Column: Southern Bengaluru Chronicles

There was, on the opposite side of our street, a depression about four feet deep that ran parallel to the street. In this depression, were small individual cottages (I BHK, in modern terminology). Eight or nine of them, as I recall. These even had a kind of front veranda/porch kind of space.  The cottages were, I recall being told as a kid, built to house refugees coming from the partition woes of 1947. However, when we moved to the street in 1965, these buildings were police quarters – pronounced PO-līs kōtrassu. In the first of these lived M and fly.…

The relatives were visiting from the Tamil country. It was May 1967. The exact dates slip my memory. (They do say that memory is the second thing to go. I don’t remember what the first thing is. Oh, come on! It’s a tried and tested gag!) In those Good Old Days (when nostalgia was much better than now), booking a train ticket was rather an accomplishment. You had go to the railway station (SBC in our case), get a blank form to fill in, fill it in, and then stand in a queue. Remember that story you were told about…

A WP engine. Train no 7724, Nilagiri Express. Pic: IRFCA - www.irfca.org It was a sunny Sunday morning in 1966. My uncle, Gurunath, had been fascinated by trains for long before that, I guess. Sunday mornings were our outing times. This Sunday, he took me to the Bangalore City railway station. Platform 1 of those days was what is now Platform 7. The current ‘backside gate’, as auto drivers refer to it, was the main entrance. Construction of the current Platform 1 was in its early stages. Back to the old Platform 1 (PF1). We sat on a bench on…

A typical Indian Babu knows no obligations lower than his/her own rank. Rank though s/he may be, s/he will enforce the Golden Rule of Babutopia (GRB): “Kick downwards, lick upwards.” This is also called the Brown Sahib Syndrome; BSS is GRB with a melanin-twist: criticise, trample, kick anything native (read brown), and honour, extol, lick anything foreign (read white). My language is harsh, but it is the reality I see even after all these years of post-colonial, independent India, when we are rather kicking some international butt, even if in a limited sense. Take this episode for instance. A few…

It was camp-fire time at Naamadachilume, near Tumkur, Karnataka, school year 1972-73. All manner of sharing, singing, joking, and so on was going on. The Scout Master said, “I know students call me Dappa Ravay (V)unday. I think it is because I am a very sweet person.” In those few seconds, we realized that famous “fortune” line that would appear, decades later, on my Unix terminal: “Remember that secret you had? It isn’t!” DR Vijayendra Rao aka DRV, from a family photograph. Pic: DV Prahlad Generations of students (about 5 or 6 only, at the time) had called him that.…

Friday July 29th 2011 13:30 hrs Two workshops done. Absolutely joyous kids, full of energy. Got my adrenaline going. I was on my post-workshop high! I was packing up to leave for the day. Just as I was about to turn the lights off, I noticed a large-ish delegation of very small people making its way through the two slightly darkened ante-rooms leading up to the GeoVidyaa Geography Centre of Excellence in the back room. They seemed hesitant. I hailed them and said, “Come in, come in …” (I didn’t add, “Don’t feel shy!”) Delegation came in, came in. One…

As kids, we used to chant a popular ditty: Ganesha banda kaayi-kadubu tindaChik-kereyl bidda dodd-kereyl edda (Ganesha came, ate coconut modakaFell in the small lake, emerged from the big lake) Don’t ask.  But I’ll come to the point. And I do have one, believe it or not. In the 1960s, when we first moved to Jayanagara 6th block, there were two kereys (tanks). The small tank was to the west of Kanakapura Road and the large tank to the east. Unlike now, the tank bund part of Kanakapura Road was very narrow. If two lorries—usually rickety old Fords—had to pass…

Of whom are you? Who are you? Whence have you come?                                                                                                                 - Śamkara bhagavatpāda, “Moha-mudgarah” The roots of people are not always clear. Sometimes, it is quite all right for things to be that way. Nothing much is gained by knowing the facts as they seem…

My primary schooling was at Sri Kamala Nehru Makkala Mandira. The school was housed in old houses, some of them bungalows, others not, dotted about the Yediyur circle area and even in Tata Silk Farm. This was a lower-middle-class kind of school. However, that characterisation belies the nutrimentum spiritus (food for the soul) that was dispensed there. By luck or by design, the school had some amazing teachers. I certainly was lucky they were in my life. Classrooms were held in the patio (suitably partitioned with a plywood “wall”), in the bedrooms, under staircases, on balconies, in “servants’ quarters”.  In…

Saturday December 4th 1971. Morning classes had just begun. Schools had “morning class” on Saturdays – an awkward arrangement with classes starting at 7:30 or some such hour and ending around noon. The previous night, Friday December 3rd 1971, the nightly All India Radio (AIR) newscast had announced the outbreak of war between India and Pakistan. I missed that. Saturday morning, the newspapers carried tall big headlines announcing the events, with details. I merely glanced at these. The second period was Social Studies class by Sri B Narasanna (BN, as he was called at school). We pulled out our extremely…