Nirmala Phatak is a slight-built 88-year-old, living in a housing
society in Chunabhatti. She keeps paying guests, mostly children of her
relatives. As we speak, a neighbour walks past her doorway, and she
greets her. Both leave their doors open. The other house on their floor
also has its inner door open. Strange, when the recent series of murders
should have alarmed them? Well, no. The open doors are part of a
strategy.
“Are we meeting the building secretary this weekend to discuss the issue?” Phatak asks Vijay Aundhe, 70, referring to the housing society’s general body meeting. Aundhe is the president of the Federation of Senior Citizens’ Association of India. Since the murders, he has been visiting senior citizens of their housing society almost daily. He keeps track of their needs and routines, and instructs neighbours to keep tabs on visitors. He has even built a database of phone numbers of trustworthy cab drivers for the seniors.
“He is our Godfather,” says Phatak. Asked if she feels safer with the open doors, her refrigerator sporting contact numbers, and neighbours coming in, she pauses before answering. She stretches out her thin, gnarled hands, and says: “What do you think I can do if I am attacked?”
This way of monitoring is better than nothing, she feels. “Now, I am trying to get more involved with the community, and not refuse any help that comes my way.”
“And my home overlooks the watchman at the main gate. I keep an eye on the visitors.”
Earlier, once in a while, cops used to check on Phatak and her neighbour, Maruti Mhapsekar, 78. “You can’t compare that to what our neighbours are doing for us now. The cops used to come by to see whether we were dead or alive,” says Mhapsekar.
Now, she says, her quality of life has improved. She no longer worries about dubious salesmen alone. Her neighbours check the credentials of anyone who rings her doorbell. If she doesn’t feel up for a visit to the chemist, she telephones Aundhe for help.
However, neither Phatak nor Mhapsekar - not even Aundhe - have registered their domestic help with the police “because they’ve been around for decades.” Mhapsekar says, “We can’t spoil our relations. Dependence is our default state, but we must do what we can.”
Safety measures in Phatak’s society will increase if the weekend meeting goes well. Circulars sensitising residents to pay attention to seniors have already gone up on every building’s entrance.
“Are we meeting the building secretary this weekend to discuss the issue?” Phatak asks Vijay Aundhe, 70, referring to the housing society’s general body meeting. Aundhe is the president of the Federation of Senior Citizens’ Association of India. Since the murders, he has been visiting senior citizens of their housing society almost daily. He keeps track of their needs and routines, and instructs neighbours to keep tabs on visitors. He has even built a database of phone numbers of trustworthy cab drivers for the seniors.
“He is our Godfather,” says Phatak. Asked if she feels safer with the open doors, her refrigerator sporting contact numbers, and neighbours coming in, she pauses before answering. She stretches out her thin, gnarled hands, and says: “What do you think I can do if I am attacked?”
This way of monitoring is better than nothing, she feels. “Now, I am trying to get more involved with the community, and not refuse any help that comes my way.”
“And my home overlooks the watchman at the main gate. I keep an eye on the visitors.”
Earlier, once in a while, cops used to check on Phatak and her neighbour, Maruti Mhapsekar, 78. “You can’t compare that to what our neighbours are doing for us now. The cops used to come by to see whether we were dead or alive,” says Mhapsekar.
Now, she says, her quality of life has improved. She no longer worries about dubious salesmen alone. Her neighbours check the credentials of anyone who rings her doorbell. If she doesn’t feel up for a visit to the chemist, she telephones Aundhe for help.
However, neither Phatak nor Mhapsekar - not even Aundhe - have registered their domestic help with the police “because they’ve been around for decades.” Mhapsekar says, “We can’t spoil our relations. Dependence is our default state, but we must do what we can.”
Safety measures in Phatak’s society will increase if the weekend meeting goes well. Circulars sensitising residents to pay attention to seniors have already gone up on every building’s entrance.
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