High-Rise Living, Low-Rise Bonds
- Asha Tripathi

- May 4
- 3 min read
While we have gained privacy and independence, we have lost the ease and warmth of everyday connection.

As I look around at life in today’s high-rise buildings, particularly in a dense and fast-moving city like Mumbai, one thing becomes increasingly and unmistakably clear—our homes have grown taller and more vertical, but our connections, in many ways, have grown quieter and more distant. We live stacked floor above floor, often separated not just by concrete walls and closed doors but also by an unspoken silence. We may recognise a familiar face in the elevator and exchange a courteous smile or, at most, a brief and polite "hello", but beyond that surface-level interaction, relationships rarely deepen or evolve into anything more meaningful.
This reality stands in sharp and almost poignant contrast to the world I grew up in.
I come from a small town, where everyday life unfolded in narrow, bustling lanes lined with houses that were physically attached to one another. Doors were rarely fully shut, and even when they were, they never felt closed in spirit. People would sit outside—on simple chairs, on steps, or even on the floor—talking for hours, laughing freely, and sharing stories that moved easily from one household to another. Neighbours were not just people who happened to live next door—they were, in every sense, an extension of family. There was warmth in those interactions, a sense of easy familiarity, and above all, a deep and reassuring feeling of belonging.
Of course, that kind of closeness was not without its own set of challenges and complications.
There was interference at times. There was curiosity—sometimes excessive and overwhelming. People often knew the details of each other’s lives, whether that knowledge was invited or not. Privacy, as we understand it today, was limited, and personal boundaries were frequently blurred or crossed. Yet, even within that lack of space and occasional overreach, there existed a certain kind of emotional security—a quiet but constant reassurance that someone was always around, always available, always aware.
Today, in the context of high-rise living, the situation feels almost entirely reversed.
We enjoy a greater degree of privacy, independence, and clearly defined personal space. There is no unsolicited advice offered at every turn, no constant observation from those around us, and no routine intrusion into our daily lives. We are free to live on our own terms, make our own choices, and maintain our own boundaries—and that freedom is undeniably valuable. But alongside that independence, there is also a subtle and often unspoken sense of isolation. In moments of need, urgency, or even celebration, we sometimes realise just how little we truly know about the people living around us.
Both ways of living, in their own ways, come with distinct advantages and equally notable drawbacks. The open-lane culture offers a strong sense of connection and community, but sometimes at the cost of personal privacy. High-rise living, on the other hand, offers independence, autonomy, and space but can gradually lead to emotional distance and detachment.
So the question is not really about which way of living is better or more desirable.
The more meaningful answer, perhaps, lies somewhere in the idea of balance.
We do not need to return entirely to the ways of the past, nor should we remain completely enclosed within our private, individual spaces. Even a small and conscious effort—getting to know your neighbour beyond a passing greeting, engaging in occasional conversations, or simply being available and approachable in times of need—can help bridge this growing gap. At the same time, maintaining a respectful awareness of personal boundaries ensures that connection does not unintentionally turn into intrusion.
Nothing, in reality, is entirely right, and nothing is entirely wrong.
Life, as it often does, works best when it finds a balance—where doors may not always be wide open, but they are not firmly or permanently shut either.
(The writer is a tutor based in Thane. Views personal.)





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