her in conversation, albeit in somewhat hesitant English, as she didn’t know my language.

It was clear that people here were very curious about new neighbours; she must have been wondering about the newcomers as well. The custom of neighbourly interaction was evident here.

Human beings have spread across every part of the Earth. From Japan to America, Siberia to Australia, we have established settlements. The famous philosopher Yuval Noah Harari has said that humans began weaving stories some 70,000 years ago. Since then, we have imagined what happens before birth, and what becomes of our souls after death. Harari terms this as the "Cognitive Revolution," where humans developed advanced language skills that enabled collective imagination, creating shared myths. Such shared beliefs allowed large groups to cooperate flexibly, separating sapiens from Neanderthals and other species.

It’s due to the technology developed by humans that I found myself in her neighbourhood in the UK. Benedict Anderson, in his book "Imagined Communities," describes how people from different countries come together to form communities, just like her and me, living as neighbours in a shared society.

In this sense, I realize that countries are formed from neighbourly relationships. Relationships between individuals, families, nations, and continents create the existence of a country.

This happened about three weeks ago. It was evening, and darkness had just begun to set in. I was busy working on my computer in the reading room, my daughter was watching TV in the sitting room, and my son was cooking in the kitchen. Amidst the smell of cooking and the sounds of the kitchen, a soft knock was heard on the kitchen window. My son went to answer and found a gentle, friendly neighbour who had come to our kitchen window instead of ringing the doorbell—a mark of neighbourly intimacy, I later realized.

He was brought to the reading room by my son, and the three of us started a conversation. I recognized him as Ian, the 70-year-old son of my neighbour, who had passed away recently. He was slender and cheerful, with a warm and kind personality that left a positive impression on me. Ian informed me that his mother, our elderly neighbour, was no longer in this world. I was taken aback by how easily he shared such sad news, with a smile, and I reflected on the differences in our cultures.

He narrated her final days, describing how she lay on her hospital bed when he asked her, “Mom, what was the happiest time of your life?” She replied, “Every day of my life was a celebration, and I enjoyed each day.”

They were a Christian family, of Catholic faith, mostly from Ireland. I was familiar with the fact that Catholics tend to be more traditional in their religious practices than Protestants. They have a custom of formally inviting people to funerals, which was why Ian had come to invite me.

On the day of the funeral, I arrived in black attire. I had even ordered a black shirt online, assuming black was the tradition here. However, I noticed that the attendees wore clothes of various colours, and no one seemed to cry, as I had expected. I understood that they believed in maintaining a cheerful disposition to give peace to the soul of the departed. One of her family members from San Francisco tried but couldn’t hold back her tears.

The funeral service was conducted by a priest dressed in a blue-lined coat, who read verses from the Bible. Her younger son spoke of her life and the journey that brought her from Western Ireland to England with her husband, a man from Serbia, at the age of 25. He recounted how she loved to dance, even as a teenager, traveling two hours long distances on foot just to enjoy an evening with friends.



Hearing this, I remembered my own teenage years, walking long distances to fairs and festivals with my friend Jodhawa, just to enjoy the night.

Ultimately, life is about moments of joy and sorrow, followed by farewell one day. The hope is always that the next generation will enjoy their lives, and the journey goes on.