My Balcony Friends – A Bliss in the Middle of Chaos
Usually, if I’m working from home or it’s a weekend afternoon, you’ll find me in the same place after 12 noon — my balcony. It’s my little escape corner, where I lean on the railing, stretch a little, and say a quiet “hi.”
Now, you must be wondering — to whom?
Wait… why rush? If you’ve been following my blogs, you already know I don’t reveal everything at once. I like to take you along slowly, step by step, because my stories are never made-up. They’re pieces of my past, my present, and sometimes little glimpses of what I imagine my future to be.
So yes, I do say “hi” every afternoon, but not to humans. To a group of friends who never fail to show up, unless life throws them into trouble. Friends who bring a smile, lift my mood, and make me forget, even if just for a while, the invisible weight sitting inside my head.
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The Stress We Don’t Speak About
You see, being in IT is not always about long hours, laptops, or endless meetings. The real challenge is the invisible stress that creeps in. It’s not the physical tiredness — it’s the mental war.
Your brain turns into a battlefield, fighting nonstop like a lone soldier in some over-the-top masala movie. Only difference? In movies, the hero always wins, with a grand climax and background music. In real life, you’re just surviving. There are no claps, no happy endings, no cheering crowd.
Some days, you ask yourself questions you don’t have answers for. Your mind convinces you that everyone has abandoned you in this lonely battle. And because society expects us to “be normal,” we hide it well. On the outside, we smile, attend meetings, share jokes, and act like everything is fine. But inside? It’s chaos.
This mental stress is far more dangerous than any visible wound. A physical injury, at least, you can show and explain. But when it’s your mind that hurts, you silently bleed, pretending nothing’s wrong.
And that’s exactly why my balcony ritual means so much to me. Because my friends remind me that the world isn’t just chaos. There’s still music, there’s still colour, and there’s still joy in the tiniest of things.
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Before I tell you who my friends are, let me describe the stage where they perform.
Imagine this: the corner of our apartment has a cascade of bougainvillea, in every shade you can think of. On the villa side, the neighbour has a pretty little garden. And on our side — banana plants with long green leaves, tall canopy trees providing shade, and clusters of bright ixora flowers lighting up the space.
By the time you step into my balcony and the tiny garden patch beneath it, you get this dense, mini-forest feel. It’s a mix of flowers, fruits, greenery, and shadows — the kind of place that naturally attracts little visitors.
And that’s when the real magic begins.
Please read this Blog to get the picture of my garden Link:- " When the Vine Bloomed and the Sunbird Came: A Balcony Story"
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They come with no invitation. A sudden burst of chirping fills the air. They hop from branch to branch, flutter from one flower to another, as if they’re here to conduct a full-blown concert just for me.
At that moment, the silence of noon breaks into a melody. Every note, every chirp feels like a reminder that life is still beautiful.
So, who are these friends? Let me introduce them one by one.
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Meet the Battalion
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Yellow-billed Babblers – Always in pairs, sometimes even two pairs together. They move across the garden like lieutenants, surveying every corner, as if in charge of discipline.
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Purple and Brown Sunbirds – The nectar inspectors. They dart around tirelessly, checking flowers one by one — from ixora to banana blossoms to roses. They’re tiny, restless, and curious, like officers making sure no flower is left unchecked.
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Red-vented Bulbuls – The real commanders. During breeding season, they build their nests in my garden trees. I’ve watched them lay eggs, feed their little ones, and teach them how to fly. And then one fine day, they vanish, leaving behind only the nest — a silent memory of their stay.
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Spotted Dove – Calm, dignified, and always grounded. Unlike the restless sunbirds, the dove carries itself with an air of seniority, like an air commander watching over the battalion.
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Tailorbirds – Tiny, secretive creatures that hide inside bushes, moving cautiously as if on a covert mission. Blink, and you’ll miss them.
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The Squirrel – The noisemaker, the disruptor. Always busy nibbling something, always creating chaos. I call it the soldier driving a tank through the field, unbothered by the melody around.
Together, they form what I call my “balcony battalion.” They stay for about 15 minutes, and in those minutes, they change the entire mood of my day. Then, just as suddenly, they disappear, off to their next mission.
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But not every day is the same.
There are days when they don’t show up. The garden stays silent, the flowers sway quietly, but there’s no music. On those days, I lean against the railing a little longer, whispering a prayer for them. Because let’s not forget — this earth belongs as much to them as it does to us.
Without them, our biodiversity weakens. Without them, our mornings, afternoons, and evenings lose their rhythm. And when that balance breaks, it won’t just affect birds or squirrels. It will affect all of us.
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A Story I Can’t Forget
One particular memory still weighs heavy in my heart.
There was this spotted dove pair — regulars in my garden. They were inseparable, always together, always moving side by side. But one day, only one showed up. The other had been attacked by a stray cat in the garden below.
The surviving dove looked broken. It sat still, refusing to fly, its eyes dull and its feathers ruffled. For days, it lingered near the same spot, almost as if waiting for its partner to return.
But here’s the beautiful part: the other birds noticed. The babblers flew closer, patrolling around as if guarding the wounded soul. The bulbuls and sunbirds hovered lower than usual, their chatter filling the silence. Even the squirrel, in its noisy way, stayed around. It was as if the entire battalion had come together to say — you’re not alone.
And slowly, day by day, the lonely dove found courage again. First short flights, then longer ones, until one afternoon it soared high, reclaiming the sky.
That day, I learned something powerful. Teamwork isn’t just a human concept. Compassion isn’t just our gift. Nature too has its way of healing, of lifting one another, of showing that even in loss, life must go on.
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The Gentle Moral
Whenever I step into my balcony now, I don’t just see birds and squirrels. I see reminders. Reminders that no matter how heavy the stress, no matter how lonely the battle inside your head feels — you are never truly alone.
Sometimes, healing requires a battalion. Not necessarily of people, but of little joys, tiny friends, and simple moments that remind you of life’s beauty.
My balcony friends may not know my name, may never shake my hand, but they’ve given me something priceless: hope.
And maybe that’s what we all need — a reminder that even in chaos, there’s always a melody waiting for us.
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Final Thought
So next time you step into your balcony, garden, or terrace — pause. Look around. Maybe you’ll find your own battalion of little friends. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll teach you the same lesson mine did:
Life is not meant to be fought alone.
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