My Balcony, looking inward
There used to be a time when I lived more on my balcony than inside my room. Now I sit down in the same spot on my study table, facing the window, trying to look out through the negative spaces between the drying clothes. As days go by, I miss how the outside of my window used to look. When I was 12, my family unanimously decided to annexe the balcony into our rooms. On paper it was a great idea; the balconies were tiny and any added space in our small rooms would be awesome. I recall the process of this annexure, with numerous masons working in the house, demolishing a few existing walls and then constructing new walls and windows. I remember thinking how astronomically huge the rooms felt to me at that age, although the extension was barely 2.5 feet in width. I would frequently play cricket in that tiny extension, with no clue of what I had lost. Another 13 years later, now I feel we didn't gain much, the rooms are darker, the quality of space in the house feels low and we have become more introverted as a family losing the connection with the outside.
I fondly remember when I was young, about 2 years old when we moved into the house, the balcony was a different world altogether for my young mind. I would spend the entire morning inside and only when the afternoon sun would make the area unusable, I’d go in, eat lunch and take a nap and go back out to the balcony in the evening. I would ride my scooter there. Play with the plants that my mom had planted. Look outside at everything that was happening. Shout and scream at people, call out to my friends. And never care about what was happening inside the rooms. When my mom started working, I remember crying on the balcony as she left and waiting there for her return, jumping with excitement when I finally saw her. Although I struggled to make friends around me, I had the company of a few friends who would see me sitting in the balcony and invite me to come down or to their house. For my working parents, the balcony was the best way for me to stay safe indoors and get some outside sun. My caretaker also would have loved that balcony, for it saved her a world of time. During rains, I remember sitting in my balcony and putting my arm out through the cavities of the cast-iron railing to get my hands wet.
In the present, I have somehow outgrown my windows. I only interact with them when the room feels stuffy or when I need to switch on the AC. A wall of potted plants and drying clothes serve as a jaali, letting in much less light and air than it once did. All of my friends have moved out, and the kids playing have mostly been replaced by parked cars. I don't remember if we relied on the room lights throughout the day but nowadays, I cannot sit down and read anything in natural daylight. Nowadays, I only look out when I hear a ruckus outside. I don't want to claim hindsight on our decision about extending our rooms; It was something we as a growing family needed at the time, and I’ve seen how everyone uses the living room as their primary space, and that's partly thanks to the extension. I have also grown physically to where I couldn't sit in that tiny balcony anymore. And the world around my house has also changed all too much. When it rains now, I open the window to get the clothes inside. We do keep a bowl of water and grains out for birds now, and can only imagine how many more birds we could've invited in if we still had that balcony there.
But I cannot help but miss having a balcony. Getting that chance to step out from everything that's happening inside feels more important. Now, whenever I need privacy, I feel more comfortable stepping outside the house and going out for a walk. There are many other buildings surrounding my apartment and every format of a balcony exists in them, from no balcony, to small ones like I used to, to circular-shaped and balconies that are so covered that it might as well become a tiny room. I imagine living in all those types of balconies from places where I could take a nap, work, play with a pet (if I had one) or sit and look at the world. Maybe what I miss the most isn’t just the balcony itself, but what it allowed, i.e, a place to be alone without being lonely, to be outside without leaving my home.
I came to Mumbai when I was 8. The entire city was new. The people, culture, language, and my very own home was so different from Bangalore. While the fast paced city felt daunting, my temporary home was calming and happy. My home, earlier a bungalow, was now a 14th floor apartment! Soon, this new, big balcony was my favourite space. I saw the world in a new light. For the first time I understood what height and distance meant. I learnt how much I enjoy the rain. When the move got difficult, and people bullied me, I stood in the same balcony and understood how easy it all could go away. Closing the sliding windows with its reflective screen, through which I could not see inside, almost shut, gave me my own space. This was truly valuable since I shared a room with Ajji.
We really value this semi-outside place. Its purpose changes with time. When I was in 11th, new into the dating world, I would squeeze myself in-between the plants, with the windows almost shut, yapping away through the night. In August, with a pink bucket kept, the balcony was converted into our home-made Ganapathi visargan grounds. Light poured through these high windows in the morning which I cursed on my lazy vacation days because closing them with curtains was insulting this privilege but getting up before 8am was disrespecting a 15 year old’s vacation. When my friends came over, the window sill was THE place to sit on. Now mom grows flowering plants and uses them for puja.
Do spaces really affect habits?
What does the spaces we settle for and live in say about us?
Written and Illustrated by Ditya Ravi Bharadwaj. Ditya is an architect by profession, and an aspiring amateur painter, urban sketcher, reader and singer.
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