Can Mysuru retain its soul?

“The expressway should never have been built,” the cab driver declared categorically on my way back from Mysuru a few days ago. “Hundreds of cars pour into the city on Saturdays and Sundays. The traffic in the city is unbearable.”

There was indeed a time when Bengalureans made fun of anyone complaining of a traffic jam in Mysuru. But I noticed the terrible traffic myself this time. I was in Mysuru earlier this week to participate in Uttarayana, an annual cultural festival launched this year by the Jagannatha Centre for Arts and Culture, an elegant new venue for performing arts, lectures, conversations, and art exhibitions.

“It is already Bengaluru!” a staunch Mysurean exclaimed during this trip. “It isn’t that bad.” I tried to reason. “No, it is!” He held firm.

The population of Mysuru city had expanded at a modest pace for many decades. Between 1961 and 2001, it grew by roughly 10,000 to 15,000 people annually, and by about 20,000 per year over the following two decades. The increase in the number of people had been slow and gradual. New neighbourhoods emerged alongside the older ones without shaking up the cultural ethos of the city.

At present, Mysuru has a population of 13.5 lakh – roughly a tenth of Bengaluru’s. But if the housing layouts spiralling outward along the city’s arterial roads are any indication – and if the viral real-estate reels urging Bengaluru’s residents to buy plots in Mysuru are another – its population is set to rise dramatically from now on.

For decades, Mysuru saw large numbers of visitors only during the annual Dasara celebrations. Since the turn of the century, about 30,000 yoga enthusiasts, mostly from abroad, visit the city during the cooler months of the year to train in yoga. Dozens of hip cafes, bakeries, and gourmet restaurants have emerged to cater to this clientele and indeed the newness-hungry locals. The opening of the Bengaluru-Mysuru expressway three years ago, however, has ushered in a dark shift, as new wealth, fast cars, and the weekend-escape itch engulf Mysuru in traffic week after week.

Beyond its unhurried pace and wide avenues shaded by old, stately trees, Mysuru has long charmed visitors with its palaces, museums, St. Philomena’s Church, the Masjid-e-Azam, the Devaraja Market, legendary eateries, and its much-loved zoo. But precautionary measures to ensure the health of these heritage sites are nowhere in sight. Elementary conservation efforts would have included zoning laws to prohibit high-rise construction in the vicinity of Mysuru’s more than 130 heritage sites, which not only threatens their structural stability but also disrupts the historic skyline and character of the city. Traffic noise and pollution pose serious threats to the health of these sites too.

Adding to the pressures on Mysuru’s heritage and cultural ethos, the Greater Mysuru City Corporation (GMCC) proposal envisions a massive expansion of the city’s boundaries. Introduced by the BJP state government in 2008 and revived last year by the present government, the proposal seeks to redraw Mysuru’s limits by absorbing 110 surrounding villages, almost quadrupling the city’s area from 86 to 333 square kilometres. A peripheral ring road to ease traffic, new housing layouts, new water supply and drainage networks, and a Metro line are all part of the plan.

Last December, members of the Chamundi village panchayat, the head priest of the Chamundeshwari temple, and local environmental activists met Chief Minister Siddaramaiah to seek exemption from the GMCC for their area. They argued that both the forests of Chamundi Hill and the temple stood to be damaged otherwise. The Chief Minister, who had reiterated only weeks earlier that the Greater Mysuru plans would not harm the city’s rich heritage, agreed to consider the appeal.

Two days ago, several groups gathered in protest against the construction projects underway on Chamundi Hill. Approved in 2022 under the ingeniously titled PRASAD (Pilgrimage Rejuvenation and Spiritual Augmentation Drive) scheme and co-financed by the Central and state governments, the recently commenced work is believed to threaten the Chamundi reserve forest and harm the foundation of the Chamundeshwari temple. Activists have put forward safer alternative uses for the Rs 60 crore sanctioned for the project.

Responsible urbanisation needn’t be an impossible task: it demands a set of imaginative architects, urban planners, historians, ecologists, and energy specialists committed to ecological wisdom, local aesthetic traditions, and social equity to steer the process. The alternative is to watch the vested interests prevail and resign ourselves to living amid the ruins.

(The writer is the the Vidyashilp Professor looks for new ways of looking.)

Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.