4 min readFeb 11, 2026 12:08 PM IST
First published on: Feb 11, 2026 at 12:08 PM IST
I regularly oscillate between two neighbourhoods, one where I grew up, my parents’ house, and the other on the campus where I work. Since returning from Delhi to Guwahati, I have become a regular commuter between the two ends of the city, divided by the mighty Brahmaputra. Both neighbourhoods present intriguing ideas, similar yet different at times, but mostly revolving around my gendered identity.
In the neighbourhood I grew up, casual strolls and visits to the local grocery store become occasions when people come to me and start talking. These are people I have grown up with, and their main interest is in when I will get married or how my life is at the IIT campus. I often think with amusement how many of these neighbours used to notice boys visiting their homes. A similar curiosity continues to mark their gaze when male friends are seen at the gate or walking with me in the neighbourhood. The enquiries about marriage are driven by the notion that I am of marriageable age and “settled” in my career.
During my three-year stay in a flat in Vasant Vihar in Delhi, I managed to evade these questions. While the gaze on male friends is constant across cities, my position as a migrant in Delhi created a sense of anonymity in the neighbourhood. However, as I later discovered during my stay in Patiala, this anonymity was not connected to a migrant status. My landlady had no hesitation in asking me who the male friend was when she saw a colleague dropping me off one day. I had come a little late to my rented apartment — 9 pm — very late by her standards. She was not happy with me coming home late that day, but couldn’t say anything as she got to know that my parents had no “problem” with it.
In Patiala, it was difficult to find a rented house with a separate entrance from the landlord. Most houses had an entry connected to the landlord’s house, which meant they could monitor the tenant’s entry and exit. It was one of the reasons I chose a house with a separate entrance. Avoiding the gaze was key. But even then, I couldn’t escape the landlady’s gaze and questions.
In Guwahati, often, on hearing that I live on the IIT campus, which is almost 30 kilometres from my parents’ house, most neighbours ask me why I chose to live on my own. They also express curiosity about the frequency of my home visits. Here, the neighbour’s gaze is even sharper as it is my own city. Therefore, when I moved to the campus, I was relieved that I would get some privacy. But, as I have gradually realised, even campus life is surveilled. That is why when my parents said that I should get to know my neighbours, I hesitated. I didn’t want to become too familiar with them as I anticipated intrusion into my personal life. As young independent women, we have this anxiety that familiarity will invite unsolicited comments. I have deliberately avoided getting to know my neighbours more as a survival strategy. Sometimes I ask myself, should I know my neighbours better? But then, at what cost? Thus, neighbourhood relations, for me, are determined by avoidance and not getting to know each other better.
The writer teaches Sociology at the Indian Institute of Technology (IIT) Guwahati
