When
we shifted from Chhattisgarh to Bangalore two years back, I had made a silent
vow that I would not buy a car in the new city. It was a sentimental decision,
not wishing to contribute further to the traffic mess and the spiraling
pollution of the once-lovely city. But circumstances forced me to eat my
unspoken words soon.
First
concern - distance from home to office. In my case it is thirteen kilo metres from
Malleshwaram to Koramangala which takes almost an hour on the congested and
pot-holed roads of Bangalore. I googled the website of BMTC to find out any
direct bus connectivity between these two points. No luck. ‘We had a Volvo
service before. But there were hardly any passengers and all those who did
travel, had passes! So the bus was cancelled’, informed the helpful bus depot
manager at the Malleshwaram bus stand. Then I tried carpooling. I surfed
various websites and registered my name and address, place of work and
convenient timings for travel. My wife teased me that I was desperate to find a
young female partner for travel. I ignored the taunts but fondly hoped that her
words would come true. Nothing happened! A good sixteen months later, I did
receive a response from a lady but I had to inform her with a heavy heart that
I was no more looking for a companion, for carpooling or otherwise. Like they
say in cricket, timing is of utmost importance.
For
three months I traveled by bus and my boss in the office refused to part with
an unused office vehicle. Since there was no direct conveyance to the
destination I had to switch buses. In the evenings, I hated to pay through my
nose for travelling in overcrowded Volvo buses, with the smell of stale perfume
from hip co-passengers (mostly software guys) mixed with sweat assailing my
olfactory senses. Once, a young man in sleeveless shirt standing next to me
pushed his hirsute, open armpit right under my nose. Revolted, I shoved him
hard and ducked to regain my breath and some fresh air. In the mornings, auto rickshawwalahs
refused to ply short distances. I took down the numbers of errant auto drivers
but lacked the perseverance to pursue. In the evenings whenever we wanted to go
to a hotel for dinner, again, the omnipotent autowalahs spoiled the party (and
peace at home) with a casual shake of their heads. If the school van failed to
turn up one morning, I had to borrow a friend’s vehicle. At long last, I
listened to the advice of my wife and children, swallowed my pride, broke my
vow and quietly bought a ‘pre-owned’ Maruti car.
For
close to two years now, it has been my habit every evening before I leave the
office to part the blinds of the window to peer at the overlooking streets
below to gauge the mood of traffic. Is it all clear? Is the vehicle movement
maddeningly slow? Is it gliding smoothly, like a knife through amul butter? I
perform this ritual with trepidation. Not that a roadblock would stop me from heading
home! But a traffic jam when you hit the road is a harbinger of a long, long journey
ahead.
When the drive begins, I try not to see
the madness outside. I close my eyes and struggle to catch my forty winks. I
fail. Then I turn on the FM and try to listen to some new Hindi or Kannada
songs. But these days there are more ads and less music in radio channels.
Dejected and defeated, I look out.
Traffic is senseless and depressing in Bangalore and the hapless
traffic police are responsible in the least for the chaos. In fact, they
respond to your calls with alacrity and try their best to mitigate the havoc.
Motorists break the rules at will and honk at the slightest of pretext and
sometimes for no reason at all. I have drawn two conclusions after prolonged
observation of motorists in Bangalore. First, the number one culprit in
breaking traffic rules are two wheelers, followed by autos, taxis and buses in
that order. Secondly, women are in no way inferior to men in violation of road
codes.
But there is also another facet to
Bangalore, which makes this city definitely livable even to this day despite
all the pockmarks. A part that struggles for survival in the face of unimpeded
growth of population, vehicles, malls and indifference. The weather is
wonderful here and this is the biggest draw for most outsiders who once in
Bangalore, do not feel like moving out. A considerable part of Bangalore is
still green, especially the older neighborhoods. Of course, green zones and the
lung spaces have shrunk and you can hardly find fluttering leaves against the
sky in the new localities. But random efforts are on by active NGOs and
foresters to bring back the lost glory. This city has a vibrant middle class
which still cherishes the values of a decent, dignified living. People are
courteous and helpful. Private schools are not only about air-conditioned class
rooms, ipads and NASA visits. MTR (Mavalli Tiffin Room) is still there and so
is the charming Gandhi Bazar. Darshini hotels are ubiquitous, clean and serve
tasty food at reasonable prices. Where else can you have a glass of fresh fruit
juice for ten to fifteen bucks? Lalbagh and Cubbon Park are serene and enchanting,
even today. The only question is, for how long.
