Bangalore -May-2022

 My visit to Bengaluru is coming to an end. The three weeks I spent here this time aound is by far the longest I've stayed. Longer than all those times when I rushed home because my Dad's health had taken a turn for the worse. He would always get better and I would breathe more easy, taking in my surroundings for a day or two before saying my goodbyes and heading home. "You didn't think I was going to croak, did you?", my dad would ask with a laugh. 

Those trips were different from this one in a multitude of ways. Starting with the airline - Air India - that I always ended up flying despite the fact that I hated everything about the experience. I was a sucker for the lure of a "non-stop" flight to Delhi or Mumbai even though I had one more leg from there to BLR. That domestic leg was always delayed a couple of hours, adding to an already long layover, but I seemed to block out those memories when it came time to plan another rushed trip. But the price was right and I was cheap so it made for a predictable, if doomed, alliance. 

Between my mom who was diagnosed with early stage dementia and my dad who managed to look heroic in the ICU, I spent most of my time with Manju, our driver and self-appointed long lost "son" of my parents, as we commuted between the hospital and home, stopping at pharmacies, liquor stores and CGHS (Central Government Health Scheme), that last one a particularly unpleasant experience because they always found a way to send you back to fill more forms. CGHS held out the promise of reimbursement for medical expenses so it felt like something worth striving for even though the pickings were slim. 

The evenings were spent with mom, watching yet another cricket match as she knitted away to oblivion, stopping only to discover some fatal flaw in the wollen production which, called for undoing the handiwork and starting all over. She never asked me how Dad was doing and showed little interest in visiting him at the hospital. And this from a woman who was devoted to him and had spent her entire life tending to his every need. If I had been paying attention - I wasn't - I might have realized I was getting a glimpse of the ravages that dementia would visit upon her in the coming years. 

Fast forward five years and I have just sold the house after appeasing the local authorities (BBMP, Subregistrar's office, and a few others I am determined to forget) who must bless every real estate transaction (I'll spare you the details). If you are one of those who learn from others' mistakes, remind me to tell you how I did it. 

I had budgetted two whole weeks for the sale deed registration but I had apparently overestimated the Subregistrar's appetite for inflicting pain because I was actually clutching the bank draft which represented the sale proceeds, in four short days. As if to rub it in, I was told by way of explanation that " India is a digital economy now".  Motherf*****!!!!!

So I hung out with DJ, my BIL, who is a recent addition to the hordes of dreamers all over the world who believe that with enough practice at the driving range, you can actually get better at the game of golf. He drove us unfailingly every day to the KGA golf club, a trip that should take no more than 7 minutes anywhere else in the world, but takes closer to 25 here. 

But I didn't care. The money was in the bank and I had all the time in the world to marvel at the surprisingly effective "rules of the road" that the local drivers had managed to distill through a process of trial and error, reminiscent of the rigorous discipline that is the hallmark of the experimental method in scientific research. One of these rules can best be explained by comparing it to a "charging violation" in basketball. 

If player A has "position" when player B (who has the ball) runs into him, a foul is called on B. In India, if your vehicle gets to a spot on the road before another vehicle, you have position of that spot. The fact that you strayed into oncoming traffic does not weaken your case. Like basketball, driving here is still considered a non-contact sport so everyone slows down to a crawl as they patiently navigate all manner of vehicles, pointed in all manner of directions. The best part of all this is it works. Well sort of. In case you're wondering about the cops, you'll find them at random intersections, keeping a watchful eye for drivers not wearing seatbelts. Seatbelts! When the attainable speed limit is 20 km/hour, seatbelts and airbags seem like an amusing extravagance. 

Its raining hard as I write this. The monsoon is another of those things I had forgotten about after I left Mumbai and India. The urgency with which it rains here leaves one standing still under the closest shelter if you happen to be out and about. Along with a small army of other folk, since this is a land where, no matter where you go, there they are! The rain is almost always accompanied by rolling thunder. It's quite a production. And it happens like clockwork every evening. I'm headed to Pune and then Mumbai after this, just in time to usher in the southwest monsoon in those parts. Hopefully I'll get out before those pictures of people wading through waist deep water on their way home start making the evening news. 

Between  a greater appreciation for why things here are the way they are, an improved tolerance for things beyond your control (that's pretty much everything), a distinctly better looking golf swing (I have before and after video to prove it!) and a rekindling of memories I never knew I had, this has been the first fun trip to this city in a long while. With the house sold and both my parents gone, I'm not sure when I'll be back here again. But whenever that is, I'll be sure to give it a couple of weeks.