Bangalore Mirror. Tuesday, 23, February, 2010
http://www.bangaloremirror.com/index.aspx?page=others&do=/blogs/default.
I was born in this city and all my adult consciousness has been moulded in its quiet tenacity. Firm ambition laced in placid motives somehow silted by the shores of tradition and I trudged back home.
Only, home was not what I had left behind. Home, I took with me in my heart and that’s where it dwells now – there’s no disputing it: Bangalore is not familiar anymore.
That’s until more returnees surface and crunch, like a force, down ruffled alleys into old nooks that will not change. And within those resilient walls, flavours continue their dance in tandem with quick-footed and practiced waiters who know exactly what their purpose in life is: tireless service to those who walk in and groom their individual banana leaves of perfect proportion, colour and, soon, content.
Like a happy infection, the spirit takes over within moments. It’s like sitting in a sepia mirror box where everyone reflects, with each mouthful, the gastronomic bliss of the other. And each mouthful renews, with greater intensity, the anticipation of the next.
There is a reason Brindavan stays. And every bit of that reason steams, colourfully, off the fresh banana yelle , cheekily tempting a repeat visit.
It had been 20 years since I’d laid foot in that restaurant. I remembered how they moved away India Coffee House. The time I let lag now felt like a crime. In fact, I had even presumed it as another icon, dilapidated and raised down to make way for more unfeelingness that seems to have become Bangalore’s mainstay. But sitting inside the ever-so-unsunlit room, in exactly the same place as years before, watching my friends gasp and sigh at the palya and sambhar, droning "haaki, haaki” to every ladled hand, I could neither drool enough over my own delicious array of hapla, puri and mosuru nor could I get over the child-like delight of these unstoppable food geeks.
Smiles gave way only to furious mastication. I could not call this ‘greed’ –aptitude like this is of an infinitely higher brand. And yet, amidst the bustling of tumblers and hot buckets, there was ample time for chit-chat, plenty of scope to draw out a rasamised future, enough madness to plot the poaching of the bhatru who has churned out, for long suffering decades, the same staid stuff, uniquely, fantastically, consistently.
And there was also enough opportunity to contemplate the steady demise of a city so vibrant and rich in ethos and culture. The very fact that this piece is a tale of rediscovery and a celebration of misplaced pleasure, proves the infidelity of its citizenry.
Advancement has cost us not just our lands but also our emotions. Our distinctness has been compromised. We welcomed change out of naiveté and pay the price of awareness. Our perspectives, even, are not our own anymore. Those who care (and there are many still) grovel through and find what they know to belong – they will hold on to those strings. But the larger world sits atop the cliff, watching out for the weak links – and there are far too many.
I do not know how to bridge the gap between inevitable progress and diminishing essence but I know this: the forefathers have ground fierce strength into the foundations of this beautiful city – its soul will not crumble.
And that is why, inspite of yore, while I will not fight for the last room available at the Brindavan, while I will not even feel terrible about cooking up the most improbable excuse for not letting a friend stay there, I will find a way to ensure that, in that dim canteen room, I always have a table to relish the marvels that make this place irreplaceable.
In the heart of the smog and dust of ex-pristine MG Road, its sheer temerity keeps a Bangaloreness, breathing. Though in pockets, the city of our memories lives; the charms remain – earthy, unflinching and primal.
To the Bangalore we love and the Bangaloreness that keeps us loving, I wish, with more love, a sakaath Valentines’ Day.
http://www.bangaloremirror.com/index.aspx?page=others&do=/blogs/default.
I was born in this city and all my adult consciousness has been moulded in its quiet tenacity. Firm ambition laced in placid motives somehow silted by the shores of tradition and I trudged back home.
Only, home was not what I had left behind. Home, I took with me in my heart and that’s where it dwells now – there’s no disputing it: Bangalore is not familiar anymore.
That’s until more returnees surface and crunch, like a force, down ruffled alleys into old nooks that will not change. And within those resilient walls, flavours continue their dance in tandem with quick-footed and practiced waiters who know exactly what their purpose in life is: tireless service to those who walk in and groom their individual banana leaves of perfect proportion, colour and, soon, content.
Like a happy infection, the spirit takes over within moments. It’s like sitting in a sepia mirror box where everyone reflects, with each mouthful, the gastronomic bliss of the other. And each mouthful renews, with greater intensity, the anticipation of the next.
There is a reason Brindavan stays. And every bit of that reason steams, colourfully, off the fresh banana yelle , cheekily tempting a repeat visit.
It had been 20 years since I’d laid foot in that restaurant. I remembered how they moved away India Coffee House. The time I let lag now felt like a crime. In fact, I had even presumed it as another icon, dilapidated and raised down to make way for more unfeelingness that seems to have become Bangalore’s mainstay. But sitting inside the ever-so-unsunlit room, in exactly the same place as years before, watching my friends gasp and sigh at the palya and sambhar, droning "haaki, haaki” to every ladled hand, I could neither drool enough over my own delicious array of hapla, puri and mosuru nor could I get over the child-like delight of these unstoppable food geeks.
