The Heartless Change

“Maami, can you lend me a cup of sugar? I forgot to get sugar yesterday. Shetty opens his shop only at 10 in the morning”, Revathi held out a small steel cup to Vishala Maami, who was busy cooking breakfast for her family of eight members, early in the morning. Vishala quickly filled the cup with sugar and Revathi ran back to her ‘portion’, as her 75-year-old father-in-law was waiting for his cup of coffee. ‘Portion’! Yes, that’s how the small houses in a vataara were referred to those days. Vataaras were very common in that sleepy, lovely, garden city of Bangalore, because many families belonging to lower middle class and even middle class lived in those houses. A vataara had a bunch of eight to ten separate portions and most often there would be three or four common toilets in a corner for all the houses, though each house had its own small bathroom inside. 

80-year-old Revathi, sitting all alone in her well-furnished room in Maathru Senior Citizen Home, was looking back at her life. She did that on many days because those memories soothed her lonely, forlorn mind. She was sitting in front of the large window and watching the huge starlight tree outside, sipping her morning coffee. Varieties of birds visited that tree, though she had never seen any flowers or fruit on it. What did the birds find there? 

Vishala maami had been a mentor, a guide, a second mother and a true friend to her in those days, when Revathi was newly married and her husband Krishna had shifted to Bangalore from Madras, taking a job in a public sector company. Revathi’s mother-in-law had passed away before Revathi’s marriage. Krishna had four elder sisters, who were all married and living in different towns in Madras State (as today’s Tamil Nadu was then called). His younger brother Kumar, who was on the lookout for jobs in Bangalore, lived with him and Revathi, as did Krishna’s father. What happened to that casual lifestyle that we all led those days? How did four adults and later three children live in that small house, which had only one bedroom, a hall, a small kitchen and a bathroom? Can that happen today, especially with middle-class families?

Borrowing spices, veggies, milk, curds, grocery items, etc. from neighbours was a very common practice those days, except there were certain laid-down rules—nobody lent salt, no lending curds after sunset, etc. Even shop-keepers followed these and certain other practices. If someone wanted to buy turmeric for pooja, the shopkeeper would give a spoon of vermillion along with it. In most houses, there would be a curry leaf tree and thulasi plant. These were commonly nurtured, thulasi worshippedand curry leaves grown in a compound used by residents and neighbours alike: one did not need the owner’s permission. Revathi did not remember ever paying for curry leaves or coriander leaves, as even the vegetable vendors gave these away free of cost!

.Even the neighbourhood shopkeepers had become good friends and many families paid the dues only once a month. The business was conducted based on mutual trust and customers too became loyal to certain shops. Revathi could never forget Bhaskar Shetty, who was so friendly, helpful and compassionate. She was new to Bangalore then and he guided her in so many respects. She considered him as her elder brother. She had attended all important events in his family and his family too joined Revathi’s family in all big events. In fact, during Sandhya’s wedding, he had supplied all the groceries on credit and did not even remind them for payment, which got delayed because of so many reasons. Even after Revathi’s family shifted off to a neighbouring locality, Krishna and Revathi always preferred to go to Shetty’s store for their needs. 

Though Revathi loved Madras, where she spent the first sixteen years of her life, she very soon fell in love with Bangalore, mainly because of its beautiful weather, slow and calm life, friendly people and of course lovely greenery. Whenever her siblings, or her husband’s, visited, the entire household with its guests slept on the terrace. Though they visited only during the summer months, the visitors would feel cold and use all available rugs and shawls. ‘How come it is so chilly even during summer?’ they would comment. Today, most houses necessarily need ACs. The visitors also used to make fun of Bangaloreans: ‘Bangalore is a lazy city! Even shops open only after nine in the morning. People clean their front-yards after sunrise! This city is suitable only for retired people.’ Indeed, Bangalore was called a pensioners’ paradise!

Revathi’s children Sreenidhi, Suresh and Sandhya grew up in the same vataara until Sandhya, the youngest one, was eight years old. Revathi’s father-in-law slept on a single cot, while Kumar, Sreenidhi and Suresh slept on the floor. Revathi, Krishna and Sandhya slept on the floor in the bedroom. One or two guests were never an issue, because they could still be accommodated on the bedroom floor. No other furniture, except her father-in-law’s cot, a wooden table and two wooden chairs. The beds would all be folded and stacked against the room wall. Guests would be offered mats to sit on. Children never demanded separate rooms or privacy. During exams, they would go to the terrace and study, until it got dark. Sreenidhi was in his tenth standard when the family shifted out of that house and took a two-bedroom house on rent in a nearby locality. Revathi was sad to leave that house, as she was close to everybody in that vataara and it almost seemed like she had lived in one huge family. The doors of all the houses would always be open, except in the night. Children could enter any house at any time. On festival days, the entire compound would look festive. All the residents would exchange food items, offer pujas together, sit in the courtyard and eat together. There were nearly twenty-five children in that compound. How come we had no problem using common toilets and maintaining them clean? Not once did we have any quarrel over that issue and I don’t remember anybody ever complaining of waiting long or getting late for office or school. Somehow, there was some equation arrived at! Later, when Sreenidhi constructed his own house, Krishna had commented, ‘three bath-cum-toilets? Why so many?' 

