From the Balcony of Bata: A Childhood Memory Etched in Vizag

 I’ve always been a nostalgic person. Not because I’m running from the present—but because the past 

has shaped me in quiet, lasting ways. Some memories come back not with pain or joy, but with a 

strange, lingering feeling I can’t quite place. This is one of them.

I grew up in a major town area of Vizag—right in the heart of the hustle. Our home was perched above 

the old Bata showroom, and from our balcony, we could see the whole town stretch out before us. 

Shops, crowds, honking autos, festival lights, street vendors—all of it unfolded like a living movie 

from our window.

Just across from our building was a small, well-known fancy store named Mallika. A few shops down 

from there was Baba Embroidery—my father’s shop. It wasn’t just embroidery; it was part fancy store, 

part art corner, part community space. It was ours, and it stood proudly on that buzzing street.

But not everyone saw it that way.

The man who owned Mallika had an odd bitterness towards us. Even as a small child, I could feel it. 

Every time I looked out from the balcony and he noticed me, his expression would change—his face 

would twist into something meant to scare. Sometimes he’d make strange gestures. I was young, 

innocent, and yes—I got scared.

But what stayed with me most wasn’t his daytime behavior. It was something else—something stranger.

Every single night, after he closed his shop, he would stand outside and begin chanting. Not loudly, not 

dramatically—just this quiet, rhythmic mumbling of a mantra I couldn’t understand. Then, as if part of 

some secret ritual, he would take an egg and throw it in the direction of our shop. Always towards Baba 

Embroidery. Always after dark.

At that age, I didn’t know what to make of it. Was it superstition? Malice? Some old belief he held 

onto? I never asked. I just watched—sometimes hiding behind the curtain, heart thudding in my chest.

Looking back now, I don’t feel fear. I feel curiosity. Maybe a little pity. That small stretch of road in 

Vizag held so many lives, dreams, rivalries, and routines. His was just one of them.

But what stands out to me most—above the tension, above the rituals—is the view from our home.

 That balcony above Bata was my window to the world. It gave me stories, characters, and colors that 

shaped the person I am today.

And in a strange way, even the unsettling parts—like the man from Mallika—are part of that cherished 

tapestry.

With Love,

Greeshma.