In my ambitious effort to move on to ‘bigger and better things’, I just moved to Domlur. Of course, I can vouch for the ‘better’ but ‘bigger’ I have my own doubts. I just moved into a nice, little place with pink, cream, white, and blue walls – as opposed to the orange monopoly that was thrust into my face for the past year. I can’t really say that I miss the open spaces, eerily quiet nights, and absolute lack of human presence for days together, that Whitefield gave me – but I do miss it for everything else that shaped the last year up for me.
The new place is centrally located with plenty of supermarkets and eateries, well-connected to the rest of the city, and also is a very peaceful residential area. I live right next doors to a small temple, so I can hear the temple bells and the chanting of mantras all day long (shortcut to Moksha probably). Also, I have to cross a cow shed and a few cows too to reach the house – my dad took this opportunity to aptly name the place Jerusalem Jerusalem
Once I cross Jerusalem (holding my breath of course for better Nirvana), I can see huge trees with white and yellow flowers, the sole Banyan that graciously bears the playful squirrels scurrying across, little children playing on the roads, the gossip club with old ladies clad in long robes (often irreverently called a Maxi), the permanently parked water lorry with a man screaming in rapid Kannada, and the towering temple that somehow brings a sense of peace to the whole neighborhood.
Garbage disposal in Whitefield was a complicated mix of scientific mechanisms – flex your muscles and fling the bag as far as possible and into the clump of trees. Sometimes, it would hit a hapless dog scavenging through the muck, and in which case, you would have to run away as quickly as you can to avoid getting bitten. In Domlur, the disposal techniques are simpler and certainly less adventurous. The disinterested old man who lugs the trolley around hardly even cracks a smile.
