Common misconceptions about Bangalore

Many people (especially foreigners) look at me in disbelief when I tell them I lived in Bangalore for close to seven years. Most foreign travellers to India avoid Bangalore because they think it doesn't have a lot to offer, or they think it's too 'modern' and therefore uninteresting. It may be true that Bangalore doesn't have a lot of tourist attractions compared to other Indian cities, but what I love about this city is everything it doesn't offer to the tourist. The city takes time to get to know and appreciate, and offers many pleasant surprises to those who choose to explore it.

Unfortunately Bangalore's image suffers from a lot of misconceptions, assumptions and even untruths. Here are a few of the most common ones...

A coffee tour of South India

Don't ever make the mistake of ordering a chai in South India... for South India is the land of coffee. This is the drink of choice, a daily ritual for many, and South Indians can't live without it. If you've never had a cup of South Indian coffee, you're in for a surprise... there are many things that make it unique. 

In an article I wrote for the in-flight magazine of Silk Air, I explored the history of coffee-growing in the region and evolving trends in South India's coffee culture. You can read it here.

You can read some of my other published articles on India here.

On the bus in Bangalore

On the 201R going from Indiranagar to Jayanagar... Just after Ejipura signal, an auto-rickshaw driver knocks on the bus door and starts yelling at the driver. Apparently the bus had scratched his auto-rickshaw. A shouting match follows. The door closes and we continue on our way. The bus stops a little further away and the auto-driver is there again. More animated shouting. Door closes, we move on, stop again (heavy traffic). This time a different auto-driver is at the door shouting at the bus driver… looks like the first auto-driver has already mobilized his auto-driving buddies. Auto-driver #1 then shows up and now there are three people in the shouting match, with the bus conductor also joining in to make four. Another auto-rickshaw shows up and blocks the bus so we can’t move forward. The auto-drivers want the bus driver to get off the bus and come look at the damage on the auto-rickshaw. The commotion is now blocking traffic at Sony World signal so we move on.

The bus stops after the signal (traffic light for non-Indians) and a whole bunch of auto-rickshaws pull up too. The bus driver and conductor get off the bus to examine the auto-rickshaw. More shouting, more people. The auto-drivers’ beige uniforms now outnumber the bus driver and the conductor. Passers-by stop to see what all the shouting is about and a small crowd has formed. The back-and-forth shouting goes on for 10 minutes. The bus driver starts walking back to the bus at one point and things seem to suddenly heat up, with the shouting getting louder and body language becoming more aggressive, but he goes back to the auto-rickshaw. Meanwhile people on the bus are making impatient noises and some have got off to take another.

The small crowd then moves towards the rear of the bus to examine the body for evidence of the collision. More animated discussion. Finally the driver hands over a wad of cash to the auto-driver. He takes it, counts it, puts it in his pocket and all the angry faces suddenly dissolve. No more shouting. Everyone walks back very casually to their respective vehicles and we’re on our way again.

Inside a heritage home in Basavanagudi

Recently I had the chance to step back into another time when I took part in a heritage walk exploring the old homes of Basavanagudi a neighbourhood in south Bangalore. We were a small group made up of long-time Bangaloreans and other more recent residents (and me, a former resident!), who were all eager to learn more about the cultural heritage of this neighbourhood and explore its wide tree-lined avenues, and especially its heritage homes.

Our guide for the tour was Mansoor Ali, an architect who grew up in the neighbourhood and who leads this walk for Unhurried, which organises several themed walking tours across the city. He told me that they usually visit about six homes on this walk, but despite his efforts we only had the chance to see a few because many of the homeowners were out.

The highlight of the walk was a 107-year-old house which had belonged to Nanjundiah Krishna Rau, a former Diwan (prime minister) of the Mysore Kingdom. 

Today his great grandson, Mr M. R. Narendra, an author, lives on the ground floor of the house, while the upper floor is the home of Mr Narendra’s nephew.

We admired the pillared porch which was where ‘informal guests’ used to be received, explained Mansoor, and the large garden and its many trees, including one which was surrounded by a porched enclosure. 

Stepping through Mr M. R. Narendra’s doorway was like taking a step back into another time.  He welcomed us warmly into his home and showed us around. Inside we saw many period features like a Madras terrace ceiling, a red oxide floor, colonial-style furniture, and a traditional swing. We even got a peek of a 1935 Standard automobile in the garage (sorry no photo!).