Smiles gave way only to furious mastication. I could not call this ‘greed’ –aptitude like this is of an infinitely higher brand. And yet, amidst the bustling of tumblers and hot buckets, there was ample time for chit-chat, plenty of scope to draw out a rasamised future, enough madness to plot the poaching of the bhatru who has churned out, for long suffering decades, the same staid stuff, uniquely, fantastically, consistently.
And there was also enough opportunity to contemplate the steady demise of a city so vibrant and rich in ethos and culture. The very fact that this piece is a tale of rediscovery and a celebration of misplaced pleasure, proves the infidelity of its citizenry.
Advancement has cost us not just our lands but also our emotions. Our distinctness has been compromised. We welcomed change out of naiveté and pay the price of awareness. Our perspectives, even, are not our own anymore. Those who care (and there are many still) grovel through and find what they know to belong – they will hold on to those strings. But the larger world sits atop the cliff, watching out for the weak links – and there are far too many.
I do not know how to bridge the gap between inevitable progress and diminishing essence but I know this: the forefathers have ground fierce strength into the foundations of this beautiful city – its soul will not crumble.
And that is why, inspite of yore, while I will not fight for the last room available at the Brindavan, while I will not even feel terrible about cooking up the most improbable excuse for not letting a friend stay there, I will find a way to ensure that, in that dim canteen room, I always have a table to relish the marvels that make this place irreplaceable.
In the heart of the smog and dust of ex-pristine MG Road, its sheer temerity keeps a Bangaloreness, breathing. Though in pockets, the city of our memories lives; the charms remain – earthy, unflinching and primal.
To the Bangalore we love and the Bangaloreness that keeps us loving, I wish, with more love, a sakaath Valentines’ Day.
Comments
we hold so dear our formative years, that reminiscing is a pleasure...
does not a fish grow larger with each story? do things not become more romantic, more dramatic, more creative, larger than life, with time?
i don't agree at all that things in yesteryear were better... time and life more ever forwards and never backwards.
yes, we enjoy our memories, as we were younger, less need for responsibilities and the other stresses that the current social structure imposes... but i think the holiness lies within.
i see beauty, love, greatness, intelligence, fantasy, practicality.. the question is ... where do i see it? i see it where i want to see it, and i see it in the young! those colleague students... i tell you, annoying they are, for they know everything! the funny thing is... they don't just think they do... they actually do... just like we did... i pray with time, they do not forget that enlightened state of being like the rest of us!
i preserve not yesterday, for to hold on to it, is to leave lesser space for the future to fulfill.
change, i say change... it never happens fast enough...
learn not from the lessons of yesterday, for today's world is different, and tomorrows will be different again... and yesterday's lessons are old, not applicable...
pray that things never become the way they were, for if they do, disillusionment shall be the order of the day, as the romantic fantasy of the beauty of yesteryear will be destroyed forever... some things are best enjoyed from afar... memories being the leader of that pack! :)
na to jageh baddalte hain, na hum. jagoh aur unme ho rahi tapdeeliyon ko pechanne ka aur un tapdeeliyon ko apnaney ka, humara nazaria badalta hai.badalta hi rehta hai. this is change.
as for holding on to yesterday and leaving less space for t'row, it is the essence i am talking of, here in scrumptious, not essentially the all of it. some things hold value for what they were, are, will be (in memory, or carefully preserved in the ever present). their easel may change many times, but as long as the sactum sanctorum retains its place, its power holds.
it is this power of the city of my birth that i believe in. i wish there was more of the yore preserved, and i hope the few remaining will stay - the past, its bonds and its effects never are old. they are a present in our memories. we need to chose how to make them shape a great future.
nazariye ka khel hai mahashay. nazaren to chook bhi sakti hai. jaise aksar hota hai :)
phir aiyega.
hope the honeymoon is going sweet and dreamy :)
einstein related space and time to make spacetime, and so it goes, that both space and time dance together and never independently :)
it is said, "those who forget the past, and cursed to make the same mistakes again" - perhaps, those who don't forget the past are promised eternal happiness?
for me, make mine not the truth but an illusion, for in truth, there is no difference between then...
magar[much] aasi ye nahi understand karde... ke, why internet activity increases at midnight :) aasi te sardar hagai haan... what is your excuse? :)
and as for staying on the same pg, i'd prefer to call it a variable agreeabilty - confusion is rather derogatory ;) good night :) meeting your boti on tue, i think - tusse hoge, to list noo hor lambi kar denge :)
as for mangalwar te milne de plan, saanu te kuch pata nahi... tusie dikhogai tou aasie auto start kar devan ge te ratna naal techie talk karan gei... :)
hun twanu pata chala ke khoon (oops.. i mean kaun) haga hai? :) :) :)
nanu tumba chanai-ge-danie :)
lol. your boti also has a trademark. gotha, yenu? unadi dimaag wich kutch nahi rehndi- like she says, aankon noo sort out karte karte, baki sab reh gaya :) par milne di kasar chooti nahi - we caghht up right and proper :) twanoo thang karne da change miss ho gaya, bas :( lol.