Last night, I was travelling home from Hyderabad by train, and as is the case on any moving vehicle, insomnia had struck. Just when I was resigning myself to staring at the ceiling and listening to a dozen different tones of snores, I noticed some fellow-insomniacs in the next coupe having some sort of discussion. I butted in to random conversation, and the gang was thus - Sandeep, a Hyderabadi by origin, affiliations and allegiance but a Bangalorean by residence; Vandana, a techie who worked in Hyderabad in the past and currently works in Bangalore; and Vaishali, a US-returned LLM graduate who stays in Hyderabad but might move to Bangalore to work here.
Among other mundane topics, a hotly debated subject in the wee hours of the night on a speeding train was the relative merits of the two Cyber Cities of India - Bangalore and Hyderabad. My traumatic experience in Hyderabad for the last month and a half made me a staunch Hyderabad-basher, while the rest took turns at having pot shots at me and Bangalore in general. Poor Vandana seemed to have encountered the worst that Bangalore has to offer - the rudest auto-wallahs, the most nonchalant maid-servants, the greediest repairmen and the seediest pubs. Sandeep seemed to have experienced the worst traffic in Bangalore ever - the Domlur flyover during heavy rains.
The whole discussion made me reflect till long after the conversation - what is the Bangalore that I love so much? What are the undying symbols of the charm which I associate with my hometown? I think back (very) fondly to my high school days - when playgrounds were meant for us to play in, when we could ride our bicycles down BTM Main Road and JP Nagar Ring Road without the slightest cause for concern, when huge trees lined both sides of pretty much every main road in the city and when we could sit inside an auto and then instruct the driver to take us to our destination. All this has most certainly changed. The IT revolution has brought with it unprecedented growth, but it has also brought along pollution, traffic chaos, spiralling prices, an alarming crime rate and worst of all, a dehumanising effect on people.
Yet, I stood steadfastly by my city and to my utmost surprise, I could still bring out points which no other city can match. Take for example a Sunday morning involving an early jog in Cubbon Park followed by a soothing drive to Gandhi Bazaar and a sumptuous breakfast of Masala Dosa and Coffee at Vidyarthi Bhavan. Jayanagar has undergone a facelift like none other, but still one would find nostalgic old men and women reminiscing about the good old days at Thaatran Katte. Bull Temple Park is still Bull Temple Park - serene, invigorating, relaxing. Veena Stores in Malleshwaram still serves some of the most lip-smacking South Indian snacks anywhere. Rangashankara still costs only fifty rupees. It is still possible to get into a bus passing through Chamarajpet or Basavanagudi, and find polite conductors and patient drivers who wait for the old man to get in and have a seat before moving ahead.
It may be impossible to wish for the "old" Bangalore - life moved at a slow pace, people enjoyed their Idli and Coffee, street corners were meant for catching up with friends and gossipping about the neighbour's daughter, owning a Bajaj Chetak or a Premier Padmini was a status symbol and movie tickets costed twenty bucks. Even the Gods would frown upon any disturbance to this idyll paradise as a warm day unerringly meant a super-cool evening shower.
It's time to take a deep sigh, close my eyes and wish in vain. But not all hope is lost, for no other city in India or anywhere else in the world has a soul more pure than my Bangalore. The climate, the culture, the people - nothing else comes close...
