bls31
May 18th, 2007, 10:51 AM
Like many of us in the class, I had also applied for commission in the Army. It was some times in late 1952, then in the final year of MSc that I got the call to report to the Services Selection Board (South). I was required to travel to Banglore, some where down South, remembered as a spot, on the map of India, from the Geography class way back in school.
Now on this morning of 28th , taking IC 106 flight from Delhi to Banglore, as I strap myself in the window seat of Air bus 320 , far more comfortable than the hard wooden berth of the third class railway compartment, I travelled in for my first journey to Banglore that I am reminded of.
Taking a rickshaw from the hostel, with a, hundred rupee note in my pocket, I arrived at the Charbagh railway station. Travelling third class, changing trains, at times near mid- night, locating a berth and managing the connections was in itself an adventure As the trains sped south, the ever changing vista, unfolding and speeding backwards, had me riveted to the scene outside, it was the old geography lesson coming alive. The aroma of the unfamiliar food items sold at the wayside stations , the cacophony of the un-comprehensible gibbering of the hawkers, porters and the multitude of passengers all in a melee and the babble of unfamiliar looking co-passengers, did provide some diversion if not relief from the tedium of the prolonged and tiring journey. Five days, four changes, Kanpur, Jhansi Secundrabad, Guntkal, later I arrived at Bangalore, with an acquired stiff- neck from long looking out of the window during the waking hours and a nagging pain in the back from tossing and turning, that too with difficulty, on the narrow hard wooden berth.
Banglore, those days, was a retiree’s heaven, with a lay back life style, living in bungalows with large compounds, lush green lawns, flowers beds and tall trees. It was a city full of greenery, clean and of fresh air, with only a few vehicles plying on the wide roads, that too under the strict and watchful eyes of the traffic cops. There were rows and rows of ice-cream parlors, coffee shops, and a multitude of cinema houses, sixty-four or so that I counted on the guide map.
All this time, I was hungry and remained so as I had no appetite for the Idli, Dosa, coffee and other fare, for which I had yet to acquire a taste, available en-route and in the ubiquitous Uddapee restaurants dotting Banglore, unfortunately the cup of tea that I yearned for was conspicuous by its absence.
♣
The aircraft door closes with its characteristic bang and whoosh, sealing us in the air-conditioned capsule After two hours plus of glancing out,, from the window with nothing much to see except some floating clouds and the slowly unfolding monotonous panorama, as seen from 30.000 feet above, down below, flicking through Sawagt, the glossy in-flight IA magazine, pecking at the overfull tray of served snacks, drinking cups of coffee and water from miniature water bottles, at last the plane puts its nose down and soon we were back on mother earth. The aircraft door opens, after a bit of ceremony by the cabin crew, and we are in Banglore
The Airbus 320, has taken just hours to bring me to Banglore or Bengaloru as they call it now, so different from that of yore, now totally .unrecognizable- in a hurry, chaotic yet moving at a snails pace, the high power cars crawling helplessly, the daredevil two wheelers sneaking through nonexistent openings, the ramshackle buses spewing black clouds of un-burnt diesel, and gleaming High rises obscuring the sky, indeed a big price for progress that Banglore has to pay. It is distressing to say the least, albeit with one saving grace; Tea and North Indian food now available at every nook and corner.
Alas the amazing IA Time Machine which had so effortlessly compressed five days in hours cannot take me back to the Banglore of 1952, that I now a retired brigadier, so long to see once again, that had then captured the imagination of a young me.
Brig lakshman Singh
BLS
Now on this morning of 28th , taking IC 106 flight from Delhi to Banglore, as I strap myself in the window seat of Air bus 320 , far more comfortable than the hard wooden berth of the third class railway compartment, I travelled in for my first journey to Banglore that I am reminded of.
Taking a rickshaw from the hostel, with a, hundred rupee note in my pocket, I arrived at the Charbagh railway station. Travelling third class, changing trains, at times near mid- night, locating a berth and managing the connections was in itself an adventure As the trains sped south, the ever changing vista, unfolding and speeding backwards, had me riveted to the scene outside, it was the old geography lesson coming alive. The aroma of the unfamiliar food items sold at the wayside stations , the cacophony of the un-comprehensible gibbering of the hawkers, porters and the multitude of passengers all in a melee and the babble of unfamiliar looking co-passengers, did provide some diversion if not relief from the tedium of the prolonged and tiring journey. Five days, four changes, Kanpur, Jhansi Secundrabad, Guntkal, later I arrived at Bangalore, with an acquired stiff- neck from long looking out of the window during the waking hours and a nagging pain in the back from tossing and turning, that too with difficulty, on the narrow hard wooden berth.
Banglore, those days, was a retiree’s heaven, with a lay back life style, living in bungalows with large compounds, lush green lawns, flowers beds and tall trees. It was a city full of greenery, clean and of fresh air, with only a few vehicles plying on the wide roads, that too under the strict and watchful eyes of the traffic cops. There were rows and rows of ice-cream parlors, coffee shops, and a multitude of cinema houses, sixty-four or so that I counted on the guide map.
All this time, I was hungry and remained so as I had no appetite for the Idli, Dosa, coffee and other fare, for which I had yet to acquire a taste, available en-route and in the ubiquitous Uddapee restaurants dotting Banglore, unfortunately the cup of tea that I yearned for was conspicuous by its absence.
♣
The aircraft door closes with its characteristic bang and whoosh, sealing us in the air-conditioned capsule After two hours plus of glancing out,, from the window with nothing much to see except some floating clouds and the slowly unfolding monotonous panorama, as seen from 30.000 feet above, down below, flicking through Sawagt, the glossy in-flight IA magazine, pecking at the overfull tray of served snacks, drinking cups of coffee and water from miniature water bottles, at last the plane puts its nose down and soon we were back on mother earth. The aircraft door opens, after a bit of ceremony by the cabin crew, and we are in Banglore
The Airbus 320, has taken just hours to bring me to Banglore or Bengaloru as they call it now, so different from that of yore, now totally .unrecognizable- in a hurry, chaotic yet moving at a snails pace, the high power cars crawling helplessly, the daredevil two wheelers sneaking through nonexistent openings, the ramshackle buses spewing black clouds of un-burnt diesel, and gleaming High rises obscuring the sky, indeed a big price for progress that Banglore has to pay. It is distressing to say the least, albeit with one saving grace; Tea and North Indian food now available at every nook and corner.
Alas the amazing IA Time Machine which had so effortlessly compressed five days in hours cannot take me back to the Banglore of 1952, that I now a retired brigadier, so long to see once again, that had then captured the imagination of a young me.
Brig lakshman Singh
BLS