Yesterday we went birding to Manchinabele Reservoir and several of us planned to go to Kommaghatta Lake this morning.

One of us did visit…and found that the lake had…disappeared.

Here’s part of her message:

“sorry for sending bad news your way so early, ….i reached the *erstwhile* kommaghatta lake and found no sign of it… I could hardly believe my eyes… the entire lake is GONE, disappeared, lake bed dredged up and big mounds lying all over the place. walked across the lake bed… i meant to walk the entire stretch but after a point didn’t have the heart to do it…. still can’t get over the anger and the shock….
no cheers,
-g”

The anguish we all feel speaks through those strong words. How DARE BBMP dry up our water bodies like this? Have they no sense? I read last week that BBMP does not want to plant any more trees in Bangalore because “the roots are shallow”. This may be true of the Rain trees and the Spathodeas (which are from Africa) …but what about planting banyan trees, neem trees or mango trees instead? Our old roads and highways had shelter for wayfarers, and sheltered wildlife and birds, and gave welcome shade even to motorized vehiccles.

What on earth is wrong with our present government that they are so extremely shortsighted>

Is there some way we can get the BBMP to account for the disappearance of Kommaghatta Lake?

I am told that Jakku Lake has been similarly drained. I am…truly anguished. Should I stand by and see my city being murdered and literally dried to death in this fashion? NOTHING will bring back the trees and the lakes once they are going. We can just have “Sampangi Tank Road” and “Miller Road Tank Bed” as road signs, that’s all.

click here

to see where Kommaghatta Lake is….was…situated.

Interesting to see election posters in Bangalore, with the face that moved America.
As far as my memory goes, I haven’t seen any political icon beyond our shores gracing
an election backdrop in terms of face value.

There’s more.

My investment broker was talking to me about property prices in Bangalore and how things
would steady, now that Obama had taken over as President. At a coffee shop, I eaves-
dropped to hear another amazing take on Obama’s capabilities; how he could single-handedly
take India out of recession. I have seen school children fighting bullies with the ultimate
threat : Obama will come and beat you guys up!

I wouldn’t be surprised to see a small Obama temple springing up somewhere in the city.
And people actually stopping by on the way to office – to say a small prayer …
make a small wish.

We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
May everything you’re looking forward to, come true -
wherever you are in the world.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Rolls Royce Phantom ! Take a bow !

In 2007, Rolls Royce sold 11 Phantoms in India .The car is priced between Rs. 3.5 and 4 crore.

1. First, and foremost…..if I do what most of my fellow-Bangaloreans do and drive a car…..the traffic. No matter how many flyovers and underpasses and magic boxes have been built, the traffic volumes make sure that the roads are so choked in the evening that the vehicles just inch forward in clouds of smoke and roars of revving engines. I do hate sitting in a car which is at idling speed, guzzling petrol, and releasing fumes into the air, along with all the other vehicles doing the same thing.

Yesterday, we *had* to take the car; we left for Chowdiah at 5.45pm…and got back at 11.40 pm. Six hours for a play that ran an hour and a half…not viable, to my mind.

2. The utter lack of public transport. Not wanting to take a car means that I must take a bus or an auto to Chowdiah. The first alternative means that a. I must change buses at Majestic, and even then, it is a fairish walk to the hall. On the way back, I must walk (late at night) at least to Shivananda Circle to try and get a bus to Majestic. All this means a two-hour journey each way, added to the time spent in watching the play.

2a. If, instead of taking a bus, I want to save time by taking an auto, I may get to Chowdiah in reasonable time…but what about when the play or concert finishes? No auto will be available at that time, and I will either have to cadge a lift from someone or do that long walk mentioned in (2) above.

Why can we not have feeder vans running from Chowdiah to major bus stations (or at least to Majestic)? Why is this utter disincentive for people to use public transport, leaving them the only alternative of bringing their cars (and causing massive traffic jams after the show)?

All of the above is not to do with the hall, specifically, but with its location. But at the hall, too, I have issues.

3. No play or concert ever starts on time at Chowdiah. If an event is billed for 7.30pm, it is a safe bet that it will not begin for at least 20 minutes thereafter. This, of course, pushes the ending time also into the area where finding transport to come back becomes a major logistics issue. Further speeches and thankings during the course of the show further delay its end.

4. There is no audience discipline at all. Yesterday’s performance was scheduled at 7.30pm; at 8.25 pm, people were still walking in…and were being allowed in by the organizers. In this regard, I have a very high opinion indeed for Ranga Shankara, which gives real respect to the performing artistes by not allowing anyone to walk in and disturb the proceedings after 7.30pm, when the show begins (punctually…in 4 years, I have seen only two occasions when the show started late.)

