Chandigarh: Do you even recall the last time you simply arrived at somebody’s house unannounced? Not sent the now-obligatory “You free?” message, but just appeared, rang the bell, and waited not only to be received, but welcomed.For most people under the age of 55, this now carries roughly the same social acceptability as turning up at an airport without a ticket and hoping things will somehow work out. Or, alternatively, turning up for dinner at someone’s house and casually announcing halfway through the evening that you intended to stay the night too.And yet this is not an exaggerated or fanciful scenario, as there was, not that long ago, a time when unannounced visits and unexpected overnight stays were entirely normal across urban and rural India. Such behaviour was rooted in an older Indian culture of hospitality, grounded in the age-old concept of sewa – the idea that receiving a guest was not a transaction but a duty, even a small moral act of service.In much of pre-digital social life – especially in closely knit small towns, villages, and even many cities in the late 20th century and earlier – one simply materialised at somebody’s house around tea-time and shouted “Oye!” through the front gate. Entire social systems once operated on this principle; no scheduling apps, no advance warnings, no digital negotiation. You merely arrived because you wanted to, and the household simply absorbed the impact, proffered hospitality, and expanded around it.Alongside, the idea of “just passing by and thought I’d drop by” used to be perfectly normal, acceptable and unquestioned. No planning, no messages, no checking calendars – just a casual visit that followed naturally from being nearby. It didn’t feel like an interruption, but felt routine.Up to the seventies – and even the early eighties – most urban Indian homes were geared for this kind of ‘ambush hospitality’.Also read: It’s the Small Things | Writing with FriendsThere were always extra steel tumblers, at times Bone China tea sets, emergency namkeen and a mysterious reserve of glucose biscuits that magically appeared. Tea and, in some instances, even the odd egg, leg and peg if it coincided with ‘Happy Hour’, could be stretched to unexpected visitors with a generous smile. At times, this even extended into improvised potluck meals, where whatever was available was quietly expanded to include one or more plates.And if supplies were short, household kids were surreptitiously dispatched to buy additional foodstuff like samosas or mithai from nearby outlets, while the adults at home reaffirmed that the unannounced visit was not only not inconvenient, but more than welcome and, in some instances, overdue. This simply reinforced the reality that panic and warmth at unexpected visitors dropping by, casually coexisted quite comfortably in most households.Amazingly, even friends of friends were largely welcome, with far fewer reservations.A name passed along by neighbours, colleagues, or relatives was often enough for the stranger to be accepted without much further ado. Social networks were wider and more accommodating, and even mildly distant connections were absorbed into the flow, once they arrived. The idea of “who exactly is this person” mattered less than the fact that they had arrived through some chain of trust. In that sense, access was informal, held together more by community ties than by scheduling or copious screening. But such informality and casualness have almost entirely disappeared from Indian urban life. Unannounced visits in the 21st century have been replaced by messages sent hours, sometimes days in advance, often followed by carefully negotiated time slots.Even close relatives now schedule phone calls days ahead, as if social or family contact requires prior clearance. Even introductions, through friends of friends, no longer carry automatic entry; these are filtered, checked, and, in many cases, cancelled or ignored. There is little spontaneity left: social interaction is planned, confirmed, and constantly adjusted; every such arrangement comes with caution, formality, and built-in escape clauses.In rural settings, however, advance notice – meaning a quick phone call or message before visiting – while becoming increasingly common, remains less rigid as the older rhythm of informality, of bhaibandhi or brotherhood and fellowship, has not fully disappeared. A sudden knock on the door can still be absorbed into the flow of daily rural life, but even here, the expectation of letting someone know before you arrive is gradually tightening its grip.Also read: Changing the World, One Month at a TimeA large part of this change in social visiting patterns has been technologically influenced, as mobile phones have killed the concept of spontaneous visits. The logic they have spawned is elementary: if you can be reached at any time and from anywhere, showing up unannounced no longer feels friendly – it feels suspicious. Ring the bell unannounced today, and the first response almost everywhere isn’t the door, but checking the CCTV, and only thereafter does a decision emerge: to open the door or, more often, pretend you’re not home even though your car is parked outside and music can be heard blaring from inside. In a sense, the front door, once a social threshold, has now morphed into an electronically monitored social checkpoint like at an airport or security-sensitive establishment. Even friendships have absorbed this logic of pre-clearance. “Let’s meet soon” or “We must get together” is often said warmly, but rarely means anything concrete; it’s a token phrase, fare from being a plan or an invite. This then invariably follows a fortnight or more of calendar discussions, location-sharing, cancellations, rescheduling, traffic updates and inbuilt contingencies, akin to a major military logistics manoeuvre. And, by the time everyone aligns, the original enthusiasm to meet has, more often than not, faded. Relationships and bonding, once sustained by proximity, reciprocity and unplanned encounters, are now increasingly being managed by technology and shaped by instant messaging and an almost continuous awareness of each other’s availability. These also survive through WhatsApp messaging and a gamut of narcissistic and highly personalised social media posts, where self-display often matters more than connection, leaving genuine personal ties increasingly secondary, if not feeble and somewhat irrelevant.At the same time, however, technology has widened everyone’s circle of connection. People can now maintain ties across cities and continents that would once have been unthinkable. Yet the intimacy of physical presence – the quiet comfort of simply being together – has steadily disappeared. Conversations and humour are now compressed into notifications and fleeting exchanges, while even affection has acquired a performative quality, expressed through hackneyed, carefully chosen posts and emojis.But despite such AI-enabled hyper-connectivity, where everyone is constantly within reach across time and distance, the simple act of knocking on a friend’s door without prior clearance has become almost revolutionary. Quite simply it had left relationships without presence and contact without warmth or intimacy, ushering in a quiet but palpable deracination of everyday human bonding. Technology has ensured that we are connected to everyone and the world, but certainly not to each other.