Namaskara, Bangalore. Ready to get hooked?

Namaskara, Bangalore. Ready to get hooked?

You can dismiss us as yet another bunch of outsiders who are here to tell you about your city. Or you can embrace us quickly because, less than a week after our launch, you already sense that we’re going to become a habit. As for us, we love Bangalore.

Take the Mint names listed on the left of this column. When we first heard we were coming to Bangalore, three of us wanted to shift base (the editor nipped that plan swiftly). Two of us have been married in Bangalore, two of us have shopped for our wedding trousseau in Bangalore and one of us has great memories of flirting with his sister’s much older hostel mates at Bangalore Medical College. That same someone also has a not-so-happy memory of the time he realized it was really time to give up on his infatuation with his Class XII English teacher, Anandhi Natarajan, whose wedding he attended in Bangalore.

In short, we have ties with your city.

We love the fact that you can wear woollies in Bangalore without worrying about the biting cold of a Delhi winter. We love that when a couple orders a glass of wine and a beer, the waiters don’t presume that the woman has ordered the wine. We love that the steak at Sunny’s isn’t a tiny piece of “standard 225gm" meat sitting forlornly in the centre of your plate, as at Mumbai’s Indigo. We acknowledge that in the early 1990s, the only pub in the country that played Grateful Dead was Pecos. We love and have eaten at all the institutions (liver toast at Koshy’s, Sunday chaat on the Bangalore Club lawns and meals at Kamat Yatri Nivas and Hallimane).

I promised myself I wouldn’t mention the traffic, but since Mint is a clear-minded chronicler (see column on the left again), I must add that we think Bangalore’s malls are the worst places to watch a multiplex movie. In fact, Bangalore malls are horrific on the weekends (we’re hoping Lido will improve the movie watching experience when it reopens later this year).

As for me, I love the smile on my husband’s face every time he lands in Bangalore, the predictable laments when we drive down any road (oh no, this used to be Victoria Hotel, this used to be the Sequeiras' bungalow) and the way the city still salutes the integrity of my father-in-law, P.G. Halarnkar, some two decades after he was commissioner of police.

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