The Terrace in Lake Terrace

About the colour of thoughts

We stayed at Lake Terrace at this house on the second floor in Calcutta. The house was divided into the seating, dining, kitchen, wash area and the bedroom, balcony area. The two areas were connected by a long and over used corridor. I later learnt to great alarm that this corridor was actually just some planks with false cement flooring!

I remember fondly the balcony.



Coloured by thoughts

The balcony was a large one, open to the sky. So technically it was a terrace.
Two taut strings were tied on one side, hidden from the road. I don’t remember ever seeing clothes put up here though! Perhaps the clothes were washed, hung to dry and folded away while we were at school?

This place gave me the freedom to wander into my dreamland. It was a place I escaped to when my marks were low; a place that helped iron out social stresses. Here I dissolved into an Enid Blyton,  Agatha Christie or later Harold Robins.

The terrace was on the second floor. I gazed upon the streets below and observed the world go by unobserved by it. And I liked that.

Our house was the only one with NO WATER PROBLEM. During the Holi festival my cousins, friends and I freaked out on the terrace in uninterrupted water-play. We filled pichkaries spraying each other with coloured water, smeared horrendous powders on each other and became absolutely unrecognizable.

In summer the terrace was flooded with scorching sunlight. Just what women want to make papads and sandiges. Small lumps of spiced aralu are left in the sun to dry and are later deep fried into tasty crispies. My aunt and my mother patiently made aralu-sandiges to last the year. When they were not looking I stole a few half-dry sandiges from the edges. O! half dried sandiges are yummy. I still like them. But stolen ones are tastier!!

Broken biscuits and stale bread slices were left on the terrace. Sparrows and parakeets made hasty visits to pick mouthfuls. I wish I had pictures. Photography was expensive and not encouraged in our home.

During the rains the place became damp. The floor was uneven cement. Rain water collected in small puddles giving the terrace a raw and rustic feel. Ah! The heady smell of rain.

That was a rented house. We relocated to Chennai, then to Bengaluru, I became older, wiser (!), got married, nourished a family and moved through homes and cities…

But
Even now,
When I want to sort out my thoughts
Or relive childhood moments
Or understand people who matter to me
I go into that terrace … in my mind … and I feel more peaceful, more in control, and warm

What part of your childhood home do you recall fondly?