Namma ooru, Bengaluru
The cooing of the koel on the tree outside my bedroom window before the crack of dawn is enough to make me want to wring its neck. Meanwhile, the rain tree, on which this musical but annoying creature with no sense of time sits, charms me every time I remember to look at it. It's funny how quickly one adapts to the beauty of nature, but Bangalore is quick to ensure that you don't get inured to it. It has a lovely way of changing its colors. The purple Jacaranda, the bright yellow or pink tabebuias and the copper pods with their yellow flowers refresh the jaded eyes every spring and early summer. You do manage one or two picnics before the rains come with depressing regularity. While initially welcoming it, it's plain as the nose on my face (although I do think my nose is not plain, it's chiseled like a Greek goddess's) that the city is not geared towards any excess water. I remember one evening, riding back home from work, on my bike, in torrential rain. I...
