A quick note on the city’s name. Previously called Bangalore, in 2014 the Indian Government accepted a proposal to change the title back to the original Kannada name, Bengaluru. That said, almost everyone uses the name Bangalore in conversation and writing when using English. Even when I applied for my visa on the government website, the city was listed as Bangalore.
This is not true for other renamed cities, like Bombay-Mumbai, where the name change has been largely embraced (although on a phone call, my manager referred to Mumbai as Bombay) or Madras-Chennai.
People have said the name Bangalore has stuck because “Bengaluru” is difficult to incorporate into English conversation, even for Kannada speakers.
Anyway, my trip so far: I’ve been in Bengaluru for some two weeks. I’m happy to report it is bliss, although it’s fair to say the city is by no means representative of the whole Indian experience.
Bengaluru is the tech capital with all the cafes and craft breweries you’d expect in a modern city. Nicknamed the Silicon Valley of India, it’s home to multinational companies like Microsoft and Apple. The city is vibrant, with plenty of disposable income and hoards of Indian incomers.
In the year 2000, the city had some 5 million people. Today, the population is at least 14 million. Such intense growth has pushed the city to its limits. Water is as scarce as land. It’s the only place I’ve been in the world where I’ve seen properties labelled “Not for sale”.
The job of a foreign journalist at an Indian newspaper is not without its silliness. Calling people up to report on a story first comes with a lengthy explanation.
“Yes, I am really a reporter for an Indian newspaper.”
“No, I don’t follow cricket that closely.”
But Indians are nothing if not accommodating. As much as I am an oddity here, the people are happy to help with whatever I do. Seeing a foreigner trying to adapt to their way of life is welcomed —something the world could learn to do better.
But all is not rosy in the subcontinent below the Himalayas. Poverty is real here, although Queen Street in Auckland may be worse.
There are structural issues that can’t be ignored. The caste system has had lasting impacts. Discrimination based on caste is illegal, but there is a hierarchy of people here, although I don’t have the eyes to tell where people sit on the stairs of rank.
But that goes for all countries. In New Zealand, we claim equality among people while our emergency housing register balloons.
Quite easily the best part about India is its people, closely followed by the food.
The term “curry” loses all meaning once you enter a restaurant. In the South, the most loved, most enjoyed item surely has to go to the idli.
The idli is a soft, light, fluffy steamed round cake made from fermented rice and lentil batter, and they are so moreish that people eat them whenever the sun or moon is out.
Served with tamarind-laced vegetable and lentil stew, and coconut chutney (made with fresh coconut, roasted grams, chillies, cumin, ginger and salt), they are the West’s version of toast — a well-rounded meal for all occasions.
I have three more months here in Bengaluru. No doubt these days will be punctuated with not-so-pretty days, where loneliness and self-reflection get the better of me.
Until then, I’m going to have another idli.
