Pipes On Footpath, Pedestrians Beware

A stroll down the pavement on HAL Airport Road from the airport entrance to Wind Tunnel road has now turned into an obstacle course with pedestrians often being forced to step on to the road and risk their lives. 

Like any other footpath in Namma Bengaluru, this one too had its share of broken and unsteady slabs, is encroached upon and gets 'run over' by bikers during rush hour traffic. But now pedestrians have to contend with a far more formidable challenge – cement pipes. 

Civic authorities have piled up giant pipes, mostly in a pyramidal formation, each about 20 feet long and having two feet diameter. These pipes are lying at various stretches of the footpath and occupy most of the space.

Hence that leaves the pedestrians with no option but to step on to the road and risk their lives, especially during office hours when for the motorists every inch counts.

While approaching the garbage collection point near Kemp Fort, one has to gingerly negotiate through the garbage residue and hold the breath to endure the everlasting stench. It becomes more acute when porakarmikas go on strike or those residing near the city’s landfills rise in protest.

If you happen to pass by when the garbage collection is in progress, with garbage trucks and autos parked on the side, you will be forced to walk right in the middle of the road with Volvo buses, autos and bikers breathing down your necks.

Next in line comes a bus shelter, which often doubles up as a restroom for cows, reminding the bus commuters of their cattle class status.  

Like most squatters these pipes too seem to be in for a long haul. They have been lying for nearly a month and looks like the authorities have almost forgotten about it. 

The pipes have already gathered a fair share of standard waste matter found on Indian streets - cigarette packets, liquor bottles, plastic tea cups, paper wrappers, tetra packs and plastic bags. Unless the civic authorities pull up their socks, dogs and bandicoots may soon start calling these pipes their home.

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Why Can't Manholes Be At Road Level?

The city may have earned many flattering monikers such as garden city, IT capital, start-up capital and the like, but when it comes to handling basic issues such as roads, drains, and power supply the city still seems stuck with 18th century methods and technology.

A look at the way manholes have been built on or near the roads is a case in point. They are rarely at the road level and some protrude almost one feet above the roads, posing danger to motorists during nights and when the streets get flooded due to rains.

I am no civic expert but I don’t understand why manholes cannot be built at road levels or why there is no uniform standard across the city. 

The manhole near the lane where I live is located on a gradient and stands nearly a foot above the road level. It is close to a storm water drain and further shrinks the width of an already narrow road. Motorists have to avoid it, thereby leaving space for only one four-wheeler to pass at a time. 

Thus the spot becomes a rite of passage for motorists, especially during peak hours, as they often indulge in brinkmanship to get the first chance to pass. Those coming down the gradient feel they have the divine right to pass first and those climbing the gradient too harbour the same sentiment with equal vigour. 

High decibel honking, angry gesticulation and even heated arguments break out and the traffic on narrow lane gets held up. This is a common scene around 9-10 am when people are rushing to work. And I am sure this is not an isolated case in the city. There may be many such manholes which stand out like sore thumbs and hamper traffic movements, thanks to shoddy workmanship.

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Swachh Bengaluru? Houdaa!

Bangaloreans are rubbing their eyes in disbelief. Their city recently aced Swacch rankings - it has been adjudged 'cleanest' among state capitals in the country and has an all-India ranking of seven. However these impressive rankings drew more incredulous guffaws than elation.

A small minority did post 'congrats Bangalore' or 'proud to be Bangalorean' messages on social networking sites and for the Siddaramaiah Government this news must be a source of some comfort, as the city would soon have civic polls and the government's report card had more black marks than potholes on city roads. But for the majority of Namma Bengaluru residents it was as if they have been told that driving through Silk Board junction or K R Puram signal was as easy as a stroll in the Cubbon park.

Some felt this might be some silly mistake (maybe Bangalore is actually at the bottom of heap and misconstrued as being on top) or the survey has been totally manipulated. While others wondered if a city like Bangalore has earned such a distinction then what kind of hell holes other state capitals and cities in the country may be. The latter seems more plausible as the study was done to check on open defecation and solid waste management in municipal areas. They also assessed the drinking water quality, waste water management and the status of disposal of sewage from septic tanks.

