Baabooo, yeh pablik hai ... yeh sab maangti hai...

Yesterday … 

A Day at KGA

I happened to bump into an old acquaintance at the bank. It was late morning and as usual, I was in my shorts and t-shirt, straight out of my morning game. 

“Havvaaryoo saar?” he said in thickly accented English as he came into the manager’s cabin and promptly plunked himself into the chair next to me. 

The manager immediately rose to shake his hands – surely he was a very important customer – as even that small portion of his business which he transacted through banks is substantial enough to make any bank manager jump out of his comfortable seat. He was our local legislator and is well known for developing a lot of under-utilized land. I smiled in response and pushed my chair back from the desk, knowing that whatever discussion, I was engaged in, had come to an abrupt end. 

“Vaatt saar, playing gulf, aah?” he said looking at the sun-burned legs sticking out of my shorts and immediately followed up his query with another question, “Verr saar, Chalaghatta clubbu, aah?” 

“Huh ha … KGA”, I nodded. 

“Lucky people … you are, saar, hundred acres … land … and you people … enjoying it”, he looked up at the manager for his approval, who nodded promptly.

“Right in the heart of the city and only a few has access to it”, the manager said turning his tie knot and smiling affably, “the land can be made into something useful for the public … like an entertainment complex…?” he tapered off. 

“No … no, saar”, he butted in quickly interrupting the manager, “You know … price of land …here?”  He paused digging his nostril with his little finger, “Crores!”
  

“So… what do you propose to do?” I asked him. Even though I had tried to be genial, my eyes that were fixed on his little finger still busy exploring for some elusive irritant, must have showed my contempt.

“Anything saar … something useful, sorry. We can develop … lands into big IT Parks … housing layouts … public saar … for public.”

“How can you do that sir?” it was the manager interrupting him. “It is a lake bed, isn’t it? If you convert all lakes into concrete complexes …?” 

“Vaat naansens saar?” he almost exploded. “Where … you live?”

“Cambridge Layout”

“Ha ha hah … Own house aah?” he continued not acknowledging his perplexed nod, “So … you are living in … lake” he laughed again. “Cambridge, Domlur Layouts, HAL Third … all these … lake beds only, once upon a time. Population ... growing and we need lands … saar, Vaat?” he looked at me. 

Hydrological map of East Bangalore

“Sound logic!” I smiled encouragingly. 

He must have thought that my compliment was genuine and continued with his instruction. “You see saar, all this area … southeast Benguluru … long time back … small villages … middle of … agriculture fields. Now, tell me saar, where is agriculture lands?” 

“So… you mean to say that there is no need for water bodies, now that there is no agriculture?” I asked, a little irked by his logic and showed it. 

“No no… saar” he said a little defensively, “when … long time back … here … no city. All these lakes … feeded by natural hoḷé … only clean water … but now … so much development … only dirty sewage drain waters comes in them. Vaat use? Lands… saar, can use for public use, no?  

Farekjampul …” he continued. “Our Mejestic bus stand … long back … one lake. We developed many lake beds into BDA layouts and SEZs”, he said proudly.

 “They are useful, no … for pablik ? …  “But a gulf club..?”

 

This certainly made me wonder…  Am I supposed to feel guilty for being one of those that enjoyed the lush green expanse?

I began digging. Here are some facts… 

Challaghatta - Dry tank-bed before the golf course was made

The Challaghatta tank was once part of a chain of small water bodies joining Ulsoor and Bellandur Lakes. The erstwhile stream that connected these two lakes is today a sewage drain running true to its old course. The catchment area of this tank consisted of erstwhile farmlands which are known today as Indiranagar – HAL II & III Stages, Domlur Layout, Domlur II Stage, etc. All these areas were developed as residential layouts by the BDA even before the land was allocated to KGA. Later the land surrounding the golf course was developed into Amarjyoti Layout, Rustombagh and other residential and commercial developments including a large business park, turning the entire area into a concrete jungle. 

More than 50,000 fully grown trees

Only breathing space available in East Bangalore other than the Agram grounds is the golf course. 125 Acres of erstwhile Challaghatta tank is today one of the best sporting facilities in the country – venue of some of the most prestigious national and international events.

I have come across a certain set of pictures of the lake bed before it was converted into a golf course.  When the land was leased to KGA in 80’s, it was a large dry expanse with a few puddles of water. As the main water source drained directly into Bellandur, without a check, as the land use around Chalaghatta village had changed. 

There is more water retained round the year

The water hazards in the golf course retain more clean water today compared to the amount of water in the erstwhile tank bed. Treated sewage water from the neighborhood is used, reducing the pollution levels in the area.

More than 600 varieties of Trees

The bigger question raised by the so called activists, concerns the eco-system. It is only thanks to the founders of the golf course, and the vision of the likes of TP Issar, today there are more than 50,000 fully grown trees. There are 600 different exotic and native varieties of palms and tropical trees. The course is home to many avian species and aquatic fauna.

A proper census cataloguing the fauna will shut the detractors up.

Next argument is that the course is an exclusive domain of a few members. Is that really so? 

Let us look at the facts. 

Under different categories the membership is extended to students, proficient sportsmen, servicemen and temporary residents. The course has produced some extraordinary talent – some of the best professional golfers, of both sexes, hail from this course. The only Indian Open champion from South India is a home grown young man from Chalaghatta whose parents earned their livelihood from the course. Further, the course provides employment to hundreds of skilled and unskilled men and women from the neighboring area round the year.