In my previous post, I wrote about Bangalore’s disappearing heritage homes. This trend to demolish old houses and replace them with apartment buildings has not spared any of the city’s neighbourhoods, including Basavanagudi.

Old and new in Basavanagudi

Gardens make way for parking lots 

A large garden is becoming a rarity in Bangalore, where people prefer to have as large a living space as possible, building huge buildings which leave little space between properties. “At 25,000 Rupees a square foot, gardens are considered a waste of space,” explained Mansoor.

I'm glad that Mr Narendra has preserved his old house and not fallen prey to the developers who are changing the face of the city. There are still a few glimpses of the old Bangalore and thanks to this unique walking tour, I had the chance to experience a little bit of it.  

Bangalore’s disappearing heritage homes

I’m back in Bangalore after being away for a year and a half. I’m staying in the same neighbourhood and in the same house, but not in the first floor apartment where we used to live, but downstairs with my former landlords who very kindly and warmly invited me to stay with them.

I’ve only been away for 17 months but I’m amazed at all the new constructions in the neighbourhood. Once empty plots are now occupied by four-storey apartment blocks. Houses have been torn down and replaced by more apartment blocks. A whole row of three- and four-storey buildings now stand where there used to be a row of small shops on a corner of Thippasandra Main Road, a bustling bazaar-like commercial street. Over on the other side of 80 Feet Road in Defence Colony, more bungalows have disappeared and have been substituted with, yes, even more apartment blocks.

I mourn these lost treasures: not only the charming houses of another era but also the city’s beautiful majestic trees as they’re chopped down or their branches hacked off to make way for apartments which cover as much space as possible, leaving only a few centimetres between neighbouring houses and no garden space at all.

I understand the commercial logic of this trend: with the boom in property prices, every square foot is a valuable commodity. Why have a bungalow with a large garden when you can have a multi-storey apartment which multiplies living space with each floor built? Multiply the number of apartments with an average rent and you’ll hear the sound of money being minted. Few can resist cashing in.

But what about the city’s cultural heritage? Is that not valued? Unfortunately there are no heritage laws in Bangalore protecting its old, historical buildings. People see an old house as a burden which is difficult and expensive to maintain, and even a waste of valuable real estate space. Houses seem disposable: use for a while and then demolish. Build a new one. Repeat. “My house is very, very old… 25 years!” my landlady likes to tell me... If this house is 25 years old, then it’s the youngest house I’ve ever lived in.

Locals don’t understand why I’m upset when yet another house bites the dust. My first world mind must be clouded by my romanticism. Who am I to lament the loss of a few houses in a city which is not my own? After all, I’ve encountered the same attitude in my new home, a tiny village where old houses are not valued by many locals either. They’re not torn down (heritage laws forbid it) but they’re left to decay instead.

Recently I happened to stumble on these delightful old houses in Park Road, a residential street just steps away from Indian Express Circle, a busy traffic junction.  When I come across these beautiful old homes with wide verandas, typical Bangalore-style ‘monkey tops’, ornate wrought iron gates and big gardens full of trees, I can imagine what this city used to be like – the city everyone reminisces about and sorely misses but few try to preserve. I wonder for how much longer they’ll be around.

This past weekend I had the chance to explore an old heritage home in the neighbourhood of Basavanagudi… I’ll take you there in my next post!

Packing up

It didn’t take long for our neighbours to figure out we were moving. I guess they were alerted by all the pieces of furniture disappearing through the front gate as buyers came to pick up the things I had put up for sale on an expat forum.

My landlords started getting inquires about our apartment from prospective tenants. The fruit seller asked me if we had a television to sell. The electrician told me he was interested in ‘kitchen items’, and the maid blatantly told me: “Whatever you don’t take with you, give to me.”

Then one day as we were parking the car, the security guard who’s stationed at the office just opposite the house approached us and asked if we were selling our car and for how much. A few days later, as I was returning home from the market I saw three men studying our car. One of them (who works as a driver for the director of the office) approached me and asked when ‘Sir’ was coming home that evening because someone had come from Mysore to buy the car! Later I found out from my landlord that the security guard had decided to look for a buyer for our car and take a tidy commission for himself.

We sold anything of value easily. Also, I learned it’s very easy to get rid of unwanted junk. After 6.5 years I had accumulated a lot of it.