Using the above markers the fact remains that even in the toniest neighbourhoods in Bangalore one is never away from heaps of garbage, at various stages of putrefaction, with dogs, crows and cows rummaging through it. Those carrying out the assessment either failed to see all this or they had little choice - other cities had even more hideous underbellies, notwithstanding toxic foaming lakes of Bellandur and Yemalur.

However what surprised me was that Hyderabad figured way down (ranked 275) the list, among some of the cow-belt towns synonymous with filth and squalour, which also  ensure that our social indicators remain rooted to  sub-Saharan levels. The city was the darling of most coffee table conversation in Bangalore. Whenever the topic of Bangalore's nightmarish traffic or poor infrastructure crops up, Hyderabad is often cited as an example Bangalore could follow.

Lastly the ugly fact remains that all the cities in our country are way too filthy, thanks to our poor civic sense, runaway population growth and long standing mismanagement by our city fathers.

Many cities in the world, most notably Singapore, which were filthier than ours few decade ago have metamorphosed into neat futuristic places, almost on par with European and North American cities. Whereas our cities seem to be regressing further and inspire little hope. They often figure prominently in surveys such as 'world's most polluted cities' and similar dubious distinctions.

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Level Crossings: A Primer

It is a great leveller. It has the power to make every vehicle, no matter its size, the VIP quotient of its occupant or the nuisance value of its horn, painfully wait at its behest. In Bangalore city, railway level crossings at most places are a sore reminder of the deep rooted inertia and lack of foresight of our city planners in implementing alternatives such as overbridges or under passes.
 
Level crossings are a relic of an era when traffic volumes in the city were one tenth of what they are now. When every middle class family's nirvana was 'hamara Bajaj' and very few actually attained it. A waiting period of 4-5 years for a scooter was quite common. Things like EMI were not even heard of and 'easy finance' only meant dowry!
 
The scene near level crossings are of utter chaos driven by sick hurry of motorists, though a little patience and respect for order (something very foreign to our nature) would go a long way in making matters easier. As the gates tilt down to a close with the accompaniment of a buzzing sound, some bikers race to sneak through with the adeptness of movie stuntmen.
 
Once the gates are down the dreary wait for the train to pass begins, and so does the crafty jugaad mentality of motorists. Like rats and cockroaches those on two-wheelers manage to sneak past the waiting traffic, to be close to the gate so that they can scoot off the moment it opens. By the time the train arrives, the traffic build up on both sides is like rival armies arrayed in a battle formation, eagerly waiting for the war bugle to go off.
 
Once the gates are opened all driving etiquette take a back seat and Darwinian instincts take over. Size of the vehicle and number of wheels become crucial. Those steering burly six-wheeler trucks try to browbeat those behind the wheels of 800 cc hatchbacks and sedans into submission. Luggage auto rickshaws laden with steel rods intimidate two-wheeler riders by subjecting them to 'cheeky' close shaves.
 
For all motorists in general its a nerve wracking one-inch-at-a-time rite of passage as they have to maintain their cool amid high decibel horns, heated exchanges and brinkmanship by fellow motorists. By the time the chaos gets over, it's time to down the level crossing gates for the next train.
 
Tailpiece: Motorists should realise that it is mechanical energy that powers the gates of level crossings and not sound energy. Hence please give your thumb, 'horn' button and the battery a much needed break!

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A Thousand Cuts: Namma Trees' Agony

As the city transformed itself from a pensioner's paradise to the country's premier Silicon Valley, it took a heavy toll on me. Chain saws scythed through the verdant green foliage to make way for wider roads, new layouts (with some existing ones getting extended to seventh and eighth phases) and steel and glass office structures to house the who-is-who of technology economy.

