A city of green thumbs

Bangalore’s famous public parks may have helped it get the Garden City title, but its residents too have ‘nurtured’ this image with their own little home gardens. The garden culture has always been a part of the city with its residents proud of the geraniums in their flower beds or tomatoes in the kitchen patches.

While the sight of old bungalows with large mango, jackfruit, neem or champak trees is becoming rare, the city’s residents are squeezing in vegetation in pots, on terraces, pergolas and window sills. With so much premium on space, the city’s horizontal growth has been curbed considerably, taking a toll on these stately old trees. And hence, like everything else in the city, trees too are growing vertically. This means, only the coconut trees have managed to hold on to their roots in the face of the steel and concrete invasion. In most homes, a coconut tree seemed to be a permanent fixture.  One can tell whether a locality is developed or is still a struggling settlement in the outskirts by looking at its skyline. The sight of coconut trees from any elevated spot is an indication that the locality has “come of age”. 

Gardens served not only to improve the aesthetics but also offered utility with the pious housewife picking the hibiscus from the compound , jasmine  from the creeper clinging to the barbed wire on the wall for her prayers, or pulling a few springs of curry leaves for her steaming rasam from the tree in the backyard.

The children on the other hand spent time on the guava trees, foraging for fruits on them with squirrels and neighbours for competition or sucked the nectar out of the hibiscus flowers, shooing away the humming bird and the mongrel, which has developed a taste for the buds. The dog however has no competitors for the ripe papayas that drop down to the ground and expose their insides.

Hence, most Bangaloreans today consider it a sacrilege to buy guavas and papayas off the carts and from markets since they could be had readily from one’s garden or the neighbour’s at no cost.

Neighbours are an integral part of the home gardens. While most exchanged seeds, cuttings, tubers or the produce, others simply pinched or “borrowed” pumpkins and gourds from across the walls. Like the garden produce, gardening implements too are borrowed and seldom returned.

A new patch of vegetables is watered under the watchful eyes of not only the owner with the green thumb but also the neighbour who’s green with envy.

vijaysimha@newindianexpress.com

Ritual of the Sunday Shower

Most Bangaloreans, not so long ago, set aside Sundays for their weekly bathing ritual. There is no attempt here to suggest here that Bangaloreans did not bathe during the rest of the week, though some feel they can be excused for not  getting into the shower, given the overcast skies and the chill in the air.
The Sunday shower differed from the daily ritual rinse in many ways and is not to be attempted on a working day, lest one misses the BTS bus to work. For, this weekly wash was no ordinary scrub, where one entered the shower with a tune on the lips and emerged with the towel drying the hair and the tune yet to reach the last stanza. The Sunday shower was an elaborate exercise that involved the entire household. The head of the house is assigned the duty of getting the huge copper cauldron of water boiling for which he has to stuff the fireplace in the bathroom with firewood, charcoal, cow dung cakes or anything combustible, including a broken rosewood chair or the children’s notebooks in times of emergency. And then, he’d work on the flames with the black iron blow pipe that would make a whistling sound as he empties the air from his lungs onto the embers.
One look at the neighbourhood from the terrace shows how many blow pipes are at work as the blue smoke billows out of the the long asbestos chimneys on the roof tops of all the houses in the locality. Chimneys usually have a perforated cap on the top to keep rainwater out and also to thwart the attempts of the mischievous boy wanting to drop his tennis ball into it, blocking the chimney and filling the bathroom with smoke.
The neighbour has no way of getting away by lying that he has had his bath. No smoking chimney, no bath.
For his efforts, the one working at the fireplace will get his scalp oiled with the thick viscous castor oil and the skin with the aromatic gingely oil. After several minutes of massaging the scalp and skin, the mixture of the washing medium is prepared. Soapnut powder and a green herbal powder are mixed in hot water and the compound is mixed thoroughly and applied on the hair after it is sufficiently wetted. Repeated applications of the mixture are made to remove the last traces of the adamant castor oil and then, as one steps out, the flaming red eyes from soapnut powder and smoke from the fireplace show that the weekly ritual is done.
Finally, one steps out of the house to feel the wind in the light, fluffy hair and announce to the neighbourhood that you haven’t skipped the bath.

