A survey in 2011 came up with the risible conclusion that Bangalore was the most ‘liveable’ city in India. If ‘liveable’ sounded laughable back then, the past decade has done nothing to vindicate the claim. The name change from Bangalore to Bengaluru in 2014 didn’t change its liveability quotient either. But despite the traffic gridlocks, mismanaged garbage, diminishing green cover and impending water crisis, people from other states continued to migrate here: our population is up from around 85 lakh in the 2011 census to an estimated 1.2 crore.
Does that mean — and dare I say it — that Bengaluru is a liveable city after all? Or is it just that it attracts job-seekers who are then forced to put up with it, warts and all? As a loyalist I would venture to assert that our city holds a special attraction for outsiders because it assimilates them effortlessly. It is a relatively safe city, too. Okay there have been a few scares — the least harmless being the rumour that 10-rupee coins were not legal tender — and crimes — the most trivial one in 2015 when an itinerant shoe-thief made off with expensive footwear left outside the front doors of flats. Coming to serious felonies, in the second decade of this century, just as in the first, a cab driver was arrested for robbing and killing a passenger. As for scaremongering, the exodus in 2012 of persons from the north-eastern states was the first instance in Bengaluru of the malicious dissemination of fake news using technology — via SMS, for we weren’t yet a ‘trigger-Appy’ lot.
Apps, oh my, they’ve simply taken over our lives during the past decade, and we’ve known their good side as well. We graduated from ‘call taxi’ services to taxi booking Apps. We heartily embraced food delivery Apps too; I’ve just heard of a young couple who use their food App for practically all their meals, even to order instant noodles!
Our prime desire continues to be whatever makes daily living more convenient, and improved public transport did satisfy it in some measure. Namma Metro was kicked off at last in 2011, the Purple Line chugging from Byappanahalli to MG Road. Then work began on the Green Line, and tunnel boring machines Helen and Margarita powered through near-impregnable rock. Three-coach trains became six-coach, frequency was increased during peak hours and timing extended in stages until now we have the last trains leaving at midnight from ‘Kempegowda Central’. Optimistic deadlines have been set for the pink, blue and yellow lines of Phase II, but who knows if we’ll see them by the end of the next decade.
Metro Feeder buses were an attempt to solve the problem of last-mile connectivity but the real breakthrough came only recently with two-wheelers on hire. You get off the metro station and hop onto a yellow scooter, or download an App and use your GPS to locate one of those blue electric bikes or bicycles, scan the QR code on your mobile to unlock it, and whizz to your home or office. Payment is through your digital wallet and you can leave the vehicle in any legitimate parking space. Convenience personified.
Garbage disposal has been a major inconvenience. The civic authorities were at their wit’s end, announcing one scheme after another: segregate at source, segregate at collection points in localities, set up treatment plants, build mixed waste recycling plants... When we attempted to dump our rubbish in surrounding villages, vigorous protests followed — in 2012 at the Mavallipura landfill and in 2014 at Mandur. The garbage headache has turned into a nagging migraine that shows little signs of abating.
It’s not that Bengalureans don’t care about the local environment. They took up cudgels on its behalf through citizens’ movements such as Whitefield Rising and ORR Rising, and the successful Steel Flyover Beda campaign. But when garments workers agitated on Bannerghatta Road against exploitative working conditions, the middle and upper classes did nothing. Correction: they did complain — about how the protest blocked traffic!
A lively cultural scene made Bengaluru more liveable. In the past decade, Jagriti theatre was born, Ranga Shankara and the Bangalore Queer Film Festival turned 10, and several smaller neighbourhood venues opened up for readings and performances. Secondhand bookshops blossomed on Church Street. On the down side, Indiranagar residents cited noise pollution as the reason to close down lounge bars where music bands played.
Liveable? Barely, you might say. But lovable? Although I could be in a minority of one, I’m lovestruck enough to yell “Yes!”