The plight of those of us who escaped the blades of chain saw is no better. Many of us can't even withstand a minor gust of say 40 km/hr speed and the most recent one decimated around 300 trees across the city in an hour. We thank our achchey sitare that we are not located in areas prone to cyclones! Vehicular and industrial pollution have badly shaved off our life spans by choking us with poisonous fumes.

The cementing of pavements, leaving no gaps around the roots of trees, blocks intake of water and vital nutrients, besides subjecting us to unbearable heat during summers. It also cuts supply of vital nutrients to the roots and their growth gets stunted and affects tree stability. It’s not that urban authorities are not aware of all this, but they feel that leaving gaps near roots would pose a headache for them as that spot would soon become de facto trash bin and may require periodic cleaning. So they choose the easy way out.

Then there are those telecom companies laying fiber optic cables. Callow youth clad in t-shirts with fluorescent jackets come to cut through the roads using noisy machinery. Sadly we don't have four legs like animals, otherwise we would have scooted at their very sight. Often we end up as unwitting target with our roots either getting cut or exposed, endangering our overall health. Sadly Indian roads are always at 'Men at work' mode. Power, water, telecom and other sundry utility guys compete with each other to leave their indelible mark on the road, especially if it is freshly tarred.

For our well being and a good balance, our branches do require periodic pruning. However, the one we occasionally undergo is not done by any tree expert, but by the Bescom guys, who, quite literally, have their own axes to grind. They do it just to prevent branches from touching the electric wires and have no idea what tree balance means. Such lopsided pruning often leaves us unsteady and vulnerable to the vagaries of monsoon.

Amidst all this ecological mayhem the only islands of old world tranquility can be found in army cantonments dotting across the city. Only there we get to see some neatly manicured lawns and well maintained tree lined boulevards. 

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Close Encounters With Alcometers

As my office timings are more of a graveyard variety with no weekend offs, while returning home I do sometimes run into barricades with policemen wielding alcometers.
 
Some would let me go without checking, probably they could easily read the acute hangover of office work writ large on my face. Some would peep into the rolled down window of my car and ask my name. On realising that there is no slurring of speech or I smell more of roti, sabzi or masala dosa with not even a whiff of Old Monk, they let me go.
 
However the more cautious ones place the alcometer, which resembles the first generation Nokia or Motorola mobile phone, near my mouth and say 'blow maadi'. Sometimes my blows are not strong enough (the thought of contracting some air borne diseases from those alcometers psyche me out) and they would ask me to do so again. After blowing I have to wait with some trepidation (have heard many stories of faulty alcometers) for that all-clear beep sound, which sometimes seems like eternity. Once it happens I get the green signal to go.
 
While pulling off my car I do see many not so fortunate ones, who happen to land on the wrong side of alcometer reading, lined up on the side of the road. They will be arguing and gesticulating with police higher ups seated inside jeeps. Sometimes I also see cops arguing with two wheeler riders after the test and taking off the ignition keys of the vehicle and ordering the riders to wait on the road side.
 
These barricades are often put up in close proximity to watering holes like pubs and five star hotels and in junctions which cannot be bypassed. Most of those who land in the police net are the ones returning from parties in their choicest party wear on fancy motorbikes and swanky cars. This is the scene on most Friday and Saturday nights and this drive gets more vigorous if a festival is round the corner.
 
The other day around midnight on December 30, 2014 near Koramangala Sony signal I was witness to a high drama. As the signal turned green I was about to take a left turn, but a cop with alcometer in hand flagged me down. As I stopped and he was about to say 'blow maadi' a scooter with three guys on it came up and the rider was not wearing a helmet either. Seeing a surefire scope for fines his attention got diverted.
 
But when he tried to flag them they tried to escape but fell right in front of my car. The policeman too suffered bruises on his shin during his efforts to stop them. His compatriot who was on the other side came rushing to his help. Both rained blows on the trio and took them and the scooter to the other side of road to fine them. I had no choice but to bear witness to all this, as the signal had turned red. However, in the melee the policeman forgot to check my alcohol levels and as the signal turned green once again I left.

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