I find churches of every persuasion, marvel at Bangalore’s IT boom and measure its electrical bust; I’m as hot as James Bond but wet as a frog when it comes to catching snakes.
The surrounding suburb seems like the Bible Belt of Bangalore. I’ve found no mosques, though heard a distant prayer call at night and passed the Masha Allah Chicken Biryani Hotel, so there are Muslims around, and I’ve only seen a few small Hindu temples which are mostly closed.
The 1.5m high granite slabs lining the road are painted with arrows to Christian organisations like Home of Hope – a rehabilitation center, Prison Fellowship, Campus Crusade for Christ, Union of Evangelical Students. On an advert for “Nazareth Inc. UPS”, glowing electric blue stars radiate from an Uninterruptible Power Supply – something you can’t do without here: there’s a sermon illustration!
Within 15 minutes’ walk are Bethel Brethren, two different Assemblies of God, a large Church of South India (roughly like Anglican), Roman Catholic convents, a sign pointing to “Christ the King Church”, and the Infant Jesus Children’s Home. Further along, past Omega Christian Books and the Galilee Fish and Chicken Center, a tall poster proclaims “Jesus, I trust in you”, with rays of light like red and blue sari fabric streaming from Christ’s heart. The St Lourdes Grotto mimics the pilgrimage shrine in France with a small alcove of stones set in concrete beneath a statue of the Virgin Mary. Murals depict the Nativity, life of Christ, and ascension of Mary. A row of tea lights flicker as a tearful woman prays.
For a software developer like me, Bangalore is a notable town. In 1906, it became India’s first city with electricity. It now has the country’s second highest literacy at 83% (after Mumbai), and the most engineering colleges, as well as the most pubs and the highest proportion of smokers (34%). In the last two decades, it has become India’s IT capital. The inventor of Hotmail grew up here and many Americans have been “Bangalored”, losing their jobs due to outsourcing. Foreign IT campuses are self-contained cities, enclaves of America with first world facilities.
There are still open fields nearby, even a few with cattle, but my brief run before breakfast or dinner also passed new buildings covered in wobbly-looking bamboo scaffolding, while a construction crane overlooked the flat roof where I cooled off. The civic infrastructure can’t handle the rocketing population. A billboard over the entrance to the Ajantha Hotel where I stayed in central Bangalore showed a woman wielding an electric iron bigger than her and read:
Excessive power consumption in one home leads to darkness in ten homes. SAVE POWER.
Let us do our bit. Avoid ironing clothes during peak hours between 6 and 9 in the morning and in the evening.
I experienced this darkness in my own home here. My flat is equipped with battery backup light, candles and matches on the desk. Gas rings to boil water when the electric water filter and jug won’t go. On top of the Samsung fridge is a heavy object shaped like a flying saucer with red “input” and “output” lights that went off and on every day: a V-Guard Electronic Voltage Stabiliser. For techies, the specs read, “Output voltage: 200-240 V, from input: 170-260 V. Low and high voltage cut-off: 145 V and 270 V. Time delay: 2 to 4 ms”. Wished I’d brought a pocket multi-meter to measure the mains variation, and graph it against fan rotation frequency. My students could have used their new vocab to describe the plot, with plenty of “sporadic fluctuations”, “imperceptible lows” or “fitful spikes”.
The spasmodic vacillation became more predictable and more vexatious in the final weeks when classroom fans stopped around 3 pm, just as the temperature climbed to the mid-30s. Without the breeze, mosquitoes buzzed by my ears and little bugs flew at my eyes. At 920 m above sea level, Bangalore used to be pleasantly cool, but is heating up as trees and lakes are replaced by buildings and pollution – which makes the sky glow red at night.
Magazine articles like “Sunny Side Up!” or “Bangalore Potboiler!” said, “You can no longer look smug when friends from Chennai and Delhi complain about the heat in their cities”. The whiteboard markers dry out almost overnight, and I never use my shower heater. I sometimes wake sweating with itchy arms: the fan over my double bed has stopped, dropping my shield against heat and mosquitoes. After dark I feel like James Bond, padding around my flat bare-chested with a wet flannel cooling my back and a Maglite for his Magnum stuck in my waistband.
As well as heat, we’ve had dramatic thunderstorms and downpours, when drains overflow and traffic crawls as windscreen wipers are overwhelmed. In 1961 Bangalore had 262 lakes, but all except 80 have now been filled in, which makes the flooding worse. My salt shaker proclaimed “remains free flowing even in the rainy season”. One night – without power for six hours – lightning strikes were so frequent I set my camera to ten seconds exposure and let nature’s flashbulb illuminate the garden outside my window. After the rains, small frogs hopped around, providing, I was told, tasty meals for snakes – so look out where you walk. It wasn’t idle advice. Our driver stopped short of the gate one night for a cobra to cross the road. A stray dog fled. Campus boys were thrilled to find a snake under the house of teachers Dennis and Barbara, who were somewhat less delighted. Our students were unperturbed. One informed me that snake tastes something like chicken neck and said, “You catch; we cook!” I said I’d prefer, “You catch and cook; I eat!” In the words of Christ,
“Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake?” Luke 11:11