Morning Walk Motivations

 

The motivation to go for morning walks may be myriad but can be broadly divided into four categories - health, pets, socializing, and spending some me-time.

Among those going for health reasons, there are the ageing fitness enthusiasts who can no longer run as Achilles tendonitis and sciatica have taken a toll on their legs. But they are in no mood to give up on their fitness goals.

They are pretty serious, often loners, and more or less in shape. They move at a brisk pace and see walking as a means to maintain good health parameters and keep the doctor away.

The second group is that of people who went easy on calories and now find that, thanks to their newly-acquired curves, they can no longer slip into their favourite jeans and dresses. As for motivation, they are a mixed bag – some stay on with their walking regimens while others give up once their calf muscles and knees can’t take any more strain. 

I sometimes come across a woman, who falls in this category, and wears t-shirts with very motivating slogans such as ‘Don’t give up’, ‘Stay strong’, ‘Donut tempt me.’

Then there are reluctant walkers. They put on the walking shoes because doctors have told them to do so. They may be recovering from complicated surgeries and are often on the wrong side of 40 or 50, with an unhealthy midriff bulge. Some are even akin to that of Sumo wrestlers.

Their motivation levels are pretty low and are often accompanied by their spouses. They amble along as they don't want to provoke their spouse’s wrath.

The socializers are mostly women and retired people. They come mainly to hang out with their friends and old colleagues. Conversations circle around movies, politics, and cricket. Burning calories is purely incidental. 

Then there are couples, mostly college students and young working professionals. They too amble along, sometimes holding hands, or hanging around in the vicinity exchanging sweet nothings.

Me-time seekers come generally alone. Their main purpose is to make and receive calls that can’t be done while at home, or listening to music. 

Another major category of walkers includes those who have pet dogs. Walking the dog can be a tricky business, and in some cases, it is difficult to make out who has the upper hand over the leash – the pet handler or the dog. Certain breeds are difficult to handle when they are restless and frustrated.

The pet handlers have a tough time ensuring that the dogs do not digress from the pre-determined course. The reason for digression can be many – ranging from some attractive scent to finding a bird or squirrel.

A major concern for pet handlers is the intimidation by stray dogs. These street-smart canines try to bully their privileged cousins, especially smaller breeds such as poodles and pugs, leaving pet handlers at their wits' end. Many even carry sticks to prevent such attacks.

With some city administrations acting tough on pet litter, many pet handlers are using dog poop scoopers while walking the dog. 

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The Waste Land

 

This black spot on Wind Tunnel Road, Murugeshpalya, has acquired an air of permanency. This patch of land adjoining the HAL airport compound wall remains perpetually overrun by leftover food from households and eateries, and discarded household items like sofas and toilet commodes. 

Both BBMP and HAL have tried all the tactics in their rule book, but this area continues to be a sad reminder that we as a society still have a long way to go in keeping our surroundings clean.

During my morning walks I often see dogs, cows, and birds such as crows and eagles rummaging through the garbage pile for food. This foraging sometimes even results in ugly confrontations, with fights breaking out among the dogs or between crows and eagles. 

The volume of garbage piles varies – when BBMP marshals step up vigil and lie in wait to catch and fine the litterbugs, the pile appears relatively diminished, though the stench lingers on. 

But once they relax their vigil, ‘normalcy’ is restored. Most of the littering, I guess, happens during the night when the area becomes deserted and there is barely any traffic. There are no streetlights either.

But sometimes I come across some intrepid litterbugs who do so during the day, say around 7 am. They come in two-wheelers with the pillion rider carrying a large black polythene bag. The bike slows down near the spot, the pillion rider tosses off the bag, and they scoot off.

On social media we often come across social service organisations carrying out ‘spot fixes’ or makeovers of such black spots, but no such luck for this area.

This particular patch badly needs such a fix as it is not like any other black spot with garbage pile-ups causing inconvenience to nearby residents. Its close proximity to an airfield poses a potential hazard to planes operating out of this airport.

After commercial flights were shifted to BIAL in Devanahalli, HAL Airport has been mainly catering to Indian Air Force aircraft and some occasional VIP flights. 

As numerous birds frequent this garbage dump, this aggravates the risk of a bird-hit for aircraft operating out of HAL Airport. It also endangers the lives of our airmen, who fly fighter plane sorties and test flights on a regular basis. 

