THE TIME MACHINE: Musings of a Veteran

Now on this morning, taking a flight from Delhi to Banglore as I strap myself in the not so comfortable seat of the economy class Air bus, though, far more comfortable than the hard wooden berth of the Third class railway compartment I traveled on for my earlier journey to Banglore that I am reminded of.

It was some time in late 1952, then a student of MSc Final in Lucknow University, that I got a call from Army Headquarters to report to the Services Selection Board (South). The UPSC had been kind to me in that, for the combined written test, preceding the Board, I had been allotted Allahabad, not too far from Lucknow as the Exam Centre. Army HQ had no such, considerations and I was required to travel to Banglore, some where down South, just a spot, which I remembered on the map of India, in the Geography Class of yore as a student of Class X.

Taking a rickshaw from the hostel, with just a hundred rupee note in my pocket, I arrived at the Charbagh railway station. Traveling third class, changing trains, at times near mid- night, finding a berth and managing the connections was in itself an adventure. As the trains sped south, the ever changing vista, unfolding and speeding backwards, had me riveted to the scene outside, it was the geography lesson coming alive. The aroma of the unfamiliar food items on the stations where the train halted, the cacophony of the un- understood combined gibbering of the hawkers, porters and the multitude of passengers all in a melee, did provide some diversion and mental relief from the long and tiring journey. Five days, four changes, Kanpur, Jhansi Secundrabad, Guntkul, later I arrived at Bangalore, having, in the process, acquired a stiff- neck from looking out of the window during the waking hours and a nagging pain in the back due tossing and turning that too with difficulty, on the narrow hard wooden berth. I was hungry but had no appetite for the Idli, Dosa and other fare, for which I had yet to acquire a taste, available en-route, which were as foreign to me as Banglore.

Banglore, those days, was a retiree’s heaven, with a lay back life style, living in bungalows with large compounds, flowers and tall trees. It was a city full of greenery, clean and fresh air, with only a few vehicles plying on the wide roads that too under the strict and watchful eyes of the traffic cops. There were rows and rows of ice-cream parlors, coffee shops, and a multitude of cinema houses. sixty-four or so that I counted on the guide map, and the ubiquitous Uddapee restaurants, specialists in Idli, Dosa and coffee, the cup of tea that I was so used to sadly conspicuous by its absence.

The aircraft door closes with its characteristic bang and whoosh, sealing us in the air-conditioned capsule After two hours plus of looking out, of and on, from the window with nothing much to see except some clouds floating down under, flicking through the newspaper, the Swagat in-flight IA magazine and pecking at the served snacks, drinking cups of coffee and water from a couple of miniature water bottles, I felt the plane letting its nose down and once again we were on mother earth. The Ac door opened, after a bit of ceremony by the cabin crew and we were in Banglore.

The time machine of IA had taken just hours of so to bring me to Banglore of the day, a Banglore so different from that of yore, totally .unrecognizable- in a hurry, chaotic and moving at a snails pace. The high power cars crawling helplessly, the daredevil two wheelers sneaking through nonexistent openings, the ramshackle buses spewing black clouds of unburnt diesel, and gleaming High rises, replacing the earlier bungalows and the green trees, the hiding the sky, the price of progress, it was distressing to say the least, albeit with one saving grace; tea and North Indian food now available at every nook and corner.

Alas the IA time machine which had so effortlessly compressed five days in hours cannot take me back to the Banglore that I had visited in 1952 that had captured the imagination of a young me. However, wonder of wonder what IA can’t do, the present Government of Karnatak has done with one single stroke and taken every one back way down the time by just adding a few letters to Banglore and making it Bengaloru, indeed really a Time machine.

Brig Lakshman Singh (Retd)