Having grown up largely in army cantonments, I encountered the chowkidar rather late in life. The first time I heard his shrill whistle piercing the night was at a family friend’s home in Chandigarh when I had just finished school. A watchman blowing the whistle and tapping a bamboo stick on the road as he walked past the house took some getting used to, but the sound eventually became reassuring. And I’d go to sleep secure in the belief that he was there, awake, alert and watchful.
The chowkidar in the colony where I now live would also move around