Where the weather does not weather

Weather: to discolor, disintegrate, or affect injuriously, as by the effects of weather: "These crumbling stones have been weathered by the centuries."

This is the kind of weathering I'm talking about. I've been developing a theory (tad bit shady, but most of my theories are quite shady) that the weather of a place where people stay makes them what they are. This post is not so much this theory but rather the application of this theory in a very special city called Bangalore. Think a bit about the Bangalore weather...cool, calm, windy, clear skies, never extremes in temperature (except about few weeks in April - May, that too only recently), where you can use the same set of clothes the year round. It doesn't irritate or grate, it allows you to exist without bothering too much about it. Now reflect a bit on the Bangaloreans you know (if you know any). They're usually mild-mannered, even-tempered, not too opinionated about anything, casual, easy-going, chilled out people (exceptions exist in every rule, but this is their general nature). And that's what the city is as well..Laid-back and happy-go-lucky. Visitors to the city would probably be only familiar with the crowded, inefficient airport, the steel and chrome buildings of ITPL, the incessant traffic of MG Road, Brigade Road, Airport Road..oh well most of the roads, pubs and the shady unpleasant auto-drivers.
But Bangalore is not about that...It is about taking quiet walks in the tree-lined streets of Defence Colony, Malleshwaram, Sadashivnagar or Jayanagar. It is about buying makachulam (corn) or pori (puffed rice) and playing with hand-held windmills in the evenings in front of Vidhana Soudha, watching sunsets and planes taking off and landing from the Indiranagar-Koramangala Ring Road. About riding the toy-train in Cubbon Park, climbing Lalbagh's hill to reach Kempegowda's tower or boating in Lalbagh lake and ogling over the flowers display in the Lalbagh's glasshouse. It is about shopping with Mom in Commercial Street and Safina Plaza (when it was the only 'mall' around) or Mota Arcade and 5th Avenue on Brigade Road (when they were the only buildings in town with escalators) and haggling with vegetable vendors at the Thippasandra market. It is about attending Carnatic music catcheris at Ulsoor, watching plays in Chowdiah Memorial Hall, eating piping hot rava-idlis, vadas or masala dosais with sambhar and chutney at MTR or Woody's with a good cup of filter coffee while watching the rain outside, ice-creams at Corner House, continental cuisine at Casa Picola, wine and cheese and Sunday Brunches at Bangalore Club, drive in theaters on Church Street, large and elegant independent houses, cycling down desolate roads in HAL 3rd stage and watching the birds, screening the Wimbledon Finals in front of Vidhana Soudha when TVs were not a household item (Dad told me they used to do this, have never seen it but think its incredibly funky)....everything always done at one's own pace, never hurried, never unsatisfied, never worrying about having to go anywhere else. It is about Symphony, Plaza, Galaxy and Lido which have been shut down during the multiplex era, the MG Road Boulevard that was broken down for the metro, wide open spaces that now house malls and super markets....and so many other things which this little unplanned cantonment growing at an insane pace has had to sacrifice in the wake of development. Most importantly, Bangalore is its weather and the weather defines the city, it is the first thing that comes to mind when you think of the city, an integral part of everyone's lives..The breeze that welcomes you with open arms and holds you close. The mellow sun that calms any perturbed spirit, the clear starry nights that inspire and elate you..and make you never want to leave...
And I, though proud of Bangalore's place on the global map now, wish at a certain level all this had never happened. That Bangalore had never become a metro because Bangalore's charm was its old-world yet cosmopolitan nature, its ability to preserve its essential South Indian-ness and yet accept everyone into its fold and care and provide equally for all of them.
I miss Bangalore as it was, I want my sleepy town back....But as they say, all things must pass, all memories must fade and because "Without change, something sleeps inside us, and seldom awakens. The sleeper must awaken." (Frank Herbert) Blah blah. Go shoot yourself. Somethings should never change.