vijaysimha@newindianexpress.com

Lalbagh

Bussing in Bangalore

Reporting hours early at the airport for a flight is now an accepted norm, but it wasn't uncommon to allow such lead time for public transport buses in Bangalore a few years ago. The city's buses were so notorious for delays, breakdowns and missed trips that any journey from point A to point B in the city, required detailed planning. It earned such a bad reputation that BTS, short for Bangalore Transport Service, was better known as Bittre Tirga Sigalla (Miss it and you won't get it again), or Banni Tholli Swami (Come, give it a push).
After an endless wait at the bus stop, commuters had to squeeze themselves into the red, rickety buses if they ever halted at the stops, and get ready to alight again since it would take ages to wade through the crowded aisles and reach the jam packed exit. And then, after one or two stops, there was more waiting on the bus to allow the conductor to finish issuing his tickets, licking his fingers each time he tears one off the pad.
Today's conductor carries little gadgets to print tickets, the buses are equipped with LED scrolling displays within and outside, with a GPS system announcing the approaching stop, they run on air suspension and have pneumatic doors, low-floors and some even have airconditioning.
Buses still are over crowded during peak hours but one can now afford to give such buses a miss and wait for one on which one gets a toehold, unlike in the past when a missed bus meant returning home or an autorickshaw ride. One would rarely be able to make a round trip to Malleswaram from Jayanagar in one day. If one walked past people waiting at a bus stop, it was not uncommon to see the same set of people with their faces showing greater anxiety and impatience, even 45 minutes later and with no bus visible on the horizon.
Though complaints still pour in about the transport system, BMTC, as it is called now, has been trying to keep pace with the city's growth.
With Bangalore's erstwhile outskirts now turning into the city centre, suburban buses, which used to ferry villagers, their farm produce and sometimes even their farm animals, are now the preferred mode of commuting for laptop laden techies. Smoking, which used to be a norm on these buses, has virtually been stubbed out, thanks not only to new smoking regulations but also because it is not acceptable today.
For a sleepy city with a leisurely pace of life, the erstwhile BTS didn't seem too out of place. But with Bangalore now on the move, it's citizens have no time for the lumbering old bus service.
And with the metro promising some hope, commuters can now finally commute and not just wait. But with the launch date, getting pushed again, Bangaloreans hope they don't have to wait for it like they did for the old BTS buses.

Big city edges out little bird

"Dear sparrow, please come back. All is forgiven." That's the bird lovers' plea to the humble house sparrow that's been missing from Bangalore for some years now. The little bird used to be an integral part of every household not so long ago. Ventilators, attics, ledges and the shelters of tiled roofs served as nests for these feathered families, where entire generations found their wings.
The tiny tots in the house were always fascinated by these fluttering and chirping friends and tried to befriend them everytime these birds hopped around on the floor picking up the remnants of the grains left over after the grandmother's rice cleaning session.
To some, the birds may have all looked similar, but little children who had been watching the birds fly in and out of the house, could easily tell one from the other. The birds too, like the human inhabitants of the house, had occasional arguments, probably over the upbringing of the nestlings or for returning late to the nest and created a racket, with each one trying to out-chirp the other.
Dry grass and bits of cotton and coir from the mattresses usually made up the cosy nests, where small, grey, speckled eggs used to be hatched. Every time the birds returned to the nests, the bare, skinny nestlings would begin their little squeals in chorus and stop only after they got their fill.
Soon, they'd grow feathers and wings and the adventuruous of the siblings would venture to discover the big bad world, only to drop down on to the floor, unable to finds its wings. It is then left to the inmates of the house to return the sheepish bird to the nest, before the pet mongrel or cat tried to make a meal of it.
Bangalore's growth and its citizens' lifestyle seem to have pushed the little birds out of the daily life here. With houses having sprawling compounds, it was customary to keep the front doors open during the day. This allowed these birds to fly in and out at will. This also allowed the neighbourhood's children and the old woman next door to walk in. The former with a ball and the latter with the latest gossip. Today, with front doors opening directly to the road or the corridors in the case of flats, leaving the door open would mean inviting trouble in the form of pollution and "pests" of every kind. Gradually, as the old big houses with those high Mangalore tiled ceilings made way for new houses, the nests too disappeared. And with the city getting warmer, the ceiling fans ran throughout the year, keeping the birds away. And then, with the communications revolution, the mobile towers are said to be affecting these birds.
Citizens today no longer wake up the chirping. The only twitter at homes today are on the laptops and PCs.

