Where the Balcony meets the Basti

I’m told that one the prominent view from Mukesh Ambani’s castle, Antilia, is the slums of Golibar. Nothing can be more symbolic of the richer and the poorer Indian living in close proximity.. Unlike in many developed countries where there is a clear physical demarkation between the east-enders and west-enders, in India, there is no comfort of distance.
This is something very peculiar to India - where a swanky SUV reverse expertly out of a parking lot guided by a man who will take a crowded bus home to a one-room chawl. India doesn’t do distance very well—not emotional, not physical, and certainly not economic.
The new Unilever chief Fernando Fernandez, in a recent interview, made a great observation: one of India’s unique advantages is that “richer and poorer Indians live in close proximity.” This, he says, is what makes quick commerce viable here. But the insight goes beyond logistics and delivery economics—it lays bare the very soul of Indian urban life.
(Here is the link to the article: https://www.moneycontrol.com/news/business/earnings/new-unilever-chief-bullish-on-hul-sees-india-as-key-market-says-ceo-rohit-jawa-13003433.html)
Because in India, it’s not just groceries that arrive in under 10 minutes—it’s different worlds (LIG, MIG, HIG, VHIG. Etc.)  colliding at point-blank range.
Take any metro city, the morning might start with an app-based yoga class and a hurried WhatsApp voice note to the maid confirming whether she’s picked up the Dhaniya. Or a pair of hands managing Hettich German kitchen fittings that may not have proper kitchen shelves at their own place. Life is sliced into sharp contrasts but these worlds don’t live apart—they bump elbows daily. The “service class” is not a distant cog in a supply chain; it’s the auntie who folds your laundry while talking about her daughter’s tuition fees. The distance between the gated community and the informal settlement is often no more than a compound wall, porous enough for culture to leak through.
Bollywood music blaring from a cook’s phone becomes your weekday playlist. Children pick up words in three languages without realising which ones came from the help and which from their Convent curriculum. Cultural osmosis is not a phenomenon here—it’s a default setting.
Yes, the physical closeness of economic classes makes same-day delivery a no-brainer. The delivery boy is already inside the building—he’s the cousin of your building guard, after all. But what’s more interesting is how this proximity alters aspiration and access.
When ambition rides pillion on proximity, you get a market that dreams together. The house-help’s daughter wants an MBA; the apartment owner’s son wants to be a stand-up comedian. Both have Instagram. Both know who Shark Tank’s Anupam Mittal is. Both are tracking Swiggy’s 1-rupee samosas.
This has deep implications for marketers. The old segmentation models start to fray. Brands can no longer afford to talk down or up—they must speak across. It’s not about Tier 1 vs Tier 2 anymore—it’s about shared ecosystems but different income brackets
For brands, this closeness offers a peculiar challenge. How do you sell status when everyone shares the same air? When the driver also sees the billboard, but knows the woman on it is wearing what madam just bought online?
Authenticity becomes not just important, but urgent. Because in India, your consumer lives next door to your other consumer’s cook. Messaging can't rely on aspiration alone—it must carry dignity. Not just the “rising India” story, but the “standing beside each other in the lift” one. The new ad of Mutual Funds with Rohit Sharma and a lift-man (?)is a natural setting.
Even the act of giving discounts on quick commerce platforms isn’t just about price sensitivity—it’s about enabling a small indulgence without ceremony. A chocolate truffle ordered by a schoolteacher feels no less luxurious than one ordered by a banker, if it arrives within 10 minutes and no one knows.
There are many business models that is sprouting in the delta of this. BNPL - Buy Now Pay Later platforms like Lazypay, Simpl, Fibe(Ex. EarlySalary). Earlier EMIs were for purchase for homes, automobiles, etc. Now mobiles, tickets, and other lower ticket items are available on EMIs.
Urban India is a strange beast—simultaneously segregated and overlapping. Its skyline is built on invisible hands, but those hands are often within arm’s reach. There’s awkwardness, yes. There’s inequality, undeniably. But there’s also a persistent, low-grade intimacy that forces a kind of reckoning.
In other countries, you can forget that someone built your world. Here, they might be standing behind you in line for pani-puri.
Maybe that’s India’s strangest advantage—living too close to ignore each other, yet too far to fully understand. But in that daily brush of lives—between elevator rides and chai breaks, shopping lists and shared Wi-Fi passwords—we aren’t just building convenience. While much of the world is moving toward hyper-personalised, data-driven, algorithm-led experiences (especially in the West), India’s urban fabric offers something more organic, more chaotic, and oddly more human—proximity.