BANGALORED!!

The plane landed with the familiar characteristic thud….A few moments ago as I looked out of the window, a maze of twinkling city lights winked at me…I tried to map the familiar land marks from the sky and all the time I was so glad to be back home. I mean this was nothing dramatic; I travelled very often- every week to be precise. But every time my plane touched Bangalore soil, I felt the rush of excitement – I was home yet again.

I am fortunate that I found my career in the city I grew up in. Yes, I had lived in other cities too, but they were short passionate affairs, I came back home loyal as ever. Bangalore will always be the same for me- quiet, green, cool and beautiful. When I was away, I closed my eyes and dreamt of the rain trees in Bangalore – the huge ones with their pink brush-like flowers. Every time these trees flower, I remember the long summer vacations when time was no luxury. There were so many of these minute details in the sights and sounds of this city, I cannot possibly articulate all of them…However each detail is as intimate to me and as valuable to me as any other.

I was not born in Bangalore but the umbilical cord is as strong as ever. I was a Punjabi but could never identify myself as one- I was Bangalorean. This city gave me all I had, my school, my friends and now my livelihood. It did not force me to learn the native tongue but instead encouraged me to make friends with Bengalis, Malayalees, Tamilians and Gujaratis. It never bound me by the narrow walls of caste or language- everyone was just from Bangalore. It did not matter if you ate paratha or idli for breakfast, or spoke Bong or Tamil, or dressed in a frock or saree- you had one common identity. I flinch every time someone challenges this identity, simple because there is nowhere else that I belong so much.

They say that Bangalore is spoilt; the IT boom has reduced its charm and taken away all the sobriquets that were bestowed on it- Pensioner’s Paradise, Air Conditioned City, City of Gardens. The green names have been changed to accomodate the leaps my homeland has made in the IT revolution...

The Silicon Valley of India has awoken Bangalore from a sleepy little town. Yes, the traffic is pathetic, the roads do not exist, the auto wallas cheat, the IT crowd has too much money and too little civic sense…There is a huge list of problems…I am tired of these people whining and cribbing and then taking their huge cars for a short drive to the mall. Life is full circle, so my dear fellow Bangaloreans, you get what you deserve. In short don’t have your cake and eat it too…

I understand why people fight for their homeland, it is not whether you are Jewish, Palestinian, or Kashmiri. Taking some liberty with Nehru’s adage - you can take me out of Bangalore but not Bangalore out of me! This is a case of – fully and truly – Bangalored!!!

The Writer's Block...

I do not know how to write- I have forgotten to write. This realization came one Sunday afternoon when I thought of re entering the written world- armed with my keyboard I thought that all these years of keeping away would bring out torrents of bottled up words. The thoughts were gushing out alright, but nothing overflowed to the keyboard and then the screen in front of me..Then it struck me - there was a problem. A cog in the wheel of thought, or some nerve connection between my hand and my brain had just snapped.

I was an above average student throughout my academic career, but the one thing I was out standing in was supposedly language and my command over it. I had won many creative writing and literary things in school and college and always dismissed my ability to put my thoughts into words as something that was always there. But now, in front of the blank screen I felt goose bumps. Something like I felt in the Graphics exam in engineering- I flunked it thrice before finally passing… But that was Graphics, this was writing- I mean at one point of time writing came naturally to me. The only reason I lost marks in my school exams was that my essays were too long. I felt woefully inadequate..much like Arthur Dent in the Hitchhikers guide – trying to fathom what had gone wrong….

This was going nowhere- my mind went to the times after my formal education, when my parents asked me to keep writing. Maybe I should have listened to them. The mundane everyday office routine had robbed me of more than I could imagine..a terrifying thought struck me- what if I never got it back- what if it were truly irrevocable…I always nurtured a secret desire to be a journalist, I thought I would pick it up sometime in the future…

Another side of me said “ Nonsense, its just that you have become rusty, it’s a matter of practice”. But where exactly was the problem- I had a subject (actually a lot of subjects) that I thought strongly enough about, I had ideas and I knew the language..then what was this block….Maybe this was the writer’s block- but writer’s block is for people who write and then finally have nothing more to write….I did not fall into that category.

But then I decided that I would reinvent myself, the block would melt down- I would do something about it- step out of oblivion and write- even if I don’t find a reader I would write. I suddenly felt free, like I had found a solution to my biggest problem. So, you would see more of me here….trying to find my lost knack or at least trying to see if there had been a knack in the first place….