A walk in Jayanagar
MÁRGARÉT, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves, líke the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Áh! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
--Spring and Fall
Sidestepping the pothole on the otherwise smooth pavement, i am suddenly shocked out of my reverie, a state i often slip into when i go for my evening walk, and i notice that i have already reached the ‘tread-mill road’, as i have christened it in my mind. This road goes up a gentle elevation and feels just like walking on a treadmill, and also because it is otherwise uncluttered, i felt the name appropriate.
I look up to the large canopy formed by the trees on either side of the 38th cross road, which intersects all the ‘mains’ in the Jayanagar 4th T block from the first to the 28th.
The evening filters through the leaves of the large trees. Trees- who are standing sentinels and guardians of the roads…providing oxygen, protecting from dust and shielding from harsh sunlight. These important functions apart, they also manage to play gracious hosts to everyone who passes by the route. Who else but a gracious host would care to strew flowers on the path of the passerby ?
I pretend to be my seven year old self and tell myself that i am a princess who is walking on a carpet of flower-petals..first flaming orange, then a luminous yellow, followed by a royal purple..and then a smattering of white- with- yellow- centers fragrant flowers…What a heady scent it is that fills my being…
I look up at the sky through the canopy of leaves and notice the colours peeping out. How is it that I don’t remember this shade of orange before… ?
Rows of neat houses, freshly painted in white and blue or yellow and brown or just plain cream pass me by on either side. Sedate dwellings, almost like those in an illustrated storybook- neat and tidy but without any pretentions of being modernistic or avant-garde. Plain lines and neat structures, the houses are harmonious neighbours without being identical like the ones in the fancy townships or gated communities ; each house reflecting the owner’s individuality while displaying a sane utility of space.
Then there are staircases that rise in a disciplined manner at one side of the building or those that twirl sensuously around the center of the property…with the quintessential bougainvillea draping them-sometimes i smile to myself as i imagine the staircases to be curvaceous maidens with flower-printed-chiffon sarees draped around them…and quickly shake off a memory which still has the power to fill me with pain…
This is a Bangalore that is as lovely in true life as it would be in a poet’s reconstruction of it.
Visual delights fill the four kilometer stretch that i take through the uphill road lined with quiet edifices of learning which come alive when young people enter its portals. But as of now they are silent and resting.
The tailor shop with frilly frocks meant for tiny girls, the beauty parlours with a collection of scooters parked before them in a haphazard way, the vegetable shops, the bhajiya stalls with crowds of men around them, the expensive DVD rental store, the Art of Living shop with sandalwood essence escaping out of its serene interiors and a secretive looking slimming parlour…
All these picturesque details then give way to the only cafe at the corner of the point where two of the gardens intersect. A lively place humming with music and resounding laughter.
A skip and jump across, the road takes me to one of the basketball clubs that the neighbourhood is famous for. Some familiar faces grin and wave at me…Almost as if it senses my desire to connect, their ball strays toward me and i lap up this chance to throw it back at them..unable to keep the smile off my face.
My walking has become somewhat tedious now with the uphill road just behind me and i slow my pace..regaining breath and concentrating on the devotional music in Kannada that rings in my ears. The Kalyan Mandapams and the two temples are now gone by and i am finally in the midst of the market. Flowers of all hues, and fruits and vegetables of all shades of green and yellow fill me with a sense of exhilaration.
I pick my usual mixture of multicoloured roses for my domestic deities and the fragrant mogra garlands for my hair…
The purchase has the effect that i crave..a lingering sense of happiness..just because the flowers are now in my possession.
I take another, and equally interesting route home…stopping at the sugarcane juice corner and helping myself to a large glassful with ginger and lemon.
The evening is deepening in the sky as i make my way back to the place i call home. The chants of Hanuman Chalisa sung in unison by children in a nearby house makes for a mellifluous background score as my weave my way through yet another disciplined row of houses, as i inhale delicious rasam aromas mingling with those of agarbattis and dhoops..
The fragrance of Bangalore….unique, beautiful and peace-inducing…
And, like its memories…unforgettable..
