Why Mangalore is the city to be?
It’s amazing how little we know. We wake up with a set amount of info inside our skulls and then go about the day, hopefully absorbing more knowledge than the day before. In this process, we gain some and we lose some. But then, we can’t possibly retain all the data. Our wetware won’t allow it. This might be so because our pursuit of happiness alternates with our pursuit of truth. What keeps us going clashes with what wants us to stop and think. With the passage of time, our understanding changes and so does our perspective. Nothing remains constant.
For instance, I knew there was an old railway in Mangalore once upon a time thanks to the sepia-tinted pictures on the Internet. But I had no idea that the longest running train in undivided India was called ‘Grand Trunk Express’, which operated between Mangalore and Peshawar. This train used to reach its ultimate destination in 104 hours. Whenever I read such mindblowing nuggets—a cuter word for facts — I am humbled and enriched at the same time.
We are talking about Mangalore right now because I happened to visit the city recently and it goes without saying that I’m glad I made that trip. Had it been otherwise, I wouldn’t have been writing this post after practically telling myself that I am done with my blog. It saps too much out of me and gives me too little in return.
Anyway, going back to my favourite Indian city in the world right now—a few weeks ago, it was Chandigarh — I am a Mangalorean myself. However, I’ve rarely been to the city because I originally hail from a village close to Manipal and Mangalore (Kudla, for the localites) is something we visited for weddings or temples.
This time around, I was there for my wife’s cousin’s wedding. Everything about it was memorable. From the food to the people, every darn thing. In fact, I landed in Gurgaon on Tuesday night and it’s already Friday afternoon and I am still reeling under withdrawal symptoms. The kind of feeling a toddler gets when somebody grabs a toy from her hands. In fact, I’ve been so crestfallen for three days now that I even created a meme from the movie Masaan (2015) to express my grief.
That’s the thing about staying in a whirlwind city like Gurgaon. That’s the thing about knowing how staying in a city like Mumbai can be like. A hasty city nurtures those with extraordinary ambitions. The rest of us are getting munched for a vacuous reason: we don’t know what we want so we want whatever we get. Which is also why when you visit a city like Mangalore, you notice a balance that is sorely missing in the so-called tier 1 cities.
It’s neither as laidback as Panjim nor as restless as Hyderabad. Behind the wheels, you’ll experience the antonym of road rage. People don’t honk unnecessarily and exhibit coolness that don’t go well with the high humidity in the region. And this despite the lack of traffic signals at most junctions. People manage on their own; the sort of understanding motorists display in these mini versions of traffics is exemplary. The traffic policepersons (noticed quite a lot of women in uniform) are gentle and are respected by the locals. Apparently, nobody is in a rush to be anywhere. The roads are neither wide (Delhi) nor potholes-ridden (Mumbai); it’s clean and smooth.
Speaking of which, even at the beach, I noticed how people clean up their own mess and don’t feel free to litter. To me, cleanliness and orderliness matter. A lot. After being to several cities over the years, I’ve arrived at the conclusion that it’s inherently difficult for us Indians to scale ourselves to these two ideals, especially in public. We might keep our homes clean but give a little less than nothing for the outside world.
That’s not it though. The reason I like Mangalore has a lot to do with its proximity to sea. I grew up in a neighbourhood close to a jetty. Sea was always there and so was seafood. In fact, for a major part of my life, I’ve stayed close to the coast. The point being, nothing beats the sunset at Mangalore or the fresh meen curry there. The word ‘beautiful’ doesn’t even cut it. Sorry.
Oh, did I mention the greenery? When you land in Mumbai, you are greeted by an endless swathe of slums. When you land in Bangalore, you are greeted by empty patches of land. When you land in Delhi, you see houses and then some more houses. When you land in Mangalore, you see only one colour: the glistening shade of envy.
Yes, it goes without saying that whatever little goodness is left would evaporate from Mangalore over the coming years. There’s no way a bulging city can keep itself in shape. You can already notice the haphazard real estate developments on the hill slopes. Everybody, particularly the rich, wants a piece of it. By the time, I manage to move there, things might have taken drastic turns.
Or maybe not.
My ultimate goal is to wrap up and move to a less intense city like Mangalore, if not Mangalore itself—a goal shared by my missus too — and try to do something more grounded there. Growing our own vegetables and spending at least 5–7 hours writing everyday are two of the sub-goals. Not very long ago, I had hilly aspirations, just because Ruskin Bond is one of my beloved humans. As of now, I have coastal dreams. The whole job-hunt and related logistics could prove to be an obvious hindrance for us but completely worth a try, no?
Only time will tell what will happen and who will end up where. Certainly not in Peshawar though.
