41st anniversary of The Times of India, Bengaluru: City in a fast-changing metropolis

Time of India

2 days ago

Cities offer us a swirl of memories and experiences. Even if we miss some comforts of living. That's why every time our plane touches down, our train rumbles in or our bus negotiates the chock-a-block near the outskirts to enter our city, we sit up with anticipation, check our phones once more, and gaze expectantly as if to say there's nothing like home.
We ache for our homes and familiar surroundings to recharge our batteries.
The truth is we carry Bengaluru with us wherever we go. And mutter to ourselves about how cool our city is in comparison and how it has what other cities have plus something more. It has many things – old and new, bright and beautiful as well as subtle monochromes.
A Ferriswheel view now would indicate the frequently mentioned aspects of weather, gardens and tech activity.
Thirty to fifty years ago, the highlights would have included a haven for retirees, parks, lakes, public sector enterprises, and science research institutions.
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Further back, the serene lifestyle in British bungalows and the culturally rich petes under the Mysore rule. And even earlier, of course, the textile mills and horse carriages of the early 20th century. That marks over hundred years of the transformation cycle.
From where does this open city derive the energy to move forward? It has always had a remarkable alchemy of middle- and upper-class aspirations, fueled by top-notch research institutes and a cosmopolitan environment. Today, over 25 years after the early generations made their bow into the IT realm, these features are more pronounced. With thousands of startups, the city continues to be a magnet for talent. For over three decades now, it continues to retain its crown as tech capital, with a workforce exceeding one million.
What stands out through all this is the spirit of adaptation and the openness to modernity. Bengaluru has always served as a fusion station for yesterday, today and tomorrow. You could argue that this is so with most cities, but the 'tomorrow' is very much on the horizon here.
A CEO of hyphenated identities or a young entrepreneur largely see their stay as a stopover to bigger destinations. Take the last big marker of change – caused by liberalisation of the economy – in the blooming of tech companies.
Around that time, in 1997, historian Sunil Khilnani observed that in contrast to the 'garbled modernity' of some other cities, 'a quite different trend is represented by the aspiring esperanto of Bangalore'.
It has collected more epithets along the way, the latest is 'Startup City'. Dynamic cities are hardwired for change and Bengaluru is one such, resembling a vast, ever-evolving circuit board where new connections are made and data continuously flows and reroutes.
You truly can't avoid using the tech metaphor for a city that has spawned megabytes of memes and witty lines. An apocryphal anecdote about the homogeneity of metropolitan cities is about a young resident guiding a tourist: 'Go straight ahead, turn right at the global fried chicken outlet; to your left you can see the American brand coffee house and reserve roaster, k e e p walking ahead till you get to a tea boutique…' Talk of new landmarks or think of how coffee goes with coding.
The road to Electronic City indeed might be leading you to the city of tomorrow but in no way does it mean that the idyll of the past hasn't been disturbed. Oldtimers say that like many other towns and cities, Bengaluru was once a simple place; it attained complexity each time it assumed a new layer of modernity. The familiar refrain is 'Where's the city which was so charming?' or 'This is nothing like the old days'. As a friend puts it, 'Bangalore is so different; ing a tourist: Go ahead, turn he global ken outur left see rid e o u… ' new ks or how cofith coding.
ad to Electronic as you grow more attached to it you want to live further away from the centre, away from the noise and congestion.' Everybody searches for her peace and solitude. After all, how can you enjoy Rumi in a fish market? Our seniors said this too and their seniors of the past decades were as vocal in their complaints. We pine to walk around lakes, but much of our quietness now lies in the heights of skyscrapers, in the few green gardens, in shrines and in libraries.
Yet, masons, carpenters and welders are working on building plusher offices, housing estates and gated communities. Every house needs a sign: 'No parking in front of this gate'. In the growling traffic on Queen's road, a child in a car is reciting nursery rhymes, her mom checking every syllable. There are other ways of looking at the world, we say. We go with what our city offers u s while trying t o break free from the humdrum routine.
Another way of tracing urban identity would be to examine what aspects or features are distinct. To draw from Teju Cole, Nigerian-American novelist and photographer whose work frequently looks at urban space and life, the 'subtleties, the smaller things' make one city different from another. The downtown may seem like a general picture of people and life, but also quite deceptive thanks to a certain standardization of design and lifestyle.
Nothing's very different from another metro: Young girls in baggy jeans munch tacos or chocolate-dipped churros; dudes in but- reciting nursery rh mom checking lable. Ther ways of the w say wi ou f r w i n iden be to what a features ar To draw from ton-down shirts with bold prints hang out at brewpubs and older foodies try out culinary novelties at gourmet restaurants.
Only Bengaluru has more of that. But there are little cities within the city, the nooks and corners that carry a stamp of local culture.
Patisseries coexist with traditional Iyengar bakeries; pav bhaji and gobi manchurian stalls aren't far away from pizzerias and the aroma of roasted coffee beans wafts from age-old shops located in the vicinity of new-age bistros.
The localities had their own traditions in the last century, some known for Kannada culture, some others for bustling bazaars, a few for cottage industries and the Cantonment for its clubs, bungalows and churches.
There are lanes, in Basavanagudi, for instance, where rangoli-sellers, milkmen and the suprabhatam playing somewhere can wake you up along with an ambulance siren.
None can feel a city's pulse better than a flaneur, the key character in urban life who stands detached from regular activity himself but is a keen observer of how it's all changing. He has seen people -- the hawkers, hangers-on, cobblers on the sidewalk, office-goers running to catch a bus or shopkeepers lighting an agarbatti after they raise the shutters.
He has seen processions, protests, celebrations and stampedes.
He has seen trees cut and playgrounds disappear.
And he has seen machines dig tunnels for the subterranean metro. He has walked past colonnades and domes of old British buildings, curled through the lanes of Chickpet listening to the 'thwack and clack' of the last weaving looms and the patterns of cowdung pats on walls of a rare tiled home.
The best days of his wanderings came in the 1970s and 1980s in Majestic when there was a floating stream of humans, many emerging from offices in the vicinity or the trading hubs of Avenue Road, Balepet and Chickpet, but predominantly from the matinee dreams of the 20-odd cinema houses.
There are many more streets now where hawkers have taken over the pavements, spreading their wares all over, sometimes sending pedestrians hopping over a heap of woolens or toys.
Streets that embody the vibrancy of neighborhoods and emphasize the contribution of small businesses and shopkeepers in creating dynamic spaces, as Jane Jacobs, the American-born Canadian urbanologist, would appreciate. And, as she added, it becomes evident that many of our ideas and conventions about redevelopment are 'visibly wrong'.
The flaneur understands this, because he has seen the best battles of transience versus timelessness.
People, after all, give places a different sense. They may break the stereotypes or prompt newer ones. For the Bengalurean who keeps discovering the various aspects of his city's captivating allure, age-old traditions blend seamlessly with modern innovations and culture. So, if we had the ability to travel through time, which period of the city would we choose to experience? Opinions would vary. If you have any doubts, ask the next-door techie.
He might say, 'Go ask Grok!'
The writer is a former Associate Resident Editor of The Times of India, Bengaluru. He has written on various social and cultural topics and co-edited an anthology on Bengaluru.