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves, líke the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Áh! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
--Spring and Fall
Sidestepping the pothole on the otherwise smooth pavement, i am suddenly shocked out of my reverie, a state i often slip into when i go for my evening walk, and i notice that i have already reached the ‘tread-mill road’, as i have christened it in my mind. This road goes up a gentle elevation and feels just like walking on a treadmill, and also because it is otherwise uncluttered, i felt the name appropriate.
I look up to the large canopy formed by the trees on either side of the 38th cross road, which intersects all the ‘mains’ in the Jayanagar 4th T block from the first to the 28th.
The evening filters through the leaves of the large trees. Trees- who are standing sentinels and guardians of the roads…providing oxygen, protecting from dust and shielding from harsh sunlight. These important functions apart, they also manage to play gracious hosts to everyone who passes by the route. Who else but a gracious host would care to strew flowers on the path of the passerby ?
I pretend to be my seven year old self and tell myself that i am a princess who is walking on a carpet of flower-petals..first flaming orange, then a luminous yellow, followed by a royal purple..and then a smattering of white- with- yellow- centers fragrant flowers…What a heady scent it is that fills my being…
I look up at the sky through the canopy of leaves and notice the colours peeping out. How is it that I don’t remember this shade of orange before… ?
Rows of neat houses, freshly painted in white and blue or yellow and brown or just plain cream pass me by on either side. Sedate dwellings, almost like those in an illustrated storybook- neat and tidy but without any pretentions of being modernistic or avant-garde. Plain lines and neat structures, the houses are harmonious neighbours without being identical like the ones in the fancy townships or gated communities ; each house reflecting the owner’s individuality while displaying a sane utility of space.
Then there are staircases that rise in a disciplined manner at one side of the building or those that twirl sensuously around the center of the property…with the quintessential bougainvillea draping them-sometimes i smile to myself as i imagine the staircases to be curvaceous maidens with flower-printed-chiffon sarees draped around them…and quickly shake off a memory which still has the power to fill me with pain…
This is a Bangalore that is as lovely in true life as it would be in a poet’s reconstruction of it.
Visual delights fill the four kilometer stretch that i take through the uphill road lined with quiet edifices of learning which come alive when young people enter its portals. But as of now they are silent and resting.
The tailor shop with frilly frocks meant for tiny girls, the beauty parlours with a collection of scooters parked before them in a haphazard way, the vegetable shops, the bhajiya stalls with crowds of men around them, the expensive DVD rental store, the Art of Living shop with sandalwood essence escaping out of its serene interiors and a secretive looking slimming parlour…
All these picturesque details then give way to the only cafe at the corner of the point where two of the gardens intersect. A lively place humming with music and resounding laughter.
A skip and jump across, the road takes me to one of the basketball clubs that the neighbourhood is famous for. Some familiar faces grin and wave at me…Almost as if it senses my desire to connect, their ball strays toward me and i lap up this chance to throw it back at them..unable to keep the smile off my face.
My walking has become somewhat tedious now with the uphill road just behind me and i slow my pace..regaining breath and concentrating on the devotional music in Kannada that rings in my ears. The Kalyan Mandapams and the two temples are now gone by and i am finally in the midst of the market. Flowers of all hues, and fruits and vegetables of all shades of green and yellow fill me with a sense of exhilaration.
I pick my usual mixture of multicoloured roses for my domestic deities and the fragrant mogra garlands for my hair…
The purchase has the effect that i crave..a lingering sense of happiness..just because the flowers are now in my possession.
I take another, and equally interesting route home…stopping at the sugarcane juice corner and helping myself to a large glassful with ginger and lemon.
The evening is deepening in the sky as i make my way back to the place i call home. The chants of Hanuman Chalisa sung in unison by children in a nearby house makes for a mellifluous background score as my weave my way through yet another disciplined row of houses, as i inhale delicious rasam aromas mingling with those of agarbattis and dhoops..
The fragrance of Bangalore….unique, beautiful and peace-inducing…
And, like its memories…unforgettable..
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