There are two things I love about Bangalore.
The first, of course, is the weather. This one aspect outweighs all the other disadvantages of the city.
The other thing I love about the city is its lakes. Lakes are everywhere!
No matter your neighborhood, you will find a well-maintained lake nearby. (New ones even spring up magically on the roads after a drizzle.)
I live in one of the busiest parts of the ‘new’ Bangalore – Bellandur.
It is a crazy place—nothing like the good ol’ Bangalore you may have experienced in the 1990s (or earlier).
Bellandur is an ever-expanding concrete jungle, albeit overgrown with weed-like PGs. Then there’s the traffic. You will find eight-lane traffic squeezing through narrow two-lane streets. Traffic moves like a river during the short intervals when it is flowing—vehicles, regardless of their direction, find and occupy empty spaces.
Motorbike riders dart around like startled cockroaches when they’re disturbed. There is no lane discipline, no regard for road signs, and no safe distance maintained between vehicles. People use horns more than accelerators to get ahead.
And if you think walking will help you avoid traffic issues, it’s even worse on foot!
Let’s not even get started on the footpaths; they are constructed more like steeplechase courses! Street dogs dominate the footpaths if you still decide to use them. Most appear friendly, but this can feel like a challenging walk if you’re not a dog person. The streets are filled with temporary roadside eateries, with customers gathered and spilling onto the sidewalks. This forces you to navigate around them, risking involvement in the chaotic traffic where you’ll compete for road space with other vehicles. You won’t be able to walk a few steps without bumping into people, either on foot or on bicycles.
Everyone is in a hurry here.
Amidst this chaos and craziness, there’s a small oasis of calm- the Iblur Lake. It is a serene spot with a fine walkway around it, offering a peaceful respite from the city’s hustle and bustle. One circle around the lake is approximately 800 meters, a perfect distance for a leisurely stroll.
Iblur Lake is where I usually get 40 minutes of peace on Sunday mornings.
Today is another Sunday.
I cycle to the lake as I always do. As I reach the park entrance, I see the familiar mini food truck parked. A crowd has formed around it. The cook is frying puris. As I cycle by, I inhale the scent of the masala gravy freshly prepared by the cook. I see some customers pluck pieces of steaming hot puris, blow on them to cool them down, and then gulp them down. I avert my gaze, swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth, and park my bicycle.
I see the friendly lady selling healthy snacks. It looks like she has yet to have any customers. She should switch to selling fried snacks, and customers will come, I think to myself.
I enter the park, and to the left, I see a park bench with a couple of old gentlemen seated on it. One man is staring intently at his phone, playing the news at a high volume. The other man sits with his hands resting on his walking stick, observing the park visitors.
I often wonder what life is like for older people. What do they have to look forward to? Do they feel like a burden to their children? My prayer these days is that I don’t live to see an age where I am dependent on someone else.
I switch to exercise mode on my smartwatch. I wonder if these leisurely 40-minute walks are really doing any good for my health, as I don’t see any visible difference. That’s why I use my smartwatch—it at least gives me some satisfaction when I check my walk statistics.
I hear the songs of birds and the sound of water lapping at the lake’s edges.
I observe the joyful movements of migratory birds. One of them is sitting by the side of the lake. It looks wet and cold, its feathers all puffed up, its neck tucked between the wings, and its eyes closed—kind of like how we sit around a campfire on a cold night.
A few others are diving into the water, emerging at different places. Yet another one assumes an assertive posture—wings spread wide, standing tall.
As I walk on, I see a child rushing forward, laughing, with his father quickly calling out on his heels. The mother walks behind them, her face radiating happiness and calm.
I see couples, some with solemn faces, walking very quickly as if they are on a mission.
Then there are others, walking slowly and purposefully, discussing serious issues.
I see a group of friends playfully teasing each other and giggling. I wished I could return to the days when I had just started a job and was exploring a new, free world with friends.
I overtake an old couple walking unhurriedly. I smile at some people sitting by the side on the park benches.
As I round one of the curves, I gaze at the branches of a tree leaning toward the lake. Looking down at the water, I notice a puffed-up snake skin floating nearby. Do snakes inhabit this area? I make a mental note to be more cautious when walking along the grassy side lanes.
I walk past the gazebos. I see people practicing their dance moves in one of them, and I groove to the music during a brief part of my walk.
Next to the pavilions is an ‘open gym.’ People of various age groups are actively working the colorful, basic mechanical equipment in the gym.
I stroll beneath a canopy of cherry trees. I spot a red cherry and stop to pluck it. I squeeze the cherry and suck its grainy juice. This action takes me back to my school days. My school had cherry and almond trees. I remember we used to suck on cherries and crack open the almond shells to extract the nut.
I noted that I had completed one circle.
I look up. It is a bright, sunny day. I feel happier on sunny days.
My gaze falls upon the half-done metro rail looming before the Microsoft office. When will this metro work get done? Why does it take so long to complete projects in this city? Like most Indian cities, Bangalore is also always under construction. Roads take years to complete. Traffic would have doubled by then, and we would need wider roads. So the construction starts again. Circle of life!
I come across dog walkers walking a couple of well-groomed Golden Retrievers. A group of local park dogs watches the pampered visitors with a low growl, warning them not to cross into their territory. The golden retrievers appeared to be the least concerned. They walk around, sharing their contagious smiles with anyone who pays attention. I follow the dogs for a while, almost hypnotized by their rhythmic walk—tails wagging and behinds swaying back and forth.
Someday, I will own a small piece of land with a small dwelling. You will find me in an easy chair outside, with a furball of a dog at my feet. My mind drifts to a distant future, filled with beautiful thoughts.
I complete another lap around the park and continue onto the third. By then, I start seeing new faces.
After three laps, I walk across the road to a tea shop that I frequent. You can find such teashops in every nook and corner of Bellandur. Most of them are named ‘Hot and Cold’ or some variants of the two words. You can recognize them from the big brown tea boilers and a glass shelf filled with colorful snacks.
I order a black tea with ‘less sugar.’ (In teashop lingo, ‘sugarless’ means no sugar, and ‘less sugar’ means lightly sweetened).
I take small sips of the wonderfully made tea, pay him, and get back on my cycle for my ride home.
The 40 minutes of calm have prepared me to face any challenges the rest of Sunday may bring. I will face them head-on, lying on my couch.
