Ashok Ogra
Winston Churchill never really warmed up to India. He could be scathing about its politics, dismissive of its leaders, and even bitter about its independence movement. Yet, tucked away in the archives of a local prestigious Club is a small reminder of the man’s less serious side: an unpaid bill of Rs.13 for food and drink that he left behind when he was stationed in the city more than a hundred years ago. Bengaluru has never let him forget it.
That one story captures something of Bengaluru’s essence-a city where the past constantly peeps through the present. Long before it became the Silicon Valley of India, it was the first city in Asia to install electric streetlights in 1905. Imagine the wonder then: lamps flickering on at dusk, banishing shadows from tree-lined avenues, while most of the subcontinent still lived by oil lamps. Bengaluru has always quietly pioneered, often when no one was watching.
In fact, the city never ceases to surprise you. I keep re-discovering this simple fact with every visit- short as they may be- especially now that my son has started a new job in the garden city.
My earliest impressions of the Garden City go back to my student days – the early 1970s, when it was still called Bangalore. Over the decades, it has transformed into a bustling metropolis, yet much of its old-world genteelness remains. Author Shoba Narayan, who moved to the city about two decades ago, captures this spirit beautifully in her book Namma Bangalore. Born into a Tamil family, she ascribes the city’s genteelness to its weather: “Every day here is like April in Paris, complete with blooming flowers and trees, no matter where you go.”It is in this city that one enjoy lunch Uttara Karnataka food- served on banana leaf.
And yet, for all its charm, the city presents striking contrasts. Prosperity is visible in the sheer number of four-wheelers and gleaming high-rise apartments, but so are contradictions-chaotic traffic and near-absence of proper roads. The rechristening of Bangalore to Bengaluru has not eased matters, much like Gurgaon’s transformation into Gurugram. Still, Bengaluru has a way of lighting up each day with cheer and bliss. Where else can one breathe in the fragrance of fresh jasmine garlands year-round?
To truly experience the city, learning a bit of the local language helps-not out of compulsion, but for enrichment. It opens a window into Bengaluru’s linguistic and cultural richness, reflects its multiculturalism, and helps establish instant rapport with its people.
However, linguistic jingoism harms the language, alienates outsiders, and discourages genuine interest in learning it.
But the city’s heart beats strongest in its love of books. You cannot walk down Church Street without being pulled into Bookworm. Not the flashiest bookstore, but perhaps the most soulful. Krishna Gowda, the man behind it, once thought of trading onions instead of books. Destiny, thankfully, nudged him in another direction. Today, he presides over stacks where one might stumble upon a 200-year-old travelogue on Turkey or a signed first edition of Nehru’s Discovery of India in the recently opened “Antiquarian Section”.
Of course, Bookworm is not alone. Just down the road stands Higginbotham’s, its colonial façade still dignified after more than a century. Founded in 1905, it is India’s oldest bookstore chain and one of Bengaluru’s proud survivors of time. For a city obsessed with technology, Bengaluru still bows deeply to the written word.
If books provide one kind of nourishment, coffee provides the other. The love story between Bengaluru and filter coffee has deep roots. Once opposed by locals as a “Western vice,” coffee found its home in South Indian kitchens and cafés, becoming as much a ritual as a beverage. The Indian Coffee House, initially on M.G. Road but now on Church Street, is perhaps the most democratic of these spaces. Its waiters, dressed in starched uniforms with turbans, have been serving generations since 1957. The walls may be peeling, and the ceiling fans may creak, but the aroma remains timeless.
Peter John, a veteran waiter there, who I met after several years- recalls that in 1979, a cup of coffee cost just 15 paisa and Dosa has gone up from 70paisa to Rs.70 now, but the essence has not changed. He remembers serving Girish Karnad, Mohanlal, among others, and notes that increasingly, North Indians working in IT visit on weekends. Bengaluru, in such places, sheds its corporate sheen to reveal an older, more egalitarian face. Coffee here is not just about caffeine; it is about conversation, community, and belonging.
The IT boom and the city’s pleasant weather have drawn communities from across India, including many Kashmiri Pandits, who after forced migration from the valley in 1990-have made Bengaluru their home. Their well-built Community Bhavan, thanks to the tireless efforts of Romesh Kumar Mattoo and his team, functions not just as a meeting place but as a vibrant cultural centre, keeping their traditions alive in a new city.
Step outside, and Bengaluru softens into green again. While glass towers and traffic dominate, its lungs remain Cubbon Park, Lalbagh, and its lakes. Mornings in these spaces are symphonies of walkers, joggers, yoga practitioners, and children playing. Evenings carry the scent of jasmine garlands tucked into women’s hair.
What is less known is that Hyder Ali, in 1760, established a garden of roses and cypresses that ultimately grew into Lalbagh. Cubbon Park, a short walk from MG Road, was laid out in 1870 as the green lung of the colonial “Civil and Military Station.” It is named after the much-admired Sir Mark Cubbon, Chief Commissioner of Mysore during the 1830s. (Source: Roopa Rai, “BECOMING BANGALORE: Stories That Shaped A Hometown”)
Yet, perhaps what surprises me most about Bengaluru are the stories that connect it to faraway places. Roopa Rai recalls a ‘bit of Palestine in the heart of Bengaluru.’ In 1918, soldiers from the Mysore Lancers-a regiment raised in Bengaluru-charged into Haifa against Ottoman and German troops in one of the last great cavalry charges in world history. Against all odds, they captured the city. A memorial in Haifa honours the men from Karnataka and Mysore who never returned, tying Bengaluru to a distant Mediterranean shore and reminding us that its stories are never provincial.
The city’s creative and cultural life thrives in other ways as well. One of the most exciting facts about Bengaluru is that it has been a city where artists can gain recognition. It was here that India’s first Cartoons Gallery was opened, showcasing the best cartoon illustrations and giving creative talent a national platform. For enthusiasts of technology and communication, the Bangalore Amateur Radio Club, established in 1959, is the oldest in the country, reflecting the city’s long-standing tradition of innovation and community engagement.
Frequent parties had upset my stomach, prompting me to finally consult him at his Bengaluru clinic.
From his roots in Seekanapalli, Hosur, Dr. Gurappa trained as a gastroenterologist after earning DM from Kilpauk Government Medical College, Chennai. Known for his patient-centric, evidence-based approach, he combines careful diagnosis with lifestyle guidance. Dr. Gurappa emphasizes early consultation, mindful eating, and regular exercise.
So what is Bengaluru? For some, it is the Garden City; for others, the Pub Capital; and for still others, the startup hub of India. But for me, it is best seen in quiet snapshots: a turbaned waiter balancing a tray of filter coffee, a second-hand book opening with a crackle of brittle paper, a jasmine vendor smiling at the end of a long day, and yes-a yellowed slip recording Winston Churchill’s failure to settle his dues.
That is Bengaluru. Chaotic, gentle, witty, and worldly-always leaving behind many more stories for someone else to discover.
(The author works as Advisor for reputed Apeejay Education, New Delhi)
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