Identity and Acceptance in Urban India: When Neighbors Must Hide Their True Names
In the bustling urban landscape of modern India, a fundamental question persists: Should it matter if your neighbor is named Rahul or Farooq, Neha or Shazia? Neighbors possess the unique power to transform an unfamiliar place into a comforting home, yet this experience remains profoundly unequal across communities. For many Muslim families in cities like Delhi, the simple act of finding a home is marred by prejudice, forcing them to conceal their identities to gain acceptance from potential neighbors.
A Life of Constant Movement and Community Bonds
Growing up with a father in a transferable job meant my childhood was defined by perpetual motion. We moved frequently between cities, houses, neighborhoods, and social settings, always encountering new people. From an early age, my parents instilled in me the belief that neighbors were not strangers but an extended family. This philosophy accompanied me through every relocation until marriage eventually anchored me in Delhi.
Securing rental accommodation in a metropolis like Delhi is notoriously challenging. The process often begins with optimism but culminates in exhaustion. The physical and psychological toll of packing one's entire life into cardboard boxes, coordinating movers, disconnecting utilities, and starting anew in an unfamiliar environment is immense. However, for certain individuals and families, these difficulties are compounded by an invisible burden: the need to be accepted by their neighbors and the broader community.
The Warmth of Mayur Vihar and the Arrival of New Neighbors
During our moves, we consistently sought residences around the familiar lanes of Mayur Vihar Phase 3, where the warmth of neighbors significantly eased our transitions. For over a week following each relocation, meals would appear at our doorstep—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—until our kitchen regained its rhythm. These gestures transcended mere formalities; they represented genuine human connection. As a small family of three, we believed in reciprocating this kindness in every possible manner, offering support during their moves and eagerly anticipating new arrivals.
For more than three months, the apartment opposite ours remained vacant and silent. One evening, returning from work, I observed workers transporting boxes and furniture inside. The excitement of welcoming new neighbors made my heart flutter. Hastening up the stairs, I encountered a young man and greeted him with a smile. He introduced himself as Rahul. Moments later, a woman in her mid-twenties emerged. "This is Neha, my wife," he said softly. Noticing their evident fatigue, I immediately invited them for dinner, which they accepted after some hesitation. I also shared contacts for reliable plumbers and electricians, as per their needs.
That evening, we gathered together—my partner, my daughter, and our new neighbors—sharing a simple meal. Rahul spoke sparingly, while Neha infused the room with her warmth. At one point, I casually inquired if they consumed non-vegetarian food, given our family's preference. Rahul hesitated before responding gently, "Didi… bura na lage toh ek baat bataun?" I smiled and encouraged him. "Zaroor." "Neha pregnant hai. Second trimester shuru hua just." After a brief pause, his voice trembling slightly, he continued, "Didi… ek aur baat batana hai. Main Rahul nahi hoon. Main Farooq hoon. Aur Neha… woh Shazia hai."
The Painful Revelation and Stories of Rejection
For a moment, silence enveloped the room. Their eyes anxiously scanned our faces, fearing potential repercussions. I gently broke the stillness, stating, "Naam badalne se insaan thodi badalta hai. Moreover, Rahul and Neha sound so Filmy." Rahul exhaled deeply in relief. That evening, he unfolded painful narratives of rejection—houses slipping away at the final moment, doors closing before they could even enter, neighbors judging without understanding, and fear supplanting potential friendship. They had faced countless refusals, with their names alone serving as grounds for denial. The weariness etched on their faces reflected the anguish of feeling like outsiders in their own city.
From Neighbors to Family and a Lasting Lesson
Months later, their home resonated with the gentle cries of young Zaid and laughter echoing through the corridor. They evolved from mere neighbors into cherished family members. Eventually, Farooq relocated to a new city following a promotion, leaving our hearts heavy with their absence. Their experience taught me a crucial lesson: neighbors indeed transform unfamiliar spaces into homes, but this reality is not universal. Farooqs and Shazias across urban India continue to hide their identities to secure acceptance from neighbors, highlighting persistent societal prejudices.
The writer teaches at Dr B R Ambedkar College, University of Delhi, and this narrative underscores the ongoing challenges of communalism and discrimination in everyday life.
