Cosmopolitan at heart?

As the Durga Puja festival swung into view, the Bengali association at my parents' apartment complex in Bangalore got cracking. Every year they collect monies for the elaborate festivities. There are some 100-odd Bengali families in the complex and they organise skits, recitals, culinary evenings, even a dandiya night.

But every year, they also face trouble from the housing association. A group of select apartment owners, the association members are, one hates to admit that this matters, largely south Indians. Even as they celebrate, say, Onam elaborately, they raise quite a stink when it comes to the pujo celebrations. A patient of my mother's, a Bengali gentleman who is part of the pujo committee, told her of the many procedural and logistical setbacks they had had to contend with due to the intransigence of the housing association.

I would not have believed him had my own family not been the victim of such shenanigans. My parents moved to Bangalore after my sister's wedding to be close to her. My mother, a paediatrician, had always wanted to live in the garden city for its excellent weather and status as India's Silicon Valley. Within weeks of moving into their apartment, part of a gated community, she started a clinic from home.

We never imagined it would cause trouble. It is only an OPD clinic, with no provision for admitting patients. My mother has always run an OPD from home. Even in Gwalior, where I grew up, she would send patients that needed admitting, like in cases of severe diarrhoea, to her colleagues who ran nursing homes.

Besides, the society my parents live in allows commercial activity. Several families run creches, day schools, boutiques and so on. Since the society is located in Whitefield, the information technology (IT) hub of India's IT hub, it is peopled by young couples with infants. The services of a paediatrician are much in demand. Indeed, within days of Ma starting her practice, a steady stream of young parents were visiting with little ones.

But there is one thing my mother isn't, and that is south Indian. Apparently, that counts for big disqualification even in India's purportedly cosmopolitan heart. Of the 25 members on the housing committee, 12 are Kannadigas, seven Tamilian and three Malayalis. The president's wife (Kannadiga) runs a boutique from home. The secretary (a Malayali), who stays on the same floor as my mother, sells sweetmeats from home. Nobody in the committee has ever raised objections to these operations.

But it was my mother's clinic that became a sore point. Within a month, a notice was sent to her saying that her services disturbed neighbours. When my mother asked for names, they said identities were confidential and could not be shared. Ultimately, it was revealed that the Malayali sweetmeat seller was the sole aggrieved party. He had complained on the pretext that the floor had turned into a "sick ward".

My parents requested a meeting of the housing committee to settle the matter. During the meeting the Malayali admitted that he had raised the objection because he was worried for the health of his three-year-old boy. When my mother explained that she only tended to infants who are incapable of transmitting infection, he turned a deaf ear.

My mother sought the advice of her patients, all of whom supported her and promised to write to the committee in protest. But they found that their mails, sent to the community forum, bounced back. The landlord, who lives in Chennai, called to inform that the committee had written to him saying they would initiate legal proceedings against us if Ma did not stop her practice.

My father, every bit the strong-willed UP-ite (no escaping stereotypes!), was prepared to take on all comers: "How can they bully us like that?" He sought the services of a lawyer who informed us that it was perfectly legal for doctors, accountants and lawyers to practise from home. He knew some association members, he said, and as a Kannadiga, he could talk sense into them. We had little choice but to agree to his course of action, even as we saw the irony of tapping into the same community feeling we had raged against to resolve our problem.

As for now, Ma continues to practise. I am happy for her but the incident has left a bad taste in my mouth. More than anything else, it was the association's mentality. These are men and women working for blue-chip IT companies, yet their outlook is regressive and discriminatory. During the pujo, they wanted the Durga idol to be constructed like Chamundeshwari (the representation of Durga common in the south), and not in the traditional Bengali style. They fought over the language of the mantras and there was even debate over the correct regional representation in a children's skit. Jesus!

These days I find myself arguing with my mother about her love for Bangalore. I tell my folks to return to "their territory". It is extremely sad that even as India succeeds in sending missions to the neighbouring planet, we continue to be stuck in a rut of complex identities.

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The author has switched too many jobs in the past and hopes he can hold down this one