In fashion and architecture and everything in between, the old always gives way to the new. This immutable law cannot be bent, no matter who you are. Change whizzes past you before you realise it. One learns to accept some changes but as for the rest, all one does is sit back and yearn for the past.
Sauntering along in an old locality of Bengaluru, I cannot help feel nostalgic. A stately home that had looked gigantic to my eyes as a child is now dwarfed by a recently sprouted multi-storeyed apartment next to it. But in my mind it is the house that is standing tall, having withstood the ravages of time.
I silently pay kudos to its unknown owner for not succumbing to avarice, when one considers the bounty he could have reaped by selling the house to a ‘developer’. Its flowering garden with the huge champaka tree in the ‘compound’ and a traditional looking gate (itself a piece of art) are a feast to the eye. But it’s the verandah with its ornate metal grill that catches my attention the most.
I unconsciously pause my gait and stand still savouring the sight, before moving on hurriedly, lest I come across as being snoopy. The verandah of today, when it exists, is an apology of its past glorious self. It is a midget room serving no practical purpose, save as a place to leave footwear. Recall that it was the go-to place to huddle for family chit-chats and friendly banter.
There was no better place than the verandah to start your day with a hot cup of coffee and a newspaper. Its grill supported winding creepers that lent charm.
Sitting in the verandah you could hear the friendly street hawker passing by. You could stop him with a loud shout not even getting up from your seat! The brightly lit veranda with its comfy bamboo chairs was the perfect destination to curl up and read a book on a lazy afternoon.
The verandah occupied a pivotal role in enforcing the household’s ‘guest protocol’. Business matters such as talking to the itinerant salesman or the family lawyer, always took place in the verandah.
Garrulous neighbours given to endless chatter were conveniently confined to the verandah, leaving the rest of the household in peace. Some visitors, notably relatives, took umbrage if restricted to the verandah alone as they felt entitled to be hosted in the inner precincts of the house.
Now living in a dwelling that has a much abbreviated version of the verandah, I am resigned to entertain visitors all and sundry, in a living room that has a full view of the kitchen and dining areas. I often cringe at the loss of privacy. Moreover, I miss the serenity that I used to enjoy just sitting in my beloved verandah.
The famed writer, Haruki Murakami observes, “There is a special feeling you get on a veranda that you just can’t get anywhere else.” I couldn’t agree more.