Homes in the good old days were not jails in which inmates lived as prisoners. The outer doors were never locked, or even closed, during the day. No safety chains or spy-eyes were fixed to the door to fend off intruders. Visitors were welcome in human form through the main entrance, and winged visitors like sparrows could fly in and fly out through windows, which were big and kept always open. Doors at the entrance to a house should be closed only at night. Closing it during daytime would prevent Graha Lakshmi from entering, my grandmother used to say.
The reason why we lived free of any anxiety about so-called safety was that we did not live a life of luxury. We owed our safety to our simplicity. In every aspect of life, we accepted only as much as we required. We did not believe in hoarding and accumulating.
Relatives and friends did not have to inform us in advance their intention to visit us. They came and went whenever it suited them. They were always welcome. Even beggars were allowed to go as far as our doorstep. My mother never turned away a beggar without giving him something. If there was no money to spare, she would feed him. Keep giving, what you need will keep coming without your endeavours, was her motto.
Knock and the door will open. In our house and many other houses in West Mambalam where we lived, there was no need to knock since the doors were kept open through the day.
The open days are over. Now we shut and sweat. Children were the best beneficiaries of open houses during our time. If the mother of one house cooks something special for her sons and daughters, children of other neighbouring families would catch and follow the smell and appear before her with smiling eyes and watering mouths.
Today it is one big beehive of a building with countless flats for human bees to watch TV, sleep and snore behind closed doors.
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