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Journalism of Courage
A steaming cup of tea, a crisp morning newspaper, and the gentle nip of a spring breeze. That8217;s my idea of starting a nice day. Lounging in the veranda of our old-fashioned house in Chandigarh makes paradise almost possible!
In March, when the jacaranda grove in front of our house is a riot of lilac, and the silver oak trees ablaze with golden blooms, I can spend hours gazing at the artistry of nature from the comfort of the veranda. I keep shuffling my chair between the veranda and the garden, playing hide and seek with the sun, so that things don8217;t get too hot.
Little wonder, then, that our ancestors made ample use of such climate friendly, aesthetic spaces in their structures. Most old palaces and gardens have a lot of pavilions. Just open arcades and no walls. These permit cool breezes to waft in without allowing the a harsh sun the right of entry. The famous 8216;Sawan Bhadon8217; pavilion in Delhi8217;s Red Fort, built especially to savour the panorama of rains during the monsoon, speaks highly of the sensitivity of the then rulers to the mausam. The British, too, found the veranda to be a very simple and indigenous way of keeping buildings cool in summers. They made it an integral part of their architecture. At hill stations, of course, they glazed the verandas from all sides, just for the opposite reasons 8212; to invite the warm winter sun in, but shut out the cold winds.
I have often partaken of the delights of sitting out in the veranda of remote rest houses spread all over Himachal Pradesh. Whether you want to curl up with an engrossing book or view the enchanting Himalayan peaks 8212; the veranda offers the most vantage position.
One feels feel sorry for the people of metropolitan towns, holed up in their matchbox apartments with their stamp-sized balconies. Even if verandas get banished from the drawing boards of modern architects, for me they will always occupy a large space in the heart.