I had tons of paper to get rid of – magazines, brochures, pamphlets. I filled several bags and waited for the paperboy to come by, but of course weeks went by without me hearing his timid knock at my door.

So one day just as I was reaching home, an older man on a bicycle yelling ‘Paypaar!’ was passing by, so I told him I had some paper for him. His eyes grew wide when I presented him with my many bags full of unwanted paper. He started pulling out his scale from his canvas bag, but I told him I didn’t want to get paid for each kilogram, and that he could take all of it. His eyes grew even wider and he put his hands together in a very respectful namasté and bowed his head, which made me feel uncomfortable because this ‘gift’ of waste paper he was grateful for was just junk I wanted to get rid of and he was actually doing me a big favour by taking it away.

Then there was the issue of getting rid of the real junk: stuff I couldn’t impose on anyone. Stuff that has to be thrown out in the garbage. But something as simple as putting out the garbage is not such a straightforward task. I had filled several bags and I've learned it’s not a good idea to leave them unattended on the roadside… because if it’s not picked up quickly, the contents will end up all over the road, the work of stray dogs or the rag pickers who open and sift through garbage bags. But how to catch the garbage collection van? By the time I hear it and run outside, it’s gone. So I solicited the help of my ever-helpful landlord who told me he’d keep an eye out for them. They didn't come on Monday or Tuesday, but they did show up on Wednesday. I knew they were there because I heard my landlord yelling at them. “Why haven’t you come the whole week?” he berated them. He told them to pick up the bags I had left just inside our gate. The garbage collector started to make a lame excuse, saying they only pick up the garbage left on street corners, not in front of houses… Then he saw the 10-rupee note my landlord had in his hand (he was prepared), and quickly shut up and picked up the bags, pocketing the tip. (My landlord then launched into a long tirade about corporation employees and how they’re too lazy to do their jobs and that the only way to get our garbage collected was to pay them a few rupees every week which we shouldn’t be doing because they’re already getting a salary. Like I said, it’s not as easy as putting your garbage bag on the curb!)

It’s amazing how liberating it feels to get rid of stuff… as our furniture disappeared and the house was slowly purged of years of accumulated ‘stuff’, I felt lighter and lighter. I happily gave away things (to the delight of the maid) and felt more and more liberated. However, once the moving boxes were packed with only our essential and beloved things, I no longer felt so light-hearted as reality hit me.

After almost 7 years, we're leaving India!

Why learn Kannada?

Wherever you decide to live long-term, it’s always good to learn the local language. Learning at least a few rudimentary basics can take you a long way and help you connect with the local culture.

Many newcomers to Bangalore don’t bother learning Kannada, the local language. Many people come to the city from North India and can get by easily by speaking Hindi. English is also spoken by many people here. This ease of communication is also due to the Kannadigas’ amazing flexibility: many speak several South Indian languages, Hindi and English in addition to their native Kannada. As a result, many Indians from outside Karnataka living in Bangalore for a long time don’t speak Kannada at all. My landlady (who’s from Kerala) said she never learned Kannada in the almost 30 years she’s lived here because there are so many Malayalam and Tamil speakers living in our neighbourhood.

I also have the feeling that many North Indians don’t bother learning Kannada for chauvinistic reasons. The impression I get is that since they already speak Hindi, they think they don’t have to learn Kannada, a Dravidian language which they consider ‘inferior’ to their mother tongue. “Kannada sounds like the noise that’s made when you shake a tin can full of stones,” I’ve been told, or: “Why are you learning Kannada? You should learn Hindi instead, they you can use it all over India.”

Of course knowing Hindi would make practical sense, especially when travelling in North India, and this is the reason why many foreigners living here learn Hindi when they decide to study an Indian language. However, since I spend 90% of my time in Bangalore, it makes sense to me to learn the language spoken by its locals.

I’m glad I decided to learn Kannada. It wasn’t easy though. The first step was finding a teacher, which was not at all easy. Government officials make a lot of noise about outsiders who don’t know Kannada, vehemently declaring that they must learn it. But if the government is so adamant about this, then the Department of Kannada and Culture should organise Kannada language courses and provide proper training and support for aspiring teachers. After trying a few classes with teachers who turned out to be inexperienced or clueless about grammar or how to teach languages (I wrote about one experience here), I did finally find an excellent teacher who gave me a good grounding in the language. Unfortunately, after two years of weekly classes with her, she suddenly suffered a heart attack and passed away.

