third days in india
I had decided to only write in this diary once a week, to collect all my thoughts, organise them and present them in a way that characterises the whole week, rather than splattering random details onto pages whenever i get the chance.
Even this modest schedule has proven hard to keep up with: by the time I come from work (often, as today, baked) it's dinner time, which then spirals into relaxed sporadic conversation, poetry performances, acoustic singalongs, card games, and inevitably a rooftop smoke. Drag myself out of bed for a quick mini-banana with cornflakes and homemade peanut butter and jam on toast before I'm off to repeat the cycle. The result is I've got far too many thoughts and reflections bouncing round my head to know where to start, which puts me off the idea if I ever do have the chance to write. But it's after midnight, everyone seems to do disappeared for an early night and I found a copy of OK Computer so what better time for my long overdue me time? I can even start by talking about not knowing where to start!
Not only that, but my self-aware introduction relates quite nicely to my thoughts on Bangalore. Bangalore, like myself this last week, has been living life like a man running down a steep hill, able to overcome obstacles and stay on his feet, but at the cost of running even faster and so even less able to stop, rest and recollect. Bangalore used to be referred to as the Garden City, with a spread out population with lots of green areas, and families would move here to retire. In the last 50 years however, it's population has rocketed from 500,000 to over 6,000,000 thanks to the booming IT industry and the jobs available to support it. Now it's a sprawling, overpopulated metropolis, and the only remnants of the old 'Garden City' are the trees which splinter through cracks in the pavements.
For such a rapidly, haphazardly developing city it does keep an impressive proportion of it's inhabitants above the rice line. Men with sandaled hands will drag deformed legs after you, women will poke malnourished pregnant bellies at you through slits in their sarees, and children will perform barefoot backflips for you while you wait in yet another traffic jam, all for the sake of a rupee or two. But while examples of poverty such as these are by no means in short supply, the vast majority make a comfortable, relaxed living, driving rickshaws, organising events for the city's varied and consistent nightlife, teaching people good English pronunciation for call centre work, or in one of the countless shops, tea stalls and canteens that line the pavements with conversing Indians.
So why my pessimistic comparision to a man sprinting downhill? One simple reason, which you can't ignore because it's constantly blaring in your ears,
smoking up your nose, startling your eyes and paralysing your feet to one side of the road. Traffic. One way streets more than 100 feet wide brim full of mopeds rickshaws and cars like a steaming pot of pollution that bubbles and overflows until it extinguishes the flame beneath and grinds to halt. Ignite, boil, bubble, repeat. Journeys that take under 10 minutes in the wee small hours take over 40 throughout the day, and with the population ever expanding, new super cheap cars available to replace the more common two wheelers and buses becoming less attractive as they take longer and longer to maneuver the gridlocked streets you wonder... How many more vehicles will actually physically fit on these streets? From how many more liters of exhaust fumes can our lungs safely filter oxygen? At what price will people stop paying the rising cost of petrol? How constant will the chorus of horns become before outdoor conversations and sanity become happy memories?
My running man's hill will level off in 5 weeks when I fly back to London and get a good week's sleep before 4th year, Bangalore's will hopefully level off in 5 years when the Metro Rail is finally completed. Let's just hope neither of us take a tumble before then!
Even this modest schedule has proven hard to keep up with: by the time I come from work (often, as today, baked) it's dinner time, which then spirals into relaxed sporadic conversation, poetry performances, acoustic singalongs, card games, and inevitably a rooftop smoke. Drag myself out of bed for a quick mini-banana with cornflakes and homemade peanut butter and jam on toast before I'm off to repeat the cycle. The result is I've got far too many thoughts and reflections bouncing round my head to know where to start, which puts me off the idea if I ever do have the chance to write. But it's after midnight, everyone seems to do disappeared for an early night and I found a copy of OK Computer so what better time for my long overdue me time? I can even start by talking about not knowing where to start!
Not only that, but my self-aware introduction relates quite nicely to my thoughts on Bangalore. Bangalore, like myself this last week, has been living life like a man running down a steep hill, able to overcome obstacles and stay on his feet, but at the cost of running even faster and so even less able to stop, rest and recollect. Bangalore used to be referred to as the Garden City, with a spread out population with lots of green areas, and families would move here to retire. In the last 50 years however, it's population has rocketed from 500,000 to over 6,000,000 thanks to the booming IT industry and the jobs available to support it. Now it's a sprawling, overpopulated metropolis, and the only remnants of the old 'Garden City' are the trees which splinter through cracks in the pavements.
For such a rapidly, haphazardly developing city it does keep an impressive proportion of it's inhabitants above the rice line. Men with sandaled hands will drag deformed legs after you, women will poke malnourished pregnant bellies at you through slits in their sarees, and children will perform barefoot backflips for you while you wait in yet another traffic jam, all for the sake of a rupee or two. But while examples of poverty such as these are by no means in short supply, the vast majority make a comfortable, relaxed living, driving rickshaws, organising events for the city's varied and consistent nightlife, teaching people good English pronunciation for call centre work, or in one of the countless shops, tea stalls and canteens that line the pavements with conversing Indians.
So why my pessimistic comparision to a man sprinting downhill? One simple reason, which you can't ignore because it's constantly blaring in your ears,
smoking up your nose, startling your eyes and paralysing your feet to one side of the road. Traffic. One way streets more than 100 feet wide brim full of mopeds rickshaws and cars like a steaming pot of pollution that bubbles and overflows until it extinguishes the flame beneath and grinds to halt. Ignite, boil, bubble, repeat. Journeys that take under 10 minutes in the wee small hours take over 40 throughout the day, and with the population ever expanding, new super cheap cars available to replace the more common two wheelers and buses becoming less attractive as they take longer and longer to maneuver the gridlocked streets you wonder... How many more vehicles will actually physically fit on these streets? From how many more liters of exhaust fumes can our lungs safely filter oxygen? At what price will people stop paying the rising cost of petrol? How constant will the chorus of horns become before outdoor conversations and sanity become happy memories?
My running man's hill will level off in 5 weeks when I fly back to London and get a good week's sleep before 4th year, Bangalore's will hopefully level off in 5 years when the Metro Rail is finally completed. Let's just hope neither of us take a tumble before then!