Their jobs are fraught with numerous risks, with death stalking at every step. In addition, they now have to contend with this occupational hazard of bird menace mainly because nearby residents and others have scant regard for civic sense.   

As people, we are ever eager to carry out token symbolism to show our love for armed forces like say changing the display picture of our WhatsApp status during Independence Day or Republic Day or posting pictures or videos on social media of soldiers carrying out some risky tasks in Siachen Glacier and other places that in turn attract numerous 'likes' from friends and followers.

But when it comes to doing something more concrete that may help our men in uniform, apathy reigns supreme.

So this spot continues to be in a mess and the stench becomes unbearable especially when it rains.

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An Eye Opener

 I used to take pride that despite working on computers and night shifts, I remained spectacle-free till 40. Most of my colleagues had begun wearing spectacles in their 20s and some senior ones had glasses with soda bottle thickness by the time they reached 40s. The only visits I made to eye specialists were when I fell prey to seasonal conjunctivitis attacks.

Around the age of 42, I started finding it difficult to read newspapers and books. The letters acquired a blurry halo and I could read clearly only when they were placed at arm’s length. However, I didn’t have any problem while using computers, as they were placed at a distance and offered the luxury of increasing the font size. 

During a visit to my hometown around that period, I decided to visit an eye specialist. After paying the consultation fees, the nurse applied drops to dilate my eyes and told me to wait. After about 20 minutes I was called in. By then I could barely see anything clearly, everything appeared blurred with a bluish outline.

The doctor was seated behind a white gadget consisting of lenses, mirrors, and knobs. He told me to sit at the other end and place my chin at a designated place. He then switched on the machine and began examining me. I could feel a beam of light directed into my eyes. 

While the examination was still in progress, he remarked: “Do you have glaucoma? The condition of your nerves appears to be similar.”

I froze on hearing this. All my cockiness about eyesight evaporated. I began lamenting that I have not even started wearing glasses, and I might have fallen prey to a dreaded ailment - often referred to as a ‘silent thief of sight’. I was tongue-tied and could barely mumble.

After the examination got over, the doctor asked whether my parents had glaucoma. I replied in the negative. He then asked about my relatives. I mentioned that a couple of them from my father’s side had the disease. 

My paternal aunt had glaucoma and it was detected very late, leading to blindness. It happened while I was in college and that was the first time I was hearing about the disease and its dangerous consequences if not detected and treated early.

I told him I was leaving the next day for Bangalore and he told me to undergo a perimeter test, to check my vision field, during my next visit. I was too shaken by the episode and did not tell anyone home about the doctor’s hunch.

In Bangalore, I went to another doctor and underwent a vision test conducted by an optometrist. After examination, he concluded that I needed reading glasses, wrote details about the power in a paper, and directed me to the doctor. 

She went through the report and then she happened to notice some redness in my eye. She asked, “Do you have glaucoma in your family.” I repeated the same explanation - my parents don’t have but one of my aunts has. She too recommended a perimeter test.

I then booked the test at the same hospital. They plastered one of my eyes and told me to use the other eye to look into a globe-like contraption and focus on the dot at the centre. Whenever I saw a tiny speck of light in that globe, I need to click the button provided to me. After a few false starts, I finished the test and they repeated it for the other eye.

I got a glazed printout of the hits and misses I had in spotting the tiny flash of light. It appeared less than perfect to me. The lab assistant told me that the doctor was not in town. 

Meanwhile, I ordered a pair of reading glasses at an optical shop and got the delivery in a couple of days. I found it much more comfortable to read newspapers and books and got into my routine. 

The fear of glaucoma was lurking in the background, but I just didn’t have the nerve to confront it by going to the doctor. Any redness in my eyes used to trigger panic, but somehow living in denial appeared convenient. The fear of what if I had the disease used to make me jittery. 

This went on for years (didn’t dare to count) and later when reading became difficult despite wearing spectacles, I realized it was time to see a doctor and prepare for the inevitable. By this time a couple of my cousins had fallen prey to the ailment.

I went to a clinic run by a veteran doctor. The optometrist was aghast when I told him that I was getting my eye tested after seven years. He examined my eye and told me that my distant vision too was failing. I too had realized that when I went to attend a public meeting. The face of the speakers appeared unclear and hazy.

After that, I was ushered into the doctor’s room. He was an aging bald man with a pleasant demeanor.  He was a stroke survivor with a dysfunctional left arm and walked with a limp. A nurse was assisting him to move around and adjust the instruments.