I couldn’t bring myself to find another teacher after that. But I did try to use my Kannada as much as I could. Our domestic help doesn’t speak English so I use Kannada with her. She even called up her brother one day and handed me her phone, telling me to say something to him in Kannada! Then there are many opportunities to speak Kannada in the neighbourhood with shopkeepers I deal with almost on a daily basis. They know I’m learning so they always make it a point to speak it to me. There’s the market sellers, the courier lady, the photocopy man, the ironing man, the man who runs the taxi company I sometimes use, the lady security guard in the metro, and of course the auto drivers.

There are indeed many good reasons to learn Kannada and knowing the language has often worked to my advantage. The fruit sellers at the market often give me extra fruit. Either they’re charmed by my Kannada or they’re overcharging me and feel bad so they give me an extra guava or banana – I’m not sure which is the real reason!

Then there was the time I was able to avoid a traffic fine because I said a few words to the police officer in Kannada. When the right turn from Old Madras Road onto 80 Feet Road was suddenly no longer allowed, a police officer stopped our car. He explained the new rule and then said: “So what to do?” This was the signal for a bribe. Then for some reason, he asked where we were going. When I answered: ‘Manege hogthaiddivi’ (We’re going home), he laughed, and then waved us on. No fine or bribe paid!

At the airport, the immigration officers can be difficult for no reason. When I was last leaving India on a trip, the stern-looking officer looked at my residence permit and asked me in a very gruff way why I wasn’t registered. If he had taken a moment to look over my documents he would have seen that I am indeed registered at the FRRO and that everything is in order. I answered simply: “I am registered, Sir.”

“Who are you in India with?!” he barked at me next. An unaccompanied woman must be a cause for suspicion – what would she be doing in India alone? I answered that my husband is employed in India. I then repeated the same thing in Kannada: “Nanna yejmaanru illi kelsa madthare.”

The stern officer’s demeanour suddenly changed completely and his frown literally turned upside down.

“Oh ho! Very good!” he said, beaming me a big smile. “Kannada mathadthira?”

“Howdu, naanu Kannada kalithaiddini”, I replied.

“Kannada kalithaiddira?! Tumba chennagide!”, he declared, stamping my passport with a flourish, no further questions asked.

Then just yesterday I was trying to catch an auto-rickshaw from MG Road to Racecourse Road but the pesky auto drivers didn’t want to use the meter for such a short distance and were all asking me for an inflated price. In these situations, I just keep trying and eventually find an honest person. The fifth driver I stopped also wanted extra fare. When I answered "Tumba jaasti" and walked off, he called me back: “Baani, Madame!”.

“Meter haktira?” I asked before climbing in.

“Neevu Kannada mathadthaiddira, adakke meter haktini!” he replied. (Since you’re speaking Kannada, I’m going to use the meter.)

We drove off and I got the usual questions fired at me: Where are you from? Do you work in Bangalore? How long have you been here? Do you like Indian food? Isn’t it too spicy for you? I have heard and answered these questions a thousand times so can answer them easily. He seemed impressed. When we stopped at a traffic light, he called out to the auto driver stopped next to us: “Anna! Nodi! Foreigner Kannada mathadthiddare!” The other driver gave me a smile and head bobble in appreciation.

When we arrived at Racecourse Road, my auto driver shook my hand and thanked me for learning Kannada. I paid him and told him to keep the change, but he refused. “I told you I would go by the meter!” he said, and drove off.

Free fruit, traffic fines avoided, frowns turned upside down, auto drivers who use the meter, appreciative smiles and head bobbles. Many good reasons to learn Kannada!

Seen in the Bangalore metro

At MG Road metro station I noticed two notices posted at the entrance. Each one features the picture of a Namma Metro security guard and tells how they acted with honesty and integrity when they returned valuables to their owners.

The Namma Metro security guards take their jobs seriously. Step too close to the yellow line and you’ll hear the shrill blast of a whistle. When a train arrives, the chorus of blowing whistles is almost deafening. One guard even blew his whistle at me because I took the stairs instead of the escalator! Namma Metro security guards are whistle happy. They also seem to be honest folk. Here are two examples:

Cardboard cop

Have you heard of Bangalore’s cardboard cop? Chances are that you have. The cardboard cop has been making news all over the world and has been featured in The Telegraph UK, ABC Australia, The Huffington Post, the BBC, and even a website called Weird Asia News, to name only a few.