B'lore's choking on plastic

The ban on thin plastics is here and Bangaloreans hope this would mitigate the city's garbage problem to an extent. Though plastic alone is not the cause for the mess, it is a big eye sore and the most conspicuous. Plastic bags lie around, fly around, stick to trees and shrubs, get into cows' stomachs and just don't go away. Higher population density, lack of dustbins and citizens' tendency to litter without conscience, have only added to the menace.
Some time ago, people used to scorn at those who didn't dispose of garbage properly. But today it is common to see Bangaloreans drop toffee wrappers, coffee cups, banana peels, pamphlets, paper plates and soft drink PET bottles wherever they like.
With a ban on plastic, it could be back to those old cloth bags, the 'brown paper packages tied up with strings', or the once familiar all-purpose bags made of plastic wires in which an uncle brought home a puppy and carried with him a papaya from the garden. It could be the time again to relive the pleasure of discovering a surprise gift, making a rustling sound while unwrapping a brown paper package that your dad brought home and exclaim with joy as you find fire crackers, or colour pencils, or your favourite book in it.
If the ban is indeed enforced strictly, one cannot leave home without carrying a bag since one will not be able to stuff tomatoes into one's pockets. And in any case, with today's inflation, one is forced to carry a bag as one steps out of the house -- to carry the money to buy your things!
Today, everything comes in plastic -- milk, coconut water and the full course of a meal from your favourite restaurant -- rasam and buttermilk included. One could soon be able to make omelettes by breaking plastic eggs.
Bangaloreans sure are accustomed to the convenience of polythene. With the city known for its fickle weather, plastic bags keep the shopper's head and bottom dry from the falling rain and the wet motorcycle seat respectively. But surely, when it comes to the overall good of the city, they would certainly be willing to put up with a little inconvenience, with their patented phrase: "Swalpa adjust madi."
And if they can learn this, there is no reason why they can't unlearn this new found habit of littering without qualms. But that's another story altogether.

B'loreans love their weddings

As the wedding season starts in the city, the Bangalore Press calendars hanging on the walls of the city's homes begin to have their dates circled. More often than not, there is more than one wedding on a single day and the invited households begin to brainstorm on whether to attend the morning ceremony (breakfast included), lunch or reception. After some guess work on the guest list, a decision is made on whether to avoid or attend the morning event or the evening get together. If the wedding is on a working day, the decision is generally based on convenience or Bangalore's notorious weather. However, it's the menu that's the overriding factor on most occasions. One would then have to decide on the idlis or upma and piping hot coffee for breakfast or a multi-course spread for lunch or bisibele bath and curd rice for the reception buffet .

Wedding invites are either made personally or pop up in the mail boxes. The contents of the cards are carefully noted. The lunch and dinner timings are marked, the map and bus routes studied and accordingly leave applications are forwarded to the bosses. Though some cards mention that presents must be avoided, carrying a gift is a must on such occasions. Generally, the wedding couple is paid back in the same coin, meaning, depending on what gift the couple's family had given during the invitees' wedding, a gift is bought accordingly. Those unable to make a decision, generally insert a currency note and a `1 coin and hand it over to the couple with "best wishes".

The womenfolk, of course, have to make another decision. On what sari and jewellery to wear. On the big day, they're off, all decked up with gift wrapped presents in one hand and the invite in the other, referring to the map now and then.

On arrival at the venue, after the customary greetings and courtesies, one takes the queue to the wedding altar to hand over the gift, with one eye on the other queue to the dining hall.

With the formalities done, it's over to the dining table, waiting in front of the bare plantain leaf. Gradually, the empty spaces on the leaf begin to get occupied by mounds of delicacies of varying sizes. As the servers walk along the row of leaves dropping off dishes, the diners who first accept the offerings gladly, by and by go slow as the belt begins to feel tight. As the server arrives with the next dish, the diner's indecision is obvious as his left hand tells the server he's had enough but his right hand clears the leaf for him to serve his favourite puliyogare. The right hand generally wins and as the last course consumed the guest finally lifts himself from the seat with much effort.