He then examined my eye using the instrument and examined the optometrist’s report. He seemed satisfied with the condition of my eye and advised me to change the power of the glasses. 

I stepped out of the clinic with a cautious satisfaction that he does not suspect that I have glaucoma. I also began rationalizing that it has nearly been a decade since consulting the first doctor and if I had the disease it would have manifested by now. 

For the next two years, we were in the midst of a Coronavirus pandemic with two deadly waves and numerous lockdowns. A year later after things began returning to normal I thought of consulting the doctor again. However, when I went there the clinic had disappeared. I surmised the ailing doctor may have stopped practice or Covid took a toll. I made some inquiries with my friends living near the clinic, but they didn’t know what happened to him. 

One of them informed me that a new branch of a well-known eye hospital had opened nearby and suggested that I visit them instead. He claimed he had a good experience when he went there.

A few more months passed and I realized that my distant vision was failing. While walking on the road I could see people around 25 metres away, but their faces became clearly visible only when they came nearer. 

I visited the eye hospital my friend had recommended and moments after I completed my registration formalities my name was called up by an optometrist. 

They made me sit in front of a gadget and place my chin at a chin rest. From the eyepiece, I saw an object at a distance and it kept on shifting till it became blurred. Then they made me sit in front of another gadget nearby to carry out an air puff test. As I placed my left eye near the lens, I experienced a burst of air and I blinked in panic. Later they did the same with the right eye.

After a few minutes, they told me to meet the doctor on the second floor. My name was called in after a wait of over 20 minutes.  The woman doctor examined my eye closely and the condition of my optic nerve aroused her suspicion. She told me they appear weak and referred me to the chief doctor.

I had expected him to be fairly senior looking, but he was actually a young pleasant-mannered man with a neatly trimmed beard. He examined my eyes and said the condition of the optic nerve was a bit peculiar and tried to explain this by drawing a diagram. He explained this could be due to two reasons – by birth (no reason to worry) or due to glaucoma. He suggested that I undergo a visual field test and two other tests to get clarity.

As it happened to be a Friday, I had to wait for the weekend to get over to undergo the tests. I was getting anxious during the weekend, and kept telling myself to take a philosophical approach and follow the good old adage - “cross that bridge when you come to it”. 

On Monday I reached the hospital around the afternoon. Initially, they poured drops into my eyes and I had a mild burning sensation. They told me to keep my eyes closed.

In about two hours I completed those three tests and I must admit that ophthalmic optometry seems to have undergone a generational change. Ahead of the third test – pachymetry, they had again applied drops, and I had blurry vision. After the tests, I was told to wait for the doctor and I was calm and resigned to face any eventuality. 

Finally, my name was called and the doctor beamingly told me that I don’t have the disease. He explained that my field vision was fine, and hence the condition of my optic nerve was by birth. He even showed me the field vision of a glaucoma patient, which was pockmarked with black spots.

He advised me to carry out yearly check-ups and preserve the reports in case I consult any other doctor, as he felt they too would have this suspicion.

This would have been good news to anybody, but to me, it was really special – finally, I could shed the huge load I was secretly carrying for over a decade. 

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No Ink on My Finger

 

Since I got registered as a voter nearly a decade ago, I have been dutifully getting my fingers inked during every election. I have voted in two Lok Sabha, one assembly, and a couple of BBMP elections. 

Bengaluru has been notorious for voter apathy and every election it comes under fire for low percentages. While rest of Karnataka districts post 65-75 percent polling, Bengaluru huffs and puffs to cross the 50 percent mark and settles for a sub-55 percentage point.

Political pundits attack Bengalureans for not taking voting seriously and instead treating the day as a holiday to scoot off to nearby resorts or shopping malls. They pontificate - there is no point in cribbing afterwards for potholes, broken footpaths, traffic gridlocks, and flooding during rains. 

For me, the nearby school has remained the polling station during all the elections, and I have been casting my vote without much ado. Mostly I come across thin crowds outside polling booths and the process gets over in 15-20 minutes.

But this time, when I went to cast my vote for the assembly election, I was in for a rude shock. When I and my wife produced the electoral identity cards, the volunteers seated outside the polling booth began checking in their paper voters’ list. 

They managed to find my wife’s name and I was hoping mine must be next to it as used to be the case usually. But no such luck for me this time. They entered my ID code into their mobile phones and began checking. After some anxious moments, they too gave up saying the name has been ‘deleted’. 