This cardboard avatar of a traffic cop is the Bangalore Traffic Police’s way of multiplying their presence on the city’s roads and getting motorists to follow traffic rules. This cop is indefatigable, available 24/7 and bribe-proof. But will this cardboard replica make a difference?

After reading about him in the paper one morning, I had my first encounter with the cardboard cop when I rode past him in an auto-rickshaw on Raj Bhavan Road. There he was, standing with his arms crossed, peering into traffic. Since I had read about him only a day or two before, I knew this was the fake cop, and anyway his two-dimensional appearance was not very convincing and gave him away almost immediately.

Of course once you’ve seen him you won’t be fooled twice. Apparently the police have already foreseen this and plan to replace them from time to time with real policemen.

I wanted to take a photo of the cardboard cop on Raj Bhavan Road for this blog post but when I went there on Sunday, he was no longer around. Has he already been posted to another part of the city? Or was he one of the cutout cops who was stolen, after only two weeks on the job?

Click on 'play' on the image above to see a TV report about the cardboard cop!

Market lady

When I first moved to Bangalore over 6 years ago, there were supermarkets opening all over the place. I had wondered in this post what would happen to the neighbourhood markets and walking vegetable vendors. Would they lose their business to these big chains?

I have the impression that markets are still thriving and that many people still go to markets because they know the vendors and because they have the opportunity to bargain.

The same vendors still walk up and down my street several times a day with their pushcarts full of vegetables and many of my neighbours buy from them because they conveniently stop at their door and because they’ve been buying from them for years. A friend pointed out that if she ever needs some special vegetable she can always ask her regular vendor to pick it up for her and he’ll be sure to deliver it to her door the next day. You can’t beat that for convenience.

Last time it was the ‘puncher man’ I had featured in a previous post inspired by The Hindu’s “I am” column. Today I take a glimpse into the life of a market vendor, again courtesy of The Hindu.

The column by Deepa Ganesh tells the story of Lakshmamma, who’s been selling fruits and vegetables for the past 40 years at different markets across Bangalore. She works for almost 16 hours a day, leaving home at 4am to go to the wholesale market at Yelahanka. She then travels with the bags of vegetables she’s bought by bus, not an easy task, all the way to the Income Tax Office where she sells her produce on the pavement. She gets home only after 8:30pm. In the article she also gives some interesting observations on the city and how it’s changed over the years. You can read the column here.

Meet some of the market ladies of Bangalore:

Puncher shops

Walk down any street in Bangalore and you’re sure to come across a ‘puncher shop’. This may be an actual small shop or just a dedicated space on the sidewalk. Instead of someone wearing boxing gloves, you’ll find a man repairing bicycle tires. For some reason, ‘puncture’ is systematically misspelt; that’s just one of the quirky quirks of India.

Cars, trucks, scooters, motorcycles, bicycles, pushcarts all have rubber tires which get invariably punctured at some point or other. The ‘puncher shops’ provide a handy roadside service, anywhere, and almost anytime.

The Hindu has an interesting weekly column called “I am” which features “men and women who make Bangalore what it is.” I enjoy reading these little personal vignettes about ordinary people doing ordinary jobs like vegetable vendor, paper collector, brick maker and yes, puncture repairer.

Recently the column featured T. Balasubramanyam, a puncture repairer with his own shop in Malleswaram. He reveals a few details about his daily job. He keeps busy from morning to night, repairing up to 20 flat tires a day. You can read more about him and what goes on in a ‘puncher shop’ here.

Drummers for hire

The sound of drumming is common in my neighhourhood, especially during festival season. There’s a temple in the next street so many noisy processions go by on festival days. And just a few doors away, is an office of the Congress party who like to have noisy ‘functions’, complete with long speeches yelled into a megaphone and of course firecrackers and yes, drumming. Funeral processions are also accompanied by drumming as a way of letting people know that someone has passed away.

The sound of loud drumming can’t go unnoticed, that’s why the city authorities regularly hire drummers to make a lot of noise as a tactic to embarrass tax evaders and get them to pay up. I have already written about this here and in the past week there have been several stories in the paper revealing the success of this tactic. The drummers show up in front of the tax offender’s house or business with a banner listing his name and the amount due, and start drumming away. And it works!