5. The canteen at Chowdiah is also pathetic. They have about 1000-strong seating, but they never seem to realize it, and all the snacks and tea run out within the first ten minutes of the intermission, and even if I want a bag of chips or those oily-fried samosas, I cannot. I might have come hungry to the venue, but must remain hungry until the end of the show. Once again, the temptation to compare this with Anju’s excellent cafe at Ranga Shankara is there….the cafe actually serves food according to the play that is running at the time, and instead of the inscrutable visages of the servers at the Chowdiah canteen, it’s a pleasure seeing the smiling faces of Anju and her helpers, who try not to run out of snacks. It’s a whole difference in attitude. The cafe at Alliance Francaise is pretty good in this respect, too.

6. The new arrangement of the toilets. For some reason, the gents’ and ladies’ toilets have been interchanged, but it is NOT nice to walk into the “ladies” toilet and be faced with a series of men’s urinals….why on earth have they been retained in the ladies’ toilet?

I repeat, this is a personal opinion, and I do not expect others to share it, or even agree with it…but nothing is going to get me to Chowdiah Memorial Hall on a weekday any more! :)

The first visit to the office situated on Bannerghatta Road, I realized that the Labor office was anything but small. It was a huge building with many floors. Strangely the huge building had a reception area with a lady seated there. Of course it didn’t say it was the reception. Actually it didn’t say anything. But I approached the lady & told her of my business. The lady didn’t know the officer’s name for the designated area I wanted, she asked a guy standing nearby & he didn’t know either. Just then a group of men passed by and the question was put to them. One of them answered. I was guided to the 2^nd floor. Where on 2^nd floor I asked? ‘You ask someone there’ I was told.

The corridors were empty. The many doors that opened into huge halls were divided I guess on the basis of the various areas in Bangalore & Karnataka. Not finding anybody in the corridor to talk to I entered one such hall & approached a person at the desk. When I stated my business, he asked for my area & then guided me to a particular hall & a particular inspector.

Once again I imagined an old, very irritated person sitting at the desk who would look at you like you were from another planet, may be find something missing among the documents & order you to come back again. For some reason dealing with somebody from the administration is always thought of on these lines.  But it was not so. The person I met looked very officer like, had a nice clean & orderly desk. He took a good look at the application I had filled up & asked for the fees. How much I asked? Thousand two fifty he said. And went on to write a receipt for Rs 300. I was actually glad it was only that much & not more.

I had started to converse in Kannada but he spoke to me in English & good fluent English at that. When he handed me the certificate it was handwritten & it was in Kannada He said I should display the certificate in the office & then he went on to list all the other documents I had to maintain. And finally he said, ‘once a year you should visit this office & uhhh…..have a give take policy with this office’. I nodded an OK & asked him the renewal details & occasions when we had to update the office which very strangely he explained in much detail.

All of this took about fifteen minutes. Lucky or what?

Meet Raju, our dhobiwalla from Frazer Town. He’s been a regular with us over the last 25 years. And a good example of peripheral relationships in old Bangalore. You know all about his kids and he has seen your kids growing up right from the time they were in diapers.

Raju is like our postman, who often drops by for a cup of tea and to chat about how things have changed after “email”.

But Raju is now endangered species – with coal prices spiraling, power tariffs on a shock-spree and shop rents hitting the roof. The “new age” cleaner around the corner is another looming threat to his existence. He is getting old and does not visualize his children getting into the same line. So it won’t be long before his trusty cycle leans against his wall to gather dust.

I don’t know how many old Bangaloreans can identify with this feeling of loss in terms of a close “peripheral relationship”, but I’m sure many of you have grown up with these familiar faces who have been so much a part of your life.

Another closed chapter on the changing face of Bangalore.

First facts, yes the Bangalore International Airport is far from the city. This fact is so drilled into all of us by now that I suppose we are so mentally tuned to a long travel & starting off well in advance. Once the mental tuning is done the ride becomes that much more bearable. Largely the road from the Hebbal flyover is wide & good so a good car should be able to travel 80-100 km/hr. It took us about an hour to get to the Airport from Commercial Street that Saturday evening.

I really don’t know what a layman should expect from an Airport or from a new Airport for that matter. And especially for someone like me who doesn’t travel around by flights then it is once again of very little significance. But all the hype of the new Airport mostly for the wrong reasons got me curious & I wanted to be there & check it out functioning. Luckily, Brother was off to the US so we went there to see him off.

Only the passengers are allowed entry in to the terminal building while those who travel with the passengers to see them off basically have to hang outside the terminal building. Entry inside is allowed only in the Arrival section. That said the facilities for people who go all the way there to see off someone are not great at all.  The Terminal building is all glass & completely see-through type. So the only activity for most people who go there to see someone off is to follow the progress being made by their traveler in the check in queue. Apart from doing that we looked around for two things. One, some place where we could sit & two, for the toilet. Both were not to be seen. When we enquired with some uniformed facility management chaps their answer was, ‘there is no toilet outside’. That definitely had to be wrong. How could BIAL miss out on something as basic as that? Some more enquiries and we got the directions. We had to walk about 500 meters from the Terminal building for the toilet. And honestly there was nothing International about this toilet, at least in its maintenance. It is very Indian & very local.