The purpose served, it's final goodbyes with smiles on the red paan stained lips, and the carry bag containing the customary coconut and beetle leaves replacing the wedding gift in the hand.

vijaysimha@newindianexpress.com

Greeting or loaded question?

Bangaloreans greet each other like people in any other city. "En samachara? Channagi iddira?" (Any tidings? Hope you are fine). But there is another form of greeting that is probably unique to typical Bangaloreans and probably speaks for their obsession -- food and drink. "En samachaara? Oota ayitha?" Or "Kaapi ayitha?" alternatively, "Tippan ayitha?" (Had your lunch....had your coffee...or had your snack?...depending on the time of the day).

While eating out has become a pastime for many Bangaloreans today, food seemed to be central to the city's residents from time immemorial and that's probably why references to food were brought to greetings and to talk of the time of the day.

Most of the time, the greeting is made for want of anything specific to say. And when in doubt, the Bangalorean takes recourse to what he knows best, and that is food, knowing that the other person would not take offence.

And by convention, to the question "Oota ayitha?", the other person replies, "Ayithu", though the growls from his hungry tummy nearly drown out his acknowledgement. It's probably his way of saying, "Consider it done."

There are others who go a step further and make a normal greeting but don't follow it up with the customary question but instead gesture to the other person with a clenched fist, the thumb sticking out and moving towards to the mouth, accompanied by the question: "Kaapi?" as an offer to have coffee with him, but deep within, hoping the other person won't accept the invitation. And as the person politely declines his request with a shake of hand and the reply "Ayithu", there is relief for the person who makes the offer.

Bangaloreans not only think using food to greet people is safe and convenient, but also believe it is a sure way to calm an angry Bangalorean, if ever there was one. When a purchase manager at a factory, who is behind time on his payments to his suppliers, is unable to convince the salesman that the cheque will be ready "soon", he tries the time tested solution. "Let's talk it over lunch at our cafeteria." And by the time the last morsel on the plate is polished off, not only are traces of anger in the salesman wiped out but any of memory of why he came to the factory is blanked out. The confrontation changes to congeniality and they part ways with handshakes, and priorities fulfilled.

vijaysimha@newindianexpress.com

Bangalore rocks, standing tall

Bangalore is known for its undulating landscape, interspersed by rocky outcroppings here and there. Though some of these granite edifices have been turned concave by quarrying over the years, a few famous landmarks still remain.
The imposing Lal Bagh rock, Ragi Gudda in Jayanagar, the Bugle Rock in Basavangudi, Mount Joy, Ramanjaneya Gudda and Kumara Parvata in Hanumanthnagar towered over the settlements around them and used to be visible from miles away. And alternatively, a view from atop one of these mounds afforded an unrestricted view of the city. But the rapidly transforming city scape has changed all that.
Standing on Lal Bagh's rock and watching planes make a gradual descent at the HAL Airport on the eastern horizon used to be a popular pastime. Not anymore, for, not only have commercial flights stopped landing at the airport but even if they did, new high rises limit the view to just 200 metres.
Climbing on to one’s terrace, one could get an unrestricted view of at least one of these giant rock formations, for, the only things taller than these landmarks were the tall fir trees here and there. One did not have to scale a multi-storied building to get a view of the city's green expanse. With landmarks jutting out of green clumps, one could tell one locality from the other by just standing on one’s first floor.
Besides these mounds within the city, for many years till recently, two other great edifices associated with Bangalore’s history always remained visible to the city’s residents.
The blue, two-humped outline of the Savandurga hill dominated the western horizon of most parts of south Bangalore for many years. Though it is around 60 km from the city, close to Kempegowda's Magadi, the hazy blue hill never failed to catch the eye, dwarfing everything else around it since it is the highest natural feature for miles around.
While the grey contours of the hill show up early in the morning as it bathes in the sunlight, by noon, it turns to a moody blue and finally a dark purple as the flaming ball of fire slowly disappears behind its peaks. And during monsoons, it assumes a heavenly aspect as the two peaks just jut out of the grey-white clouds that hang over the hill like a halo.
Similarly, the citizens of the north of the city boasted a faint view of the majestic Nandi Hills, which showed up distinctly on clear mornings.
And like Magadi's Savandurga, Nandi Hills too, associated with Tipu Sultan, is closely linked to the city’s history.

vijaysimha@newindianexpress.com