All Indian towns and cities are studies in contrast - between the neatness of the civil lines and the chaos of the bazaar of towns, between the posh neighbourhoods and the slums of cities. Bengaluru, which has bits of all these, is developing some powerful contrasts of its own.
The main streets with their sparkling shops are, if anything, sparkling more and more over time. These are also the streets without the potholes. The elegant houses in the better neighbourhoods retain their character - modern structures plus traditional motifs, with green edges (shrubs and flowering plants) added wherever possible.
But this pleasantness and sparkle are interrupted every so often by the stink from the garbage piled along roadsides. This is the new Bengaluru of the last few years. Then to top it up, once you get out of the key roads you get all the potholes you can want.
Even more than all these, what has defined Bengaluru the most these days are the twin overpowering realities - power cuts and traffic jams. The power cuts set the city apart from metros like Kolkata and Mumbai. While the on-again-off-again jigs (generators take a few moments to come on) are sometimes more of an irritation than a real negative, it is the traffic jams that really take the cake.
Bengaluru now boasts what can be the king of traffic jams. In an inner city journey lasting close to two hours, sometimes you are stuck at successive traffic lights for an incredible half the time. The flexi hours that many modern companies now offer have saved the day for many staffers who manage to reach office by around 7.30 in the morning and try to leave before the evening's jams builds up.
If all this should make you think that the city is putting off people and companies and making them go elsewhere then you would be mistaken. In Bengaluru you can almost physically feel the buzz of innovation and see the plant of start-ups just grow and grow as in a children's fairy tale. Such is the intellectual ferment that firms that want to be part of the feverish feistiness will brave all the odds; shift to be part of even the power cuts and the traffic jams.
Presiding over all the contrasts and contradictions is the tussle between officialdom, on one hand, and some of the genteel traditions of the city, on the other, in the ongoing fracas over Bangalore Club. The government has disallowed serving of liquor there. Don't go there after sundown, a tipple told me; now they serve only beer.
The minutiae over why exactly the liquor licence has been taken away is unimportant. The reality is that the politicians want to become members as a matter of right and the existing members will not have it. This kind of political highhandedness would not have been out of place in a state capital like Lucknow with its present overlords. But for the government in a city like Bengaluru, which is at the global technological forefront, the misadventure is monumental.
Some members of Bangalore Club love the change that has taken place. The club is less crowded, with those who come mainly for the booze gone elsewhere. There is a chance that those in the club who care for a variety of activity, cultural and cerebral, will be able to set a new tone.
In Bangalore Club one kind of good tradition is under attack. But some of the other good traditions remain intact. We make it a point to go meet our former neighbour Mr Lakshmikanthappa. How can you not look him up when he so enriched our lives for several years. At 86 he is as spry and upright as ever. He is overwhelmed that we should remember to look him up but that is in his nature, seeing good in others.
What is he doing with himself these days, we ask. The same as when you had left, he says - helping out pro bono in the office of the local Spastics Society. When he is out of the room organising coffee for us, his son fills us in on his recent idiosyncrasies. The other day he forgot his mobile phone at home and after some time came back to fetch it. His son asked him why he had to come back all the way and not call so that it could be taken to him. His reply was, "You know I don't use their phone for my personal calls."
Then some time ago he had an infection in a finger and the bandage made it difficult for him to write. Ignoring the pain, he still went to work so that every time someone needed a file he was there to say where exactly it was, though he could not fetch it himself.
Some things about the city have not changed, I reassure myself. The innate civility, decency and more of some of its oldest residents remain. That's more than enough for me to want to come back - power cuts and traffic jams notwithstanding.
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