I was nonplussed and could not process the information. My card changed many more hands among the volunteers and all of them keyed the number on their mobile phones, but the results were negative. They told me they have been witnessing quite a few similar cases and noted down my voter ID number.

As my wife proceeded to cast her vote I told the polling officer about my predicament. They too checked and I had a faint hope that as they are government officials their searches may be more advanced and they might stumble upon my name. But no happy ending. 

Being a long-time voter, I was complacent enough to think there was no need to check my name in the voters’ list in advance. 

A day later, I read in newspapers that after the alleged voter data theft by an NGO Chilume, the election commission had added and deleted many names, and officials said people should have been more alert.

Though I am not much of a fan of posting an inked finger selfie on social media, the inkless index finger does give me a sense of being left out.

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A Flyover to Nowhere

A cartoon is doing rounds on Twitter about two archaeologists in 3000 AD visiting the spot where the unfinished Ejipura to Kendriya Sadan flyover lies and wondering, “Nobody really understands why they were built.” The flyover has been in the making for over five years and even now nobody has any clue regarding its completion. It is a sore testimonial of the shortcomings in the execution of infrastructure projects. 

With the traffic volumes at Ejipura junction and the subsequent Sony Signal in Koramangala, where 100 Feet Road intersects the Inner Ring Road, witnessing an exponential increase, the then state government in 2014 decided to build a flyover to provide a signal-free traffic flow and decongest Koramangala.

Kolkata-based firm Simplex Infrastructure Limited was given the work order for the flyover and the work began in 2017. The motorists began feeling the heat when the middle section of the Inner Ring Road was barricaded with tin sheets to erect flyover pillars.

The carriage space got nearly halved and the travel time doubled for traversing between Ejipura junction and Sony Signal. During the evening peak hours, when the offices at Embassy Golf Links Technology Park near Domlur empty out, the six-lane Inner Ring road has four rows of cars moving in each direction, with two-wheelers snaking through whatever remaining space.

After the Ejipura signal, the jostle for restricted carriage space begins. Incessant honking, brinkmanship and big vehicle bullying smaller ones happen.

For Koramangala and Ejipura residents, the dust emanating from the pillar construction and the loud noise of earth movers and cranes disrupted their day-to-day life. Many had to keep their doors and windows permanently shut.

The first deadline was 2019, but like most infrastructure projects Simplex too failed to honour it. Hardly any eyebrows were raised and motorists on the Inner Ring Road went through their daily grind in a ‘grin and bear it’ mode.

However, what followed rattled even diehard sceptics. Simplex missed many more deadlines and the company’s mounting debts pushed its 28 lenders, including some prominent banks, to classify it as a ‘non-performing asset’ in 2020. The BBMP was left with no option but to terminate the contract.

Another stumbling block was transferring defence and private land for the flyover and clearance to cut trees. These issues have still not been resolved.

All work came to a grinding halt with the unfinished pillars standing out like sore thumbs. Earth movers and other movable assets soon disappeared, leaving behind the remnants of a half-finished flyover. The tin sheets put up as barricades were also subsequently removed.

This status quo has remained for over two years and these unfinished structures have gathered moss during monsoon and pose a hazard to motorists.

BBMP has been making efforts to kick-start the stalled project, but it has so far not been successful. The response to the fresh tenders in August last year was poor with only two firms participating and they too failed to qualify the eligibility criteria. Hence the flyover's fate continues to remain in limbo.

The effectiveness of flyovers in easing the traffic flow has been open to heated debate. They were initially seen as a magic wand as they helped vehicles move past the traffic jams, but the city planners soon realized that they merely shifted the snarl from one place to another and created new bottlenecks. Instead, transport experts moot that the policymakers should make public transport more effective and attractive to users to decongest the cities.

However, flyovers continue to find favour with the politician-contractor lobby as it means involvement of big money and kickbacks.

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Last Mile Connectivity Redefined

 

The introduction of electric bike-sharing services such as Yulu or Bounce has come as a big relief to app-driven millennials and Generation Z in Bengaluru and metro cities. 

These platforms aim to provide college students and young professionals, who commute by bus or metro, with vital last-mile connectivity from bus stands and metro stations to their homes and offices.

