Think of two young ladies sitting in their balcaos across the village road and chatting with each other on their cell phones. Old timers may find this weird, but this scenario is a norm today. Communication modes like the internet, cell phones, and means of travel have made the world a lot smaller. A person at the North Pole can befriend people at the other end of the globe. Interestingly, the same technology seems to have isolated neighbours who once lived like a close-knit community.
The other day at a church, as I walked towards the parking lot, someone called out to me. I turned and found myself face to face with a beaming young lady. She approached me with an extended hand. “See, I recognized you first!” she exclaimed triumphantly and giggled. Perhaps a case of mistaken identity, I thought as we shook hands. She read my mind and enjoyed my predicament. “I’m Karla. How can you not know me?” she ‘complained’ and continued her laughter. I was completely taken aback and embarrassed. How could I fail to recognize a neighbor? “You people need to come down more often to avoid a situation like this,” was all I could stammer. Karla was beautiful, friendly, and good-natured. She lived next door until she married and migrated to the US a decade ago. Contrary to my belief, I found out she comes down every year to spend time with her parents.
In the good old days, our tarvotis (seamen) and Gulfies would visit neighbors, friends, and relatives as soon as they got home. They would seldom go back to their jobs without the blessings of the elderly in the neighborhood. Their wives or mothers would lovingly churn out little parcels containing imported goodies for everyone. A day or two before leaving, they would invite neighbors and friends to partake in a ‘ladinha’, which also served as a farewell party. In later years, as this old, hallowed tradition started dying out, they would announce their arrival by playing their new sound systems at maximum volume, and one could see them around doing daily errands. In contrast, today’s NRIs are an elusive lot who prefer driving with their tinted car windows rolled up. If you don’t catch them at the church, socials, markets or tiatrs, you are unlikely to ever meet them. The other day, I met Joe, my next door NRI neighbor at the chemist. “When did you come?” I inquired, only to hear that he is flying back at noon after a month’s holiday.
