as i wrote some time ago, i had gone to Bangalore on a brief visit. this was late December. verified the common complaints of slow traffic; verified also the lovely gardens and trees, and loads of elegance in the common architecture and planning. it is clear that the city hasn't managed to grow as fast as its population has grown, but that's kind of like regretting a diamond isn't as heavy as a boulder.

on the way back to the airport, i chanced upon the signboard of a company, where an old friend of mine works. he's a friend from undergrad college days, and just as i passed the signboard, i called him up on his cell phone. he was busy and promised to call back. he didn't and i sympathize with him. the sheer effort needed to live through a usual day of work in a modern company is enough to take the best out of a guy.

but that was sort of beside the point. the memory of my friend led to a rush of memories from those days. memories and dreams - a pet dream, which we often bandied amongst ourselves, was to form a rock band. hah! looking at us now - getting into our 40s, wearing out the synthetic fabric of corporate chairs. it's so incongruous to even remember that we had such dreams; a travesty, no less, of that youthful exuberance.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

(The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock/T.S. Eliot)

Bangalore is changing names; it's growing at break-neck pace; it's people are thirsting for water, but probably don't really care because there's always Bisleri or beer; Bangalore is a lovely city turning into a commercial warehouse of software programmers. but Bangalore will always be special because the city made me feel, and remember, and regret.