However, thanks to the Indian jugaad mentality, the users have discovered that the utility value of these diminutive battery-driven cycles goes way beyond the stated objective of last-mile connectivity. They began using it for joyrides, and short-haul errands and novice two-wheeler riders found the low-seated Yulu bikes were a good way to hone their balancing skills, as they can always put down their feet if things go wrong. 

While riding these bikes safety takes a back seat. Hardly any of the riders wear a helmet and many of them appear to be underage for a driving licence. In the hands of some overweight riders, these bikes appear like beasts of burden.  

Moreover, these bikes, especially the Yulu ones, appear so frail that even a minor collision with autorickshaws could lead to loss of life. They also lack other safety features such as indicators or rear-view mirrors that could help them avoid getting knocked down from the rear. Due to their small size, they do not meet the eye levels of bigger vehicles and run the risk of being trampled upon by burly trucks.

But despite all these shortcomings, these bikes are getting popular by the day and caught the fancy of startups looking to reduce their carbon footprint. Food delivery aggregators like Swiggy and Zomato, and quick commerce firm Dunzo have also decided to hitch a ride with Yulu, to improve their carbon footprint. This has led to an exponential increase in the number of Yulu vehicles, and delivery boys often lug out their voluminous bags onto these tiny bikes during their distribution rounds.

However, this proliferation of bikes has given rise to a host of problems, both for the companies and residents. The companies face the challenge of misuse, theft, and vandalism. 

They claim some users park bikes in a wayward manner at flyovers, footpaths, and residential areas, with total disregard to road discipline and civic sense. For the companies, it is a challenge to locate the parked bikes using GPS and related tracking technologies. Their recovery trucks have to travel long distances to find and collect the bikes. 

For many residents, these bikes are a nuisance as they often get abandoned by unscrupulous users right next to their doorstep. Though companies claim they penalize users who park bikes away from designated spaces, the menace continues.

In fact, in Bengaluru wherever you go, you are never away from an abandoned Yulu or Bounce bike. Recently there was even a social media post of a Yulu bike found in a lake bed in Bengaluru when it was getting cleaned up!

Another major challenge is theft. Though the companies have technology in place to prevent someone from stealing a bike in toto, they still have to contend with thefts of parts such as batteries, tyres, and headlights. Companies often end up spending crores to replace the missing parts and file numerous cases in police stations. 

But despite all these shortcomings, electric bike shared mobility platforms offer a welcome relief from haggling with auto drivers or a long wait for buses for last-mile connectivity. 

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Sweaters in May

 Bengaluru recently went through a May-December romance. Now it has nothing to do with what a Mills and Boon novel has to offer, but it is about the freak weather this year. In May we were experiencing a December-like chill, forcing us to take out the sweaters and jackets that were mothballed a barely a month or two ago.

May began from what April had left off – sweltering afternoons with some relief during nights. Fans and air conditioners were sweating it out throughout the day. Those venturing out in afternoons were even witnessing mirages, something associated with more arid climes.

This continued for nearly a week and then Cyclone Asani happened in the distant Bay of Bengal. The cyclonic formation brought rain clouds to Bangalore. People cheered as it was a harbinger of some glad tidings.  Soon one started feeling the cool breeze and the vague smell of petrichor. This was followed by thunder and lightning and the skies opened up.

Pre-monsoon showers are not uncommon in Bengaluru. They are often referred to as ‘mango rains’ as they help in the flowering of mangoes and keep the mercury levels within limits.

But this year something unusual happened. The rains just did not just bring respite from the heat, it also ensured that the mercury dropped drastically and the maximum temperature plunged by 9 degrees Celsius on May 10. It was the lowest in this century.

Showers became a regular feature every evening, while the days continued to swelter. Social media was awash with memes of Bengaluru having three seasons in a day – summer after 10 am, monsoon in the evening, and winter at night.

Bengaluru Twitter began proudly flaunting the screenshots of live temperatures and boasting how they were even cooler than various hill stations in India. The reactions it evoked were sharp – ranging from admiration to envy/hostility, especially from our countrymen up north, where the maximum temperature refuses to come below 40 degrees Celsius.

The weathermen explained this bountiful wet spell to two cyclonic circulations – one off Tamil Nadu in the Bay of Bengal and the other near Lakshadweep Islands.

However, it also exposed the city’s infrastructure fault lines. It showed that a mere half-an-hour shower was enough to bring the city’s roads to their knees, and fill the underpasses with waist-high water. Many low-lying areas got inundated and drains were clogged on almost every street.

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