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

All in the Game

All in the Game

It

 was a pleasant morning with a mild southwesterly blowing intermittent cirrus clouds across the course. Hiraki teed up a little high and with a smooth fluid swing sent the ball over the ominous looking water hazard, splitting the fairway into two equal halves.

“Goooshaaw, Yamamoto-san” shouted Aggarwal. Hiraki’s tiny chest ballooned with pride. First tee-shot always has portentous significance to early morning golfers. ‘A day well began’ Hiraki was smiling within. It was the day he was planning to meet the government representatives; his inner voice must have told him that the deal would somehow go through. That’s when he saw that immaculately dressed gentleman, colour-coordinated from floppy San Andrews cap to his shining black golf shoes, hurrying towards the tee-box.

“Ah there…! You’re just in time, mister Rao”, exclaimed Aggarwal.

Royal N Ancient … RNA, to his friends – Ramji Narayan Aggarwal is one of the oldest and loudest members of the club – always ready to lend a helping hand to fellow members. I looked up midway through my backswing promptly sending my ball sputtering through the lake. An inaudible curse escaped my lips. Hiraki looked at me with a slight nod acknowledging my distress. “Shigata nai” I muttered before tossing the driver to my caddie.

Aggarwal had not taken any notice, he was eager to introduce Rao to his new found acquaintance, Hiraki. “Yamamoto-san, meet mister Rao, an old friend of mine and a great golfer…” Introductions went on for a while with Hiraki’s characteristic bows in response the verbal flood from Aggarwal extolling his worthy friend.

I began to fidget. My tee-shot had not helped my mood much. “Gentlemen”, I interrupted gesturing at the other four-ball waiting behind us. Aggarwal grunted, conceding, as he moved to the ball already teed up by his caddie – it is too menial a task to bend down and tee up the ball – and a louder grunt followed as he heaved his weight behind the shot making the ball disappear into the trees. Rao’s shot that followed was decent, giving a semblance of competition to Hiraki.

My mood had not improved as I dropped another ball short of the water hazard. Another lousy day! My thoughts went back to the previous day – that began with a quaint plea from my son, who needed my help in getting his passport renewed, rather urgently – and my futile efforts to convince the authorities that the child’s trip to Australia to participate in an architectural design competition is of reasonable national importance.

Pillar to post!

Or is it water hazard to sand trap? I cursed once again as my ball faded right into the greenside bunker. “A double bogey at the best,” I said accompanying Aggarwal ambling lazily towards his caddie that had found the ball which appeared miraculously at the fringe of the fairway.

I had no qualms though – it was I that had asked Aggarwal to fix the game with Rao, explaining the predicament of Hiraki, whose firm is the only supplier of a certain cantilevers, deemed essential by the consultants for the superfast roadway connecting the principal cities of the state. At the request of the consultants, his firm had set up a hundred million dollar manufacturing unit and I was instrumental in locating it.

The project is essential for its future viability.

Everything was hunky dory until Hiraki’s predawn phone-call shook me up on the day before. His voice sounded to my sleepy head like a thousand May-day alarms going off at the same time. “The specs vanished in the final detailing document. It must be the consortium…”

My mind continued to wander adding three more bogeys to the card, as the four-ball continued through to the refreshment hut at the fifth tee – a long holdup, two groups waiting ahead of us. Aggarwal continued in his characteristic tenor forcing wit into his praises of Rao, recounting anecdotes from a long string of his feats. Even Rao couldn’t have made his own resume, more effective.

I smiled absentmindedly at the three heads huddled together and moseyed off with my phone to call a certain Ilangovan that can help me with my son’s passport. “Avaru baathroomla irukaamgu. Pinnaale phonu pamdumgo” a high pitched voice replied without masking her irritation.

The sixth hole is a short par three – just a well aimed pitch with a wedge across the water should get a par, if not a birdie. Hiraki and Aggarwal are already two up. ‘But … this is my favorite hole’ I walked confidently to the tee in spite of a wayward hook by my partner Rao. An easy swing and – Brrrrrrrrr – the phone began to vibrate. I was in two minds – to take a shot or the call – and duffed the ball … another ProV into the depths.

“Sawrree saar. My name ees Ilangovan saar”, he began.

“Yes… yes mister Ilangovan. I was trying to contact you for my son’s …”

“Teriyum saar. Don’t worry. Tomorrow passport coming saar, gaarentee. Just small fees for polees and my friend in awffees, saar”

“Okay … okay” I hung up, getting ready for my three from the tee box.

“Who’s that?” asked Rao with a smirk.

“Some bloody tout”, I replied, landing the ball next to the pin. An assured bogey, and a chance to halve the hole made me eloquent. “In this goddamned country … the processes are so convoluted, they don’t even exist. You know, how much I had to run around to get a simple passport renewed?”

“You’re right buddy.” Shaking his head vigorously, “This country is run by touts. It’s going to dogs for sure. There’s no place for decent folks like us” said Rao, who runs a very successful ‘tender servicing portal’ for government works that provides start to finish facilitation for its clients. And, he had assured my friend Hiraki a complete reversal of the process, of course, for a reasonable fee.

Disclaimer: The story is not a work of fiction and the characters are real and any resemblance to my golfing friends is purely intentional and not a coincidence.