Bengaluru blues: City living has wrung out the urban dweller

I’m in Navadarshanam again, a small community 50 km from Bengaluru, where a group of dedicated residents are trying out an experiment in living and thinking in harmony with themselves and nature. One could call it ecosophia — outer and inner balance, prime environmental wisdom, so necessary in our times, especially in a megapolis such as Bengaluru.

The spectre of urban collapse is nowhere as obvious as in Bengaluru, India’s fastest growing and slowest moving city. One of these mornings, I was caught in a traffic jam at Varthur, famous for its flaming and frothing lake. The effluents released into the water literally set its waters on fire; later, with the rains, the toxic froth spilled onto the road like noxious shampoo suds. Braving many odds, Bengalurians venture on to the crammed streets each day, wasting time, fuel, and, over time, their health too. What we see here is not urban sprawl, but urban crawl.

Though the city is full of smart people, including world-famous techies, they haven’t found a solution. Some suggest staggering office timings, others abolishing offices altogether so that people can work from home. But in the latter scenario, what happens to teamwork, interacting, discussing, finding solutions to problems? Not everyone’s universe is the black box of a computer terminal. Also, many employers don’t trust their staff to work unsupervised. Office-goers, habituated to their daily routine, themselves don’t like sticking around 24/7 at home. Many women prefer to be released from the confines of the home; going out contributes to their freedom and self-esteem. The Bengaluru Metro project is quite behind schedule; I suspect that by the time it is finished, it will already be inadequate.

With the lakes dying or encroached upon and rampant over-development, Bengaluru is also facing an unprecedented water crisis. Many homes rely exclusively on tankers, with the municipal authorities failing to ensure regular supply. The indiscriminate digging of bore wells has depressed the water table to alarming lows: 1,400 ft is not considered too deep to strike water. Similarly, garbage disposal also leaves much to be desired, with smelly heaps on the roads waiting to be picked up. The populace seems more interested upon throwing it out of their homes than in contributing to city’s hygiene and cleanliness.

As if these woes were not enough, many government offices are notorious for corrupt officials. Try to get a khata or title deed registered or released — you will encounter a well-oiled bribe-extracting machine run by middlemen and unscrupulous employees. Every now and then there is a well-publicised drive to crack down on encroachments, illegal structures, or unauthorised shops; soon, however, business is back to normal.

On the outskirts of the city the national highways are dotted not only with liquor vends, but chicken, mutton, pork, and fish stalls, all unauthorised, frequented not only by customers but by stray dogs and flies. Outside privileged pockets, be prepared for sudden and frequent power outages and breakdowns. It’s futile calling the local KEB; no one will pick up the phone.

Bengaluru is of course not alone. Environmental degradation, energy crises, social inequality, cultural erosion, urban collapse, and many worse things have now become a part of our daily realities. In India there is hardly a waterbody, river, stream, or pond, which is neither polluted nor endangered. The countryside is ravaged with rubbish, drains overflow with filth, swine poke about in the slush, and half-dressed, malnourished children, not far behind, play in the dirt; plastic bags dot the landscape.

And all over India, defecation and urination have ceased to be private acts. All this, despite the dynamic Prime Minister’s Swachh Bharat Abhiyan.

We have to admit that our mismanagement has reached a crisis. Consequently, the dominant culture has lost its supercilious swagger; alternatives no longer require vociferous advocacy. The executive in a multinational is longing to leave the city on the weekend and the angry young man no longer drops out but wants his own start-up. Even the staunchest supporters of development can no longer disregard human and environmental costs.

What we’re witnessing is the interpenetration of opposites.  The mainstream no longer seems like the mainstream and the alternatives no longer look all that far out. In a world shorn of sharp divisions and stripped off high walls, we need new ways of thinking about ourselves and our world. It is time for the alternatives to become the mainstream.

This is where Navadarshanam comes in, offering hope to the beleaguered. Healthy, nutritious, locally grown food, prepared and served in the community kitchen is wonderful as the basis of a more conscious life. Plus a space free from the authority of ideologies, religions, belief systems, customs, traditions and other forms of control or domination allow for true searching and genuine flowering of each resident. Here one might find an environment of continuous sharing, learning, and growth, not only from one another, but also from the very soil, water, air, and light. I am happy to be here again, among the birds, bees, cicadas, tadpoles and whispering leaves.

The author is a poet and professor at JNU