The gossip balcony of lokhandwala

Pigeons from as far as Bhandup, Kurla, Virar, and on weekends even Karjat, visit me religiously in search of true love. Due to my blessings and magic they find one too. They meet, date, kiss, fall in love and make love, here in my arena. But in all this bullshit, only I know how much shit I take, literally.

Though being small in size and colored with a cheap local paint, I am the chatterbox, rumour exploder, gossip balcony of Lokhandwala Complex.  

Being located at the 4^th floor in the centre of the society, I have the pleasure to sneak at almost seventeen other balconies in my vicinity, except for the ones behind me as I am suffering from a severe backache these days. You know the changing weather of Bombay!

I am the property of the Jadeja’s, Mr. & Mrs. Jadeja. Apart from me they are also gifted with two daughters, Pallavi and Parul.

Pallavi is 20, as she always claims, and is fair - in fact too fair for any Indian, Bangladeshi or Sri Lankan. She has a sleek figure which she likes to drape with a sleeveless dark dress. With her soft creamy arms she carries her phone for hours, shouting and giving unnecessary orders to her event manager like a blond female boss whom everyone hates and wants to nail someday.

Parul, 18, visits me less. There is no ego problem as such but she seems fonder of that shady balcony on the other side of our house. That place is not even a balcony. More of a store room, keeping a stack of those books these girls have never read in their school and college life. That washing machine of Mrs. Jadeja, which the poor frustrated lady has used day in day out for the past eight and a half years of her useless life, more after the separation from Mr. Jadeja, is also dying there.

Earlier, all the washed clothes would come to me as it was my job to blow them dry. But then I started throwing tantrums, allowed the winds from Versova Beach to take away Pallavi’s bra and Mrs. Jadeja’s tent-sized polka dotted kurta. Besides, I overexposed Parul’s transparent too-short-to-handle mini skirt in the blazing sun. Then they realised who I am. As they say, in an organisation you have to snatch your respect. 

I’d have resigned from this useless family if it wouldn’t have been for Monty. The three-year old Labrador comes running and takes me in his powerful arms. He likes to pat on my chest with his wagging thick tail and licks all over my cheeks, taking away all that dirt which falls over me when Mrs. Chadha from above dusts her broken jealous balcony.

Mr. Jadeja who parted with Mrs. Jadeja due to her obesity issues used to see me first thing in the morning in his patent loose banyan and home-made chequered pyjamas. He would drink his green tea, read his favourite Maharashtra Times till the time his morning pressure hits him. That was his love for me.

Interesting people exist near us. They all like to spend some time looking at me, every day. Ajay, the fashion designer from the opposite balcony who only likes to dress-up in a towel, Udit the struggling actor from 3^rd floor in the adjacent building, Roshan the fat supplier of wood. He is married and now bored of his wife. Chandan and Raju, the students from far right who’d come one by one to get lost in my beauty. Jignesh in the opposite building uses too much sun-screen before coming to meet me. It is as if he is in competition with Pallavi's skin. 

These people seem to be fond of Pallavi too. Whenever she is in my arms, chatting and shouting on her phone, her voice is like that of a temple priest’s - beckoning her devotees. I have seen lights being switched on, windows being opened, faces popping out and staring at her as if they all want to eat her. Sooraj and Aamir are the only ones who peep from the little openings of their window, not wanting to get revealed in anyway, just looking at me and Pallavi with their desperate eyes.

But Pallavi hardly cares about these nuts. She is too busy with her non sense orders. She only responds to her boy Akul who stops on the by-lane visible from here, honks out loud, hearing which she comes running in slow motion, signalling him to wait. She meets him in exact six minutes. She looks crazy in love sitting behind him on his Scooty. Mrs. Jadeja is too old to know this and stop Pallavi from this insanity. 

I like when guys look at me but I feel unsafe when Rangaa from the shadiest apartment of the society gives me and Pallavi evil looks. With Daler Mahendi songs beating in the background, he looks no less than a maniac.

On the other hand, Parul is too difficult to understand and unwind, exactly like her curly hair. Whenever she is here, all she attracts is old, middle aged crowd.

Jaideep the father of two; Mr.Pradeep the famous bald guy and Ambrish Puri the retired professor are all crazy about her youth. She has limited audience no doubt, less than me of course, but she looks at them and smiles back, to which they blush with their greying moustache and broken teeth.

Mrs. Jadeja is only fond of food apart from washing clothes. She buys all her vegetables standing here, talking directly to her permanent vendor Sharad. After all the bargaining, she doesn’t forget to curse this government which has made everything so costly, and Mr. Jadeja who left so little for her. 

Everything is quite acceptable to me, but all hell breaks loose when Monty breaks my afternoon nap. His constant barks to tease and pamper Suzi, Mrs. Sharma’s Chihuahua are as painful as any  Sonam Kapoor movie.

Presently, I am single and dying to mingle. But there is still not a single as charismatic, intelligent and majestic a balcony that can match my standards, and with whom I can go on a moonlit dinner. I think God has something great for me coming. Oh no, that’s just the overweight Mrs. Jadeja trudging in.

PS: I am fed up of pigeons now!!!