<div>Seventeen years ago, I was a resident of Kolkata, where I had been for most of my working life. The city was overcrowded, hot and sticky for much of the year, and with traffic snarls you wouldn’t believe. <br /><br />When the rains did arrive, the relief was temporary. They caused the silt-filled storm drains to clog up and most of the low-lying areas were converted to open swimming pools. Stranded cars on the street and handheld rickshawallahs charging 200 rupees for a ride were common. <br /><br />When the floods were severe, the odd animal carcass floating downstream would give rise to fears of an epidemic.<br /><br />So, my wife and I started to think. Time to leave our home of several years and look toward greener pastures? <br /><br />It must be said that the people we befriended and worked with over the years, were some of the finest individuals we could come across in a month of Sundays. <br /><br /> The rum-ball pastries at Flury’s and the prawn cocktail at Skyroom were to die for. You cannot buy that anywhere in the world.<br /><br />So, where should we head if we were to move lock, stock and barrel? Why, green and pleasant Bengaluru, of course. The decision was a no-brainer. Many others in Kolkata had done that. <br /><br />Twenty years ago, we had perspicaciously invested in an apartment in a quiet, leafy suburb of the city. Overlooking open fields, we would wake up to the sound of swaying trees and rustling leaves, a variety of chirping and warbling birds. We even had our own resident ornithologist, the late Zafar Futehally, living in our complex. He would educate us on our feathered friends. <br /><br />Barring the occasional twinge of regret, we were happy with the change. Traffic moved at a gentle gait all over the city; the airport was a 15-minute drive from where we lived – the old, HAL airport, that is. Air conditioners were barely required, and if push came to shove, for not more than two months in the year. To paraphrase Browning’s immortal words:<br /><br />The lark was on the wing;<br />The snail was on the thorn;<br />God was in His heaven—<br />All was right with the world!<br /><br />Alas, it was too good to last. The open areas surrounding our apartment block were like a magnet to the property developers, who were all over Bengaluru like a rash. Construction work around us commenced at feverish pace, and multi-storied apartments were encircling us. Soon, where there was sunlight, we had shadows. Trees were razed to the ground, some of them ancient Banyan trees! The water table kept reducing. Rainfall became erratic, and we feared for the borewells, with so much digging going on. And all this construction activity also meant unbearable noise pollution through the day.<br /><br />Families from all over India were pouring into Bengaluru for the same reasons that we did. Car and two-wheeler manufacturers were doing roaring business in the city. Which meant our crumbling roads were no longer able to accommodate the extraordinary increase in vehicular population. A 20-minute ride 10 years ago, now takes almost an hour. Bengaluru’s infrastructure is at breaking point, and not a lot anyone can do about it.<br /><br />So, where do we go from here? Literally. Which city in India is not afflicted by this urban nightmare? Small towns, no infrastructure. Big towns, creaking infrastructure. Villages? Well, they’re not exactly the Cotswolds. Which leaves us precisely where we are. If you can’t beat it, learn to live with it. And lump it.<br /></div>
<div>Seventeen years ago, I was a resident of Kolkata, where I had been for most of my working life. The city was overcrowded, hot and sticky for much of the year, and with traffic snarls you wouldn’t believe. <br /><br />When the rains did arrive, the relief was temporary. They caused the silt-filled storm drains to clog up and most of the low-lying areas were converted to open swimming pools. Stranded cars on the street and handheld rickshawallahs charging 200 rupees for a ride were common. <br /><br />When the floods were severe, the odd animal carcass floating downstream would give rise to fears of an epidemic.<br /><br />So, my wife and I started to think. Time to leave our home of several years and look toward greener pastures? <br /><br />It must be said that the people we befriended and worked with over the years, were some of the finest individuals we could come across in a month of Sundays. <br /><br /> The rum-ball pastries at Flury’s and the prawn cocktail at Skyroom were to die for. You cannot buy that anywhere in the world.<br /><br />So, where should we head if we were to move lock, stock and barrel? Why, green and pleasant Bengaluru, of course. The decision was a no-brainer. Many others in Kolkata had done that. <br /><br />Twenty years ago, we had perspicaciously invested in an apartment in a quiet, leafy suburb of the city. Overlooking open fields, we would wake up to the sound of swaying trees and rustling leaves, a variety of chirping and warbling birds. We even had our own resident ornithologist, the late Zafar Futehally, living in our complex. He would educate us on our feathered friends. <br /><br />Barring the occasional twinge of regret, we were happy with the change. Traffic moved at a gentle gait all over the city; the airport was a 15-minute drive from where we lived – the old, HAL airport, that is. Air conditioners were barely required, and if push came to shove, for not more than two months in the year. To paraphrase Browning’s immortal words:<br /><br />The lark was on the wing;<br />The snail was on the thorn;<br />God was in His heaven—<br />All was right with the world!<br /><br />Alas, it was too good to last. The open areas surrounding our apartment block were like a magnet to the property developers, who were all over Bengaluru like a rash. Construction work around us commenced at feverish pace, and multi-storied apartments were encircling us. Soon, where there was sunlight, we had shadows. Trees were razed to the ground, some of them ancient Banyan trees! The water table kept reducing. Rainfall became erratic, and we feared for the borewells, with so much digging going on. And all this construction activity also meant unbearable noise pollution through the day.<br /><br />Families from all over India were pouring into Bengaluru for the same reasons that we did. Car and two-wheeler manufacturers were doing roaring business in the city. Which meant our crumbling roads were no longer able to accommodate the extraordinary increase in vehicular population. A 20-minute ride 10 years ago, now takes almost an hour. Bengaluru’s infrastructure is at breaking point, and not a lot anyone can do about it.<br /><br />So, where do we go from here? Literally. Which city in India is not afflicted by this urban nightmare? Small towns, no infrastructure. Big towns, creaking infrastructure. Villages? Well, they’re not exactly the Cotswolds. Which leaves us precisely where we are. If you can’t beat it, learn to live with it. And lump it.<br /></div>
