The Balcony Garden

On the tenth-floor balcony overlooking traffic and concrete, Mr. Sethi nurtured coriander in recycled paint buckets. After retirement, the days had stretched uncomfortably long. His son spoke about investments and global markets; he spoke to plants. Every morning, he inspected leaves like exam results. The neighbors laughed at his obsession, but when the first tomatoes appeared, even they leaned over railings for advice. “Soil listens,” he would say, pressing earth between fingers. In a city racing upward, his balcony garden was resistance. It reminded him that growth did not have to be loud to be meaningful.