I was keen to know how different can an ‘International Airport’ be from an ‘Airport’. I mean really what can be the difference? Well this is what I realized. There is no difference. An Airport is an Airport. And that’s pretty much it. For all those of us who hang out a lot at the malls in Bangalore, we are already used to the escalators, glow signs, uniformed facility management chaps, colorful chairs in the food zones, the organized parking & so on & so forth. The Bangalore International Airport is no different. But yes where the Bangalore International Airport can learn something from the Mall’s facility management chaps is in the maintenance of the toilets. One other area where they can take tips from a mall is in putting up some displays as to where the toilets are. I guess the kind of people who make malls & airports are the same. Because at both places you cant sit.

But yes where the feel of International comes in according to me is in the fact that you don’t see any autos & two wheelers around (I didn’t see any two wheelers at the air port that day but can’t confirm if they are not allowed there). Another area where you get a feel of International is in the size of the entire thing. It’s big & especially so when it’s compared to the previous HAL Airport. Despite these stand out features where it probably lacks in the International tag is Security. It does seem relaxed. Even the area next to the terminal building where some flights are parked can be clearly seen from the distance. The flights are only about a stone’s throw away.  One other area where some improvement would be great is in the food area. Is darshini type food or South Indian food per se not International? Why is it that we get more North Indian & the burger/sandwich type fare there than South Indian? Where is the promotion of local culture there

To sign off on a good note there is one good thing and that too with the most dreaded aspect about the airport, the connectivity. One can rest assured about the connectivity. BMTC has buses every half hour & round the clock. We took a BMTC Volvo well past mid night. This definitely is more cost effective & convenient but only to get into the city. From there you will have to rely on the auto or a taxi again. Other wise of course there are taxi services round the clock as well at the airport.

The hero of this recently released movie is obviously using this drainpipe to “pour his heart out” to his beloved….but, as two ladies near me kept giggling and pointing out, “Where’s the water going to come out from?”

We kept laughing about it all the way home….people who put up posters may lack imagination, but people who look at them certainly make up for that!

I am not the one for great reflexes but survival is another thing altogether. In those seconds that the driver used to open the car windows, I had taken out my wallet and shoved it down the pouch at the back of the driver’s seat. The thought that I was not carrying my laptop offered additional solace to a heart that had lost its sense of rhythm and poise.

“It’s the police”, the driver said aloud, uncertain about whom he was trying to reassure.

Till the beam hit his face, I had not taken in the driver’s face very well. He was young, in his twenties, lean, and his eyes indifferent to the face staring at him from the other side.

“What’s your name” came the growl.

“Muniswamy”

The  indifference was now in his throat.

“Come closer and answer, I cannot hear you!”. The officer was definitely not in a mood to let go.

“Muniswamy” the cabbie answered, slightly louder, leaning towards the face. A few inches closer, and it could have gotten pretty scandalous.

“Fine, go!”.

Before I could get used to the anti-climax, we were back to the comfort of our darkness once again.

“Strange”, I said, “that he just wanted to know your name.” “What for?”

“checking my breath…for alcohol” muniswamy replied, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice.

“What a weird way to check someone”, I muttered. “In America, they use machines for that. Police don’t have to smell our bad breath”

“Software engineeraa?” 

 Much as I wanted to imagine hatred or jealousy in that tone, there was none.

“No, writer”. That was as explicit as I was willing to be.

“Which newspaper? Times of India?”

“I don’t write for a newspaper. I write books, technical books.”

“Engineering books aa?”

“Sort of”

“My son studies in an English school. I want him to be a software engineer”

“Would you have a problem if he wanted to be a driver like his father?”

“You saw the police now, right?”

“You think I missed?”

“Same story, every day. Some days, like today, I get lucky. Otherwise, it is hell”

“Don’t you have your papers?”

“You think that is enough for them? They will ask for papers even the RTO inspector doesn’t know of”

“How much money do they take?”

“Depends. On lucky days, I have gotten away with 25″

“And if you don’t have money?”

“There are other favors”

“Like what?”

“That is not for decent people like you to know”

There was a certain finality to the tone.

“Physical?”

“Let’s not talk about it,” “That is between me and my God”

“Sure…” “let’s not talk about it”

For once, I did not want to know either.

Whether it was the silence that got to him or his own helplessness, I will never know.

“They are the devil’s children! The goddess will come and kill them all! It is only a matter of time now!” he suddenly yelled out. The tears that did not get to his eyes were choking his throat.  And as sudden as the outburst was, the calm that befell it immediately after was equally confounding.

There are few situations when I don’t have anything to say, and this was a close call.

“I am sure” I finally replied with the confidence of one who has been-there- prayed-that, “your goddess will protect you.”