Balcony...

A mid-way to a staircase and a common balcony of an almost 70 year old Kolkata building on the main juncture of Park Circus – a place lighted up with the sunshine in the morning and by the evening, turning partially dark with no direct electricity but with rays of light falling on the place from street lights and from other ends that gave it some light. A place I choose to be myself and get into my own skin as I grew up. 

Now no longer a place I used to dwell in, that little place has vast memories associated with it, and became a significant factor of my growing up phase. As a child playing with my childhood mates who lived in the same building, hiding in the corner - crying after getting a scolding from my mother or playing hide and seek with her, as a teenager often standing alone just looking out of the balcony - taking a glance of the busy roads of Kolkata, chatting up with mum or dad about various things on earth or yap across the balcony with the twin sisters living in the opposite building or ever excited to take a one moment glance at the handsome guy passing by the lane of the building - that corner of the building became my place with the passage of time.

The first crush, the first secret smoke during the restless days of my father’s prolonged illness, my first drag of grass, my first sip from a glass of beer and even my first kiss – they all happened in that secret corner of the building, I called my own.

At one point of time, that was the only corner, where I could be myself, with a silent, vacant, lone, dim lighted ambiance, worth it – with no-one to invade into my privacy. After a long day, the moment I used to step into the 3rd floor of the Park Circus house, the first thing I used to do was take a shower, change my dress, take my packet of cigarettes and head one step up to that corner. The peace, the freedom touched me instantly, the moment I stood alone by the balcony for some time, then sit on the vacated staircase at ease – the best moments of my day whenever I visited that house. 

Ya, people might feel what’s special about an old Kolkata building and a stairway corner like this apart from the nostalgia associated with the city! The only reason I choose to share this with my friends and why I feel it’s special, is because of the way that place enabled me to unwind, evolve, analyze and discover the deep dark hidden secrets of my life. Apart from the secret booze, the smoke, the place also became a secret corner for my rendezvous with myself.

The Tandoori Chicken from Zeeshan, the old newspapers rolled out on the stairs, the glass and the bottles kept in the shade, two or three of my friends and myself have sat there and chatted on for hours, deep into the midnight. Day time chat sessions existed too, without the booze of course. The chat sessions, not always were relaxing moments, at times getting serious and philosophical, and varying from my age between 13-40. Debates, serious fights, loud voices have also been raised there. The exchange of love letters when I was a teenager, either given to myself or my friends giving to each other, me being the via media, counselling and being there for friends, apart from myself of course, all of it has happened in that little corner of that house. Thus etching a permanent mark on my soul forever.

That was one place I was nobody’s daughter, nobody’s wife, but just myself. Yes, I did connect with my friends who shared moments with me there chatting up, but mostly I would look forward to the instant my-time, I got being there. Though the intensity of emotions associated with that corner grew with my loneliness after I lost dad, it was also a place where I would rush to reach to overcome the same. My mother was always aware that I was up there and all that she used to say was either “don’t smoke much like your dad” or “don’t wake too late into the night”.  My connection continued with that place after my mother’s death too, it was like I just wanted to be left alone and just shut out from the world outside me. Not for depressing moments, but for a deeper insight.

Whether I felt like crying, smiling, laughing, venting out my anger, falling in love -  that place allowed me to emote without any inhibitions. But eventually practicality hit emotions, and I had to surrender the house to the landlord about a year back, that corner no longer remaining I could rush to. But a house is more than bricks and motors, it is the voices and the memories and the experiences that remains much after the ruins.