i’m a true-blue
visiting my parents briefly in
when i was 5: our first house in
the palatial bungalow has long since given way to an ugly mall called safina plaza, a perennial traffic jam outside (like the rest of bengaluru, right?), the parade grounds are off-limits for the “public”, and it would take you an hour to cross cubbon road to get there anyway.
when i was 10: walking to the bus stop near in 6th block koramangala early in the morning, i remember the thick fog in which i would not be able to see my hand if i stretched it out in front of me. in the evenings, we would ride like daredevils on our bicycles all the way to the marsh separating koramangala from the airport.
the same stretch is still enveloped by fog – just a different kind that’s rich in cardon-dioxide. the marsh is now a maze of glass-fronted complexes of miscellaneous shops and offices (how the hell did they build them on a marsh?). there’s a string of “hip” restaurants, bars and such-like all over with misguided youngsters in them feeling like they’re part of the “new generation X”.
when i was 15: at this time, we were staying in a piece of paradise called convent road – in the heart of town, walking distance from the “commercial hub”, and my school (Bishop Cottons on St. Marks road), surrounded by woods on several private properties and school grounds all around. from my bedroom window i could see fascinating eagles, kites, parrots and miriad exotic creatures go about their business.
no more woods, only more glass-fronted corporate offices. no more birds, unless you count the scavenging crows.
when i was 20: we moved to a new, desolate “layout” intriguingly called btm. (the best interpretation of that name was that it lay between the villages of bannerghatta, thavarekere and madivala). disconnected from civilization as we knew it, with its own private lake, it took us back to the koramangala-like environment that we thought had gone forever.
enter the ring road, exit peace and quiet. the same story all over again, i’m too depressed to go into the details of this one except that my old pal ravi and his “bakery” selling bananas, chai, cigarettes, veg. puffs, “dilpasand”, groceries and anything else you may have ever needed, has warped into a swanky atm.
when i was 25: btm part II – we moved even further away, down bannerghatta road to a group of 3 towering buildings that was L&T south city in the back of beyond. veritably on the edge of town, the only sight to see was lightning striking over hills on the horizon.
south city now has 15 20-floor towers, houses 1200+ families that own 2000+ cars. i’ll leave the rest to your imagination.
this story doesn’t end where i make my exit in 2006. in fact, namma bengaluru seems to be hurtling determinedly forward on a horrifying suicide mission. i can only hope i don’t live long enough to witness the end. a laid back, lovely city once called the “garden city” is now proud to has institutionalized the term “bangalored”. yes, these are incredible achievements…and i’ve ridden the wave of relentless economic pursuit, i’m rather ashamed to admit.
that is bengaluru for you…and there's no one to blame but me – the quintessential