"Amma, breakfast is ready. Shall I fetch it here, or will you come to the dining hall?” Revathi shook herself to the present. Nalini stood outside the window, beckoning to her. “I will come to the dining hall—I can at least meet a few friends.”

“Good morning, Revathi! How are you?” Shalini Pai was always fresh and cheerful in the mornings. She had been a teacher and retired as the principal of a famous college. Her husband, once a doctor, was now bedridden and hence never came to the dining hall. Shalini, though, made it a point to walk to the dining hall. 

“I am fine, Shalini. How are you? How is Doctor?” 

“I am fine. Doctor, of course, has his usual issues. Tomorrow, we will be taking him for his check-up. My son-in-law will come and help us. When is Sreenidhi coming?”

“Next month. He wants to take me along with him. But I wonder how I will manage in the US.”

“True! It is difficult. People there have no time for us. They may give us all material comforts but what we need at this age is company. We want people to talk to.”

“Shalini, at least here, I have a bunch of friends like you. Sandhya visits me at least once in two months, as she lives in Mysore. Kumar keeps in touch and visits at least twice or thrice a year, as he has to depend on his son to drive him from Hosur. Suresh is too far away in Australia. He visits just once in a year or two. He is busy with his hospital. He invites me to visit but I feel very lonely there. At least Sreenidhi lives in a community with a lot of Indian expats and his wife is very social and friendly. She keeps organising meets, get-togethers and events. But don’t you miss the life we led in our times, Shalini?”

“Of course I do, Revathi! What to do? Change is inevitable. There is no going back! You have to only move forward.”

“Can our grandchildren even believe that we never used fans in Bangalore even during summers? We definitely needed woollens for winters. Those beautiful misty mornings, that silence after dusk, those huge trees under which we walked safely to shop, to meet friends and relatives, the lovely chirps of varieties of birds that woke us up in the mornings, the avenues lined up with colourful flowering trees that made their surroundings heavenly by raining petals, the soothing summer rains, the aroma, the secure feeling that we had among our kith and kin and our dear neighbours! Where have all those things gone? Nothing remains casual today. The vehicle sounds, the horrific traffic jams, the polluted air, the crowded streets and shops, the huge apartment complexes which seem like stacked match boxes... Oh! This is definitely not Bangalore! There may be thousands of residents in those complexes but very few to interact with and that too on designated days and events! The time I used to spend chit-chatting with our immediate neighbours, casually while cutting veggies, peeling the pea pods, cleaning the rice, combing my daughter’s hair, was the best time of my life. Vishala Maami, Gowri Akka, Meena, Sundari, Aruna! I had so many close friends, who were ever ready to help me out and lend their shoulders whenever I felt low! I didn’t need to take appointments or wait for a time. I could just drop in and would be most welcome. Today, even to meet our own siblings or children we need to take appointments. We didn’t have material comforts then. During wedding gatherings, we sprawled on the floor on a large carpet and chatted into the wee hours, giggling heartily. We also participated actively in the celebration.”

“What’s going on? Travelling back down memory lane, once again? Yes! We have come very far away from those times, Revathi. But aren’t you proud of your sons, who are doing so well in foreign lands? Aren’t you happy that their children could study in universities like Harvard and Oxford? If not for globalisation, could you have even dreamt of travelling abroad and living in such posh retirement homes?” That was Prema Kushalappa, an advocate. 

Jaya chimed in, “I agree, Prema. Our standard of living has improved a lot. I had not dreamt of living in my own house and driving my own car, as my husband was a clerk in a bank and we struggled to educate our three children, take care of elders and save for our future! After Madhav got into a multi-national company after his Engineering course, life changed suddenly for us. Within five years of his employment, he purchased a four-bedroom apartment, an expensive car and all sorts of luxuries for the home. We went on foreign tours five times!”.

