They lie by the roadside like fallen elephants. Hacked and brought down by crude tools - a flimsy rope, a hacksaw. Can I hear them moan? Those majestic trees. Once Bangalore's pride - now a mere nuisance in the path of 'development'. What beautiful living, breathing beings they were, giving us shade, peace and oxygen. How long does it take them to grow that big? Decades. Centuries. Three days to hack them. Go, do your math.
Road widening, metro lines, fly overs - buzz words in the din of progress. THe Bangalore of my summer vacations only in my mind now- cool , salubrious (a word I learnt early can only describe this city), unhurried. Now all hot, hurried and crass.
Someone said, the road to 'progress' has to be barren and tree less...and we all cheered in agreement. Our own Silicon Valley. Jewel in the IT crown.
I cry for Bangalore.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
40 and flitting
Everyday is a new day on Facebook. And a revisit to the past. Friends from long ago reconnect and behold memories come tumbling out. Strange how Facebook works just as well for greying 40 somethings like me as for my two teens! My friend list vies with my sons', crossing the landmark 100 recently. I am a social butterfly flitting in cyber space..
More 'adipose rich' than I remember, grey hair,wizened faces peer out of happy friendly picture frames. Father, mother, son, daughter in front of Niagra. Proud mother at sons graduation. Elizabeth George has become Liz Chabra. Time has clearly passed, roles lived and learnt ;peace made with life's limitations. No more rash dreams - reality it is. . Different journeys, same reality checks.
So Facebook is a good reminder of how time has flown by. Was anyone keeping track? But here we are again - scattered for a while, a few decades between us, sought each other out in cyber space and reconnected as if nothing happened in between.
More 'adipose rich' than I remember, grey hair,wizened faces peer out of happy friendly picture frames. Father, mother, son, daughter in front of Niagra. Proud mother at sons graduation. Elizabeth George has become Liz Chabra. Time has clearly passed, roles lived and learnt ;peace made with life's limitations. No more rash dreams - reality it is. . Different journeys, same reality checks.
So Facebook is a good reminder of how time has flown by. Was anyone keeping track? But here we are again - scattered for a while, a few decades between us, sought each other out in cyber space and reconnected as if nothing happened in between.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Signed, Inked, Delivered...
Feels a bit like Rip Van Winkle waking up after 20 years as I blog my thoughts after a gap of almost a year - cant believe its been that long since we moved . Masala sushi has been lying low, what with the sushi in my life yanked out and replaced by a whole lot of bhel puri and life spinning a full 360 into reality.
Today I had my say in the world's largest democracy, such as it is. India's 5 yearly Election Machinery. A lumbering clanging sum of rattling parts with bits and parts falling off but miraculously getting there each time! As my choice registered as a resounding beep couldnt help think - again and again- that the million Gods of India are always smiling over us wishing us well..
That we managed to appear on the electrol rolls in itself was a piece of divine serendepity. When my Other Half (never short on optimism) wormed patiently through haphazard lines to reach a disinterested Govt official who couldnt care less about franchise and any of that gobbeldy gook, he (Other Half) had lost all hope of ever being recognised as a legit member of the Great Indian Electorate. Weeks later when we heard nothing from anyone, hurting from the rejection, I decided to confront the officials about the omission.
To cut the chase I finally spotted our names , mispelt, misquoted on a dusty screen in a dusty corner of a - whats that - gym! Apparently I was not supposed to ignore the gym on the ground floor of the BBMP (Muncipal Office) where business gets regularly done among dumbells and dumb-lads, as if its the most normal thing to happen.
So there I am signed, inked and delivered, smug as a bug, marvelling from all angles, the ameobic blue blotch on my finger nail, which tells me without a doubt, that I am indeed a part of this mad, mad madness.
Today I had my say in the world's largest democracy, such as it is. India's 5 yearly Election Machinery. A lumbering clanging sum of rattling parts with bits and parts falling off but miraculously getting there each time! As my choice registered as a resounding beep couldnt help think - again and again- that the million Gods of India are always smiling over us wishing us well..
That we managed to appear on the electrol rolls in itself was a piece of divine serendepity. When my Other Half (never short on optimism) wormed patiently through haphazard lines to reach a disinterested Govt official who couldnt care less about franchise and any of that gobbeldy gook, he (Other Half) had lost all hope of ever being recognised as a legit member of the Great Indian Electorate. Weeks later when we heard nothing from anyone, hurting from the rejection, I decided to confront the officials about the omission.
To cut the chase I finally spotted our names , mispelt, misquoted on a dusty screen in a dusty corner of a - whats that - gym! Apparently I was not supposed to ignore the gym on the ground floor of the BBMP (Muncipal Office) where business gets regularly done among dumbells and dumb-lads, as if its the most normal thing to happen.
So there I am signed, inked and delivered, smug as a bug, marvelling from all angles, the ameobic blue blotch on my finger nail, which tells me without a doubt, that I am indeed a part of this mad, mad madness.
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