The sound of drumming is quite hypnotic and even trance-like. During festival processions there’s usually a few people (always men) dancing away to the frenetic beat of the drum as if in a trance. The vibrations of the drum are also very strong and you can feel them reverberating off your body just a few metres away; it’s almost uncomfortable.

So I’ve often thought about these drummers, who they are, where they come from and especially, how they manage to drum for so many hours. Recent articles in The Hindu and The Caravan have mentioned these drummers and something about their background.

Most of them have day jobs working as labourers, construction workers, auto rickshaw drivers, etc. They’re hired to play the drum (tamate in Kannada) at funerals or by political parties for their rallies, and as mentioned above, by the city authorities. The Hindu article reveals that they make about 300 Rs. each for a few hours of drumming.

Believe it or not, as I write this, I hear distant drumming… it could be a funeral procession, a political rally, or a tax defaulter!

Once during Ram Navami, while I was lying sleepless in the middle of the night, listening to the loud, crazy drumming, I wondered to myself: “Why kind of drugs are these guys on?” Seriously, they drum for hours non-stop, and not only is it very loud, it's extremely energetic and fast-paced. It must be exhausting (and deafening)!

The Caravan article shed some light on their superpowers. A senior drummer reveals: “Without alcohol it is impossible to play the tamate... there is a lot of vibration that comes from the tamate. If you don’t drink, your hand will start hurting after a while. If you’ve had enough to drink then you can keep playing the tamate continuously, come rain or shine.”

Watermelon season

I love watermelon season. I noticed that Bangalore has two watermelon seasons. The first starts sometime in January. That’s when these huge piles of watermelons show up on the city’s sidewalks.

At night the piles are covered with big tarpaulins and I’ve seen lights and heard coughs coming from underneath, which means that the sellers must sleep with their watermelons (or pay someone to) – to prevent them from disappearing during the night!

They cost 20 rupees per kilo. Or less if you’re good at bargaining.

Another surprising thing is that any watermelon you choose is sure to be sweet and juicy.

Temperatures are starting to rise to the 30s now, and there’s nothing more satisfying than some fresh watermelon on a hot day!

Bangalore auto-rickshaw animation

FOR HIRE! – BANGALORE RICKSHAW from Xaver Xylophon on Vimeo.

To end the year, I bring you this brilliant animation by Xaver Xylophon. Thanks for looking with me through my window faithful readers, I'll continue to share the view as I embark on my 7th year in India in 2013.

I wish a wonderful New Year full of good surprises to all!

Violence and injustice

The subject of this post is more sombre than usual and is prompted by recent acts of violence against women which have outraged many in India and caused a media frenzy.

First, I was shocked and upset by an incident that happened in Bangalore a few weeks ago. A woman was in her car, waiting at a stoplight, when she was rear-ended by a motorcycle. When she got out of her car to inspect the damage, she was verbally abused by the motorist who caused the accident. He was then joined by a crowd of men who joined in in taunting her, verbally and physically. When she tried to get help from a police officer, he made no effort to help her and even physically assaulted her. Despite filing an official complaint against the officer, he was back at work the next day. To add insult to injury, the police later declared that the incident was all her fault!

Then there was the horrific incident this week which happened in Delhi where a woman was gang raped and beaten in a moving bus. The male friend she was with was also beaten up, before both were thrown out of the bus onto the road. The whole country is up in arms, with demonstrations happening across India and people expressing their outrage at the horrendous violence which is perpetrated against women on a daily basis.

This incident got a lot of media attention but there are stories of rape every day in the paper, and often the victims are children.

This week I also read about a schoolgirl’s ordeal to seek justice which took her 6 YEARS. She had been sexually assaulted by her teacher and what was the sentence he was given? 2 years of imprisonment and a fine of 10,000 rupees. That’s the conviction a teacher gets for sexually abusing a minor?

No wonder women don’t try to go the police for help when they’re being hassled by men. No wonder they don’t bother reporting rape to the police. No wonder they don’t try to seek justice.

Something is seriously wrong.

Snake encounters

In a recent post, I had written about some of the animals that share our living space, often without us noticing them. I had also mentioned that the night watchman had seen a snake on the road one night.

