Episode 338 : The inevitability of progress

When I first moved into an apartment, my balcony looked out into the balcony of an apartment of the neighbouring block. It was mildly disappointing- I had imagined myself lounging in a chair on a holiday, preoccupied with a book and sipping tea/coffee/a stimulating beverage while listening to music. I could not do all of that because the balcony was too narrow, and I did not fancy looking into a neighbour’s apartment.

That misfortune, if I may call it, lasted a little more than a year. I moved into another apartment in the same block. And the balconies of this one, opened out to a huge empty space that had a large tree shielding me from the sun’s bright gaze. If I craned my neck a little and looked to my right, I could see the lake. Even though the balcony was still narrow for me to lounge while sipping tea/coffee/any stimulating beverage, the view made up for it.

As months passed by, a portion of the plot was used to build a double-storey house. It mattered little to me. I could look straight ahead and still see a clear blue sky or a cloudy day depending on the time of the year. What mattered then was not being able to take photographs of a full moon or that of fireworks because the branches of the tree would always block it.

But I still loved the tree, and the peace, and the emptiness that stretched out for a couple of hundred yards.

Then one day, I noticed a wall had come up almost overnight - someone had marked their territory. One side was left untouched, while the other side began to witness a furiously-paced construction. Even though money was thrown at it, it did not turn into a monstrous eyesore. But I still had the empty area in front of me, and the tree’s shade kept reassuring me.

Even though the area in general had begun to see rapid changes- more apartments, more shops, a well-laid road, more cars and more chaos, I still found peace when I stepped onto the balcony.

One day it changed. Earth-moving machinery was employed to dig out the earth and flatten the area, pulling out a couple of trees in the process. My heart sank, but I was relieved to see my tree still standing.

Some weeks later, I heard chainsaws and the tock-tock sound of axes. But my tree was still standing.

When I returned that evening and stepped out onto the balcony, it felt like I stepped into someone’s finished painting- a painting of a city’s landscape. The world suddenly felt wide as if I was looking at a widescreen television or at a photograph shot using a wide-angle lens.

I looked down and found my tree had been chopped into medium-sized logs. It felt like I looked on while a friend died.

It is the festival of fireworks. The night sky will be lit up with lights from exploding rockets. The photograph will become a possibility.

But it matters little now.