But … who the hell is interested? 

My politician friend feels cheated. Prime urban land – at today’s prices, a veritable pot of gold … but only if the likes of him are allowed to lay their hands on it and develop it for public use.

‘Who’s the pablik ?’ I wonder

The Day of the Dog

The Day of the Dog

SAI PAPINENI

“Those were the days, when the world was as the great creator, the three headed Kerberus, had intended it to be…” Old Bitch began, lazily circling and tamping the soft leaves and rubbish into a cushion before settling down for a long Sunday predawn sermon. A lone streetlight in that narrow lane was still shining brightly. It is their favored place for their weekly gatherings that always followed a midnight feast, near the late night restaurant’s garbage dump.

I being half breed Pomeranian, greatly disadvantaged by the stature of my parent, was relegated to the most disagreeable corner crawling with fleas. My belly, well sated by a large leftover portion of chicken kebabs, desperately wanted to get back to my native territory – a beautiful tree-lined street in Defense Colony – and lie down in air conditioned comfort under the car parked in the porch of Wobbly Legs, ah! That is one humane biped, who had never failed to leave a nice little breakfast for me, every morning, properly wrapped in a flimsy plastic bag.

But … Old Bitch is a bitch.

She doesn’t like anyone in her congregation missing her weekly discourses – those who are mad enough will be doggedly hounded by her terriers – “Dog’s life!” a low snarl escaped my jaws. Immediately, I looked around to see if someone had noticed. Thank Dog! None of those Dylan’s dogs prowling around. I looked up at Old Bitch, perched high on the rubbish mound, as she continued with her gobbledygook extolling the virtues of canine race.

“Those were the idyllic days when we were simple pack living and sharing the pleasures of communal life. In our little dens deep in woods, we were all grey and had no disparities.

“Howl Kerberus…!

“There…! He was a great leader. We all hunted with him, – so strong we were then – and we could bring down even a mighty mammoth. Do you know mammoths?” she paused, scratching her flanks, “They were huge – even bigger than those gigantic city buses – and equally vicious. And, the legends say that it was our hunters that sent their species to extinction”

Entire congregation began to nod their heads LOL-ling their tongues, warming to the rhetoric.

“It was a historic blunder”, finally she launched into her familiar rant, “when some of our ancestors began to follow the bipeds. A false sense of comfort in bourgeois kennels and our eagerness to catch the attractive bones that they tossed at us sounded the death knell to a glorious phase in history. We were enslaved – they turned us into sentries to guard their misbegotten wealth. We became shepherds. Brother against brother – we gamely chased our own kind when they hunted. Mutely taking orders, faithfully, we even subjected ourselves to such heinous makeovers to fit their pockets.”

Shame! Shame!

The entire congregation responded perking their ears up.

“So far, our struggles to make a point, our attempts at reaffirming our dignity are largely ignored by bipeds, secure in their homes guarded by our own greyhound brethren. They even have the temerity to parade our Kennel Club members on leash, in spite of our noisy protests. Our occasional exultations after a few sporadic attacks by our belligerent brothers, terrorizing the biped puppies and defenseless oldies only serve as trivial entertainment, and no more. Those undignified cries of their helpless females, cornered by our playful adolescents are brushed away as harmless teasing. Even our loud concerted pursuits are ignored by those motorcyclists, reckless enough to keep coming back to our territories and disturb peace.”

A solemn gloom descended on the congregation interrupted by a few feeble snivels of despondence.

“Do not whine, my comrades in fangs”, Old Bitch gave a terse woof. “You are the fortunate ones. You live in a city, a city of future, the Land of Litter and Garbage promised by Kerberus, himself … a ray of light at the end of a long burrow of time …”

A collective howl interrupted her tirade as the lone streetlight flickered and died. A buzz of discontent at the failure of civic bodies followed as each one tried to adjust their night vision.

“Don’t you bitch” Old Bitch growled.

“The civic bodies of this city are peerless,” She continued furiously. “They are our allies in our struggle against the oppression of bipeds. We owe our numbers and freedom to them. Their acts of magnanimity are numerous – dark alleys, bumpy roads and unlimited supply of unattended garbage – and give us a tactical advantage over those two-legged freaks. I strongly denounce criticism of this city’s noble civic authorities.

“You better have down pat, comrades, they are dogs’ best friends,” she barked.

A lone yip reverberated in the stunned silence that followed. It was the leader of a stray terror outfit called Cubbon Pack, that made the long verandahs of a red building its lair, raising his paw rather tentatively as he began to speak.

“Comrade Old Bitch,” he raised his whimper to a howl, for everyone to hear, “I have terrifying news. The reactionary forces are gathering momentum under our own snouts. There is a new vixen in town that was stirring up hornets with questions which no one dared to utter, atleast not until now, are pricking the conscience of our friends. The civic powers that be are completely foxed by them. I expect some vigilant onslaught in the days to come.”

His words sent a chill down my spine all the way back to my tail.

“Hush” Old Bitch barked and grinned with her canines hidden, at her congregation terrified and looking up to her for guidance.

“Perk up your ears, you dogs. There is nothing to worry. No single vixen can make this city’s administration wake up from its slumber. Just go back to your home streets and do what you are best at, making more litters. I assure you, that the promised day is near.”

Then came the comforting words, settling my palpitating heart,

“Most importantly, we have our NGOtiators in right places, to safeguard our interests. They will ensure that one day …

“very soon …

“the city comes to us”.