Snakes are quite common, even in cities. Recently a friend found a baby cobra in her garage. In Whitefield, on the city’s eastern limits, snake sightings are even more common. A friend has seen cobras in her Whitefield compound on several occasions and the community office has anti-venom available at all times. Snake catchers are often called in to come and catch the forlorn snake and take it to a forest outside the city, where it won’t be disturbed by humans. Snakes are not usually killed because they’re considered to be a manifestation of the snake god and killing it would be inauspicious.

Luckily I haven’t had many encounters with snakes. I did see a cobra once in Sri Lanka (caught in the photo above). And last year while travelling with a friend in Orissa, we saw what we first thought was a monkey’s tail resting on a wooden fence next to our cottage. But then the ‘tail’ started to slither away… which took some time, it was so big! And we had slept with all the doors and windows wide open because it was so hot!

Just when I was thinking of writing this post on snakes, I got an email from my friend A who lives in rural Tamil Nadu. The subject of the email was ‘snake stories’. I thought I would share them here:

About a month ago was out for my late afternoon walk. It was about 1/2 hr. before dark. Walking down a pathway saw a woman in front of me stopped. She was looking at something. As I got closer saw the scene of 2 snakes wrapped around each other. We stood in silence watching them struggling and every so often making a move like kissing each other! They were smack in the middle of the path so no way to walk around them. After about 10 min. we turned back to find an alternate way home. We couldn't figure out whether the snakes were fighting or mating! Next day looked on the Net and found something on youtube that looked similar to what I had witnessed. It was mentioned as a mating ritual. A week later met a guy who is a snake catcher. Described what I had seen and he said that they were definitely fighting to be 'top snake'. The amazing thing was though that they usually move in and out of the bush but in this case they stayed on the pathway as though giving a show. They were non-poisonous rat snakes. If they had been cobras don't think I would have stayed so close!

There is a man, Rom by name, who is a herpetologist. He has travelled the world studying snake habits. His wife writes a column in the newspaper called "My husband and other animals". The articles are both educative and amusing. She tells of the time Rom was working in Papua New Guinea studying pythons. One day he arrived home after being away for a few days and found his house door broken open. Just inside the door the thieves had dropped their tools. Nothing had been stolen. Why? His window sills were very wide and he kept pythons, for study purposes, on several of the ledges. When the thieves saw the snakes they hightailed it out of there!

The neighbour where I stayed for 18 months had a habit of beating snakes to death. Neighbours would call upon him when necessary. One day he thought he had killed the offending snake. As he walked away though the snake started chasing him. Lucky for him, he managed to run to safety.

I stayed in a nice little cottage for 1 year. It was located just outside a cashew trope and seemed to be in the pathway for snakes travelling back and forth for their food. One night I arrived home at around 9:30 p.m. Got ready for bed and on my way to the staircase (bedroom was upstairs) saw movement behind a chair located just next to the staircase. Behind the chair was a fat brown snake with diamond shape patches on it. It moved toward the staircase. Decided to talk to it as could think of no other options. Said something about 'I won't hurt you. When I come downstairs in the morning I want you gone'. It moved back behind the chair and I went upstairs, got into bed, making sure the mosquito net was tightly tucked around my bed. Next morning the snake was gone! Found out from someone later that it was a Russell's viper, poisonous.

My colleague, M, tells the story of a cobra falling into his rainwater tank. The snake could not get its grip on the sides of the tank to climb out. So M put a ladder into the tank and the snake came out. A week or so later M was walking towards his house when he saw a snakehead raised up moving back and forth. M stopped. After a few more movements the snake went away. He believes it was the cobra he rescued saying a thank you.

My next post will be about another type of creepy crawly! (Also inspired by my friend A.)

Namma Metro celebrates ayudha puja

Yesterday was Ayudha puja (the 9th day of Dasara), and the day when tools and machines which are used to carry out everyday work and make a living are worshipped and blessed. I love the way Hinduism reveres and sees the divine in not only its many gods and goddesses, but also animals, and even inanimate objects!

When I stepped out yesterday, I couldn’t help be reminded that it was Ayudha puja because many of the cars on the roads were decorated with banana leaves and flowers. Later on when I took the metro at Trinity station, I noticed that the entrance to the station was decorated with flower garlands. As I put my bag through the scanner, I saw that the computer screen on which the scanned objects appear was smeared with kumkum and decorated with flowers. When I reached the turnstiles, a small yellow flower had been placed delicately on each one!

