Mist laden mornings, with a wispy ethereal drape over every place which otherwise would have looked so common. Stately trees lining black asphalted roads, leading out to a mystical nowhere, on a white canvas that only nature could have painted. That was the Bangalore I grew up in: that was the Bangalore I lived in as a schoolboy.
The mist has lifted for good. The smooth roads have become pockmarked with potholes. The stately trees are maimed or gone. Drab 'matchboxes' line roads where pretty gardens stood. It is now looking as if Bangalore has greyed prematurely.
Just like the Sun warmed up the day, lifting the wispy misty veil, telling us it is time up for school, it is now looking as if we would miss the bus if we do not get ready in time. We need to learn why, we with a quirky Midas touch, seem to be prematurely aging everything around us: everything that we touch!
- in good faith, krishnamb.
making free time is culture!
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