On Wednesday morning, during a particularly fragile moment, I found myself yearning for solitariness. I had hoped to be able to go alone to Bozen to see the neurologist about my ongoing back pain. I had fantasised about taking the bus to the train station, then taking the train and then walking from the station to the street where her clinic is. I’d thought about how wonderful it would be to know that our child is asleep at home while I was enjoying alone-time. I’d thought about reading a book on the way there. Unfortunately, his ongoing sleep regression intensified his resistance to the first nap. It meant that I had to take him along and my partner had to drop us there. It was the second time in the week he was tagging along with me for an appointment. Just yesterday he accompanied me to my meeting at the Free University of Bozen.

It hit me then, that what I had acquired for our child in terms of cleaner air, better water, and an improved quality of life in comparison to what I had known as a child could be measured against what I was also unknowingly depriving him of—community. Growing up in Garden Rose Colony in Mumbai, one really did feel a sense of cohesiveness, of belonging to a system of relations and knowing almost everyone who lived within the five buildings and one bungalow set-up that comprised our non-gated neighbourhood. The people who lived next door were akin to family, perhaps more dependable and reliant than relatives. Our parents never hesitated to ask for their help and to offer a hand when they needed it.