I then came across a group of Namma Metro employees celebrating this important puja day. They had made a beautiful and elaborate rangoli on the floor with flowers. A purple-shirted employee offered me prasad of fruit and sweets. Another offered me puffed rice.

A makeshift altar was set up with pictures of deities, garlands and balloons. Notice that their log books and walkie-talkie have been properly blessed!

And they didn't forget the cleaning machines! I had to get a few shots of this celebration. I didn’t have my DSLR with me, so I apologise for the bad-quality photos taken with my phone!

Another bandh

I like bandh days. This is the only time India goes to sleep and gets really quiet. I woke up on Saturday morning to almost complete silence. No traffic noise. No electric saw noise coming from the marble works. No calls of ‘paper’ from the paper collection boys, and no ‘tarakari’ from the walking vegetable vendors. No one was around.

I had to step outside to get a glimpse of the deserted streets, a rare sight in India. There were a few people walking around, and police officers stationed here and there. But no buses. A few motorcycles. Very few cars. A few auto-rickshaws.

One of my very first blog posts was about the bandh which took place during my first weeks here. As I had mentioned in that post, bandh (strike) was one of the first words I learned after coming to India! Since then there have been many other bandhs – this is not something which happens on a very regular basis in Bangalore – but at least once or twice a year.

But recently there have been two bandhs in the space of a little over two weeks. On September 20th there was a national bandh against ever increasing petrol prices. The bandh that happened this past Saturday was a state-level bandh, called in Karnataka. We saw this bandh coming. Every day the newspaper would report on the protests happening regarding the Cauvery water issue. The first bandh I had experienced in Bangalore was about the same issue. Water. As I had mentioned in that blog post, whoever said that future wars will be waged over water was so right. Water is a precious commodity and this is something you cannot overlook when living in India.

Growing up in Canada, I took water for granted. We had the Great Lakes and Niagara Falls – lots of water! Drinking clean water from the tap is something I miss! In this post about water, I explained that we get our water delivered by a tanker. Knowing that water is limited, I’m more aware about how I use it. Before I do a load of laundry I go up to the roof, open the water tank and check to see if there’s enough water in it. If the water level gets too low, the pipes will get blocked with air and water won’t run through the taps. So I have to be careful. If there isn’t enough water in the tank, I ask the landlords to switch on the electric pump which will pump the water stored in the sump up to our tank. Sometimes they say there is no water and that they’re waiting for the tanker to arrive. In that case, I have to wait and hope they don’t take too long! Sometimes they do. And you never know when they’ll show up. The other night it was at 2am!

Back to the bandh… Since Karnataka shares the Cauvery river with Tamil Nadu, water supply has been a very contentious issue for a very long time. Under a Supreme Court ruling, Karnataka is obliged to release a certain amount of water to Tamil Nadu daily. Recently there have been fierce protests against giving water to Tamil Nadu because this year the monsoon rains have not been sufficient and many farmers in Karnataka have been struggling with drought-like conditions. A precise summary of recent events can be found here. The bandh lasted only a day, but the issue is yet to be resolved. In the meantime, traffic and noise levels have gone back to ‘normal’.

After Ganesh puja

Scanning the huge water tank at Ulsoor lake on the last day of Ganesh Chaturthi, I saw many murky shapes and shadows just beneath the surface of the water. This is where Ganesh idols of all sizes, some so huge they need to be lifted by crane, are submerged at the end of the 10-day festival.

Floating on the surface were flower garlands, plastic bags, chunks of plaster, pieces of wood and clumps of earth.

I also saw blotches of colour rising up to the surface. The municipality recommends that only idols made with natural colours be used, to avoid pollution of lakes with toxic metals used in paints.

Flower garlands and decorations are removed from the idols at the gate before they're carried in to be immersed in the water.

The effigies are made of clay or soil and dissolve easily once in contact with water. Here the BBMP workers are fishing out some of the bigger idols from the tank.

The job wasn’t easy. This statue seemed to be very heavy.

A mess of limbs, the stripped straw skeletons of the idols are piled up next to the water tank.

People come here to scavenge for firewood.

The authorities try to sensitise people to the environmental effects of this festival by issuing guidelines.

This blog post talks about the environmental aftermath of the Ganesh festival in Bombay where 100,000 idols are dumped into the sea every year!