Among the various species going extinct at a fast pace is a lifeless thing that adds life to every home – the Verandah. Once upon a time there was no house without a verandah, and the bigger varieties had a number of them, including many houses that had verandahs running all round. Tiny houses had verandahs at least big enough for a weary traveler or vendor to rest his aching bones, or for the family grandfather to catch up with the world going past when he could no longer walk out due to arthritis. The Verandah was also a lovely place for the young mother to distract the attention of the baby and feed him while he watched traffic with fascination. Large bungalows had giant verandahs, replete with swings, potted plants, and the khas thattis that cooled the breeze entering the house on hot summer days. The verandah cut out the sun and let in the air, it provided a buffer between the harsh outdoors and the cool interiors. It was a place for family tete-a-tete, gossip, escape from stuffy interiors, and a cozy den to sit and watch the rain with a hot cup of tea. Today we enter houses that greet us with formidable doors, steel shutters, and a “magic eye” from where the wary housewife peeps out whether to allow the visitor in or not. The latch-key has assured that the door can be shut every time someone enters or exits, and the home is cut off from the outside world, the nature around, and the cool breeze that warms the spirit. Apartments do have balconies, but many residents, unless prevented by law, prefer to close them up with windows and grills and make them additional tiny rooms in space-starved flats. The joy of a verandah can never be equaled by any other space in a house. I never give up an opportunity to sit, stand, relax, or swing in one. Next time you see one, try it out, if you don’t have the luxury of having one at home.