At this, Revathi rejoined, “Jaya, touch your heart and tell us—are you very happy to live here with strangers, rather than with your children and grandchildren? My father-in-law was with us till he breathed his last. He was bedridden for almost the last two years. We took care of him. Kumar, too, lived close to our house. His daughters visited him often. So, he never went into depression, though physically he was dependent. We had engaged an attendant and gave him our best attention. However, when my husband fell ill, I was left all alone. I was 70 years old and had my own challenges. Every night was scary. Of course, Sandhya did her best by visiting almost once in a fortnight and staying with us whenever my husband was hospitalised. But she had her own pressures: balancing between a job, caring for her in-laws, her daughter’s education, and her personal health. Her husband was also transferred to Delhi during that time. Sreenidhi and Suresh could not visit us often. In fact, Suresh did not even visit us to see his father when he was critically ill, and came down only three days after he passed on. How can I come to terms with this, Jaya?” she concluded tearfully.

By then, Ramachandra Rao and Sarangapani too had joined them. Ramachandra Rao was a retired Chief Engineer with PWD and had arrived just six months ago. His wife had passed away of cancer and his only son, who lived in the US, literally forced him to shift to this facility, as he was 75 and could not manage on his own in his apartment. His eyes were already moist, hearing Revathi. 

“Yes, madam. What you say is very true. I am very proud of my son’s achievements. He got his PhD and is now a dean in an Ivy League university. His wife is a leading gynaecologist. My granddaughter is pursuing her higher education in Cambridge. Everything seemed rosy as long as Radha and I were healthy and travelled to the US every year. My son and daughter-in-law took care of us very well. But once our health started declining, we could not travel so often. My daughter-in-law cannot travel to India, as she has motion sickness. My son visited us once a year for a week. When Radha was diagnosed of cancer, we were doomed. Of course, my son arranged for her treatment at the best hospital, arranged for assistants, and called us almost twice or thrice a day. Radha was so depressed and missed her son a lot. However much I tried to cheer her up, she would get back into her shell. We had so many good friends, and our siblings supported us morally and physically whenever needed. But nothing would soothe Radha’s depression. Now, my son wants me to join him there. But I will miss my family and friends and the social life that I lead here. I know I cannot expect my son to give up his good life and come back. That’s why I agreed to come here. I am happy at least I found friends like you all.” He wiped his tears.

“Globalisation has definitely changed all our lives. The generation gap has been an issue since time immemorial. I am sure our grandparents complained about our parents and our parents about us! But until our generation, the gap was reasonably small and the change was happening gradually. But globalisation widened the gap too much and changes started happening sporadically. That is why we are facing this situation. We are a sandwich generation, where we had to take care of aged parents for a long spell of time and by the time we were free of our responsibilities towards them, we were already in the twilight of our lives and our children were no longer with us, to take over our responsibility! This is a tricky situation, where we have to live with a set of values with our elders but have to adjust to a totally different set of values of our children.”

“Arey Revathi! You are setting an example to all of us here with your positive deeds. You may enter the Guinness Book of World Records as the oldest woman to pursue post-graduate studies. You teach us all Bhagavadgeeta and devotional songs. Stay positive, don’t moan!” Prema patted Revathi’s back. Revathi had always had a sense of incompleteness that she was married off immediately after high school. She had dreamt of going to college and taking up a job, but her family commitments immediately after marriage had not permitted her to do those things. However, after the children were grown up and after Sandhya went to college, Revathi enrolled for a distance education program at Mysore University and completed her BA in Sanskrit. She enjoyed the course, the schedule of assignments and the contact classes thoroughly. Many of her batchmates became her good friends and kept in touch with her. After shifting to Mathru, she enrolled for MA. Thankfully, she enjoyed normal health and was surrounded by many positive-minded people.  

The discussion ended, as it was 11:30 and a few of them had to attend the yoga session. Revathi decided to take a long walk, as the soothing winter sunrays tempted her. But she could not take her mind off the topic of discussion. Personal lifestyles had changed a lot due to better income levels, availability of many comforts and luxuries all over the world and exposure of people to different cultures. That is all inevitable. The water has started flowing down the slope and nobody can stop it! But something else bothered Revathi more than that.

Bangalore, once a beautiful city of gardens, mansions, peaceful residents and a quiet life, has born the maximum brunt of the big change due to globalisation. Back in the 1960s-70s, the city looked cleaner, greener and aesthetic. The garbage problem was not a big issue. Plastic was unheard of. Newspaper was used to pack groceries. People had to take cloth bags to the stores and it was a pleasure shopping in those small ‘mom and pop’ stores, because the relationship between the shop owners and the customers extended beyond business 

Suddenly, the supermarket (which took away the personal relationship between traders and customers) concept entered Bangalore, along with plastic packaging. Prior to this, garbage was very limited and those cement garbage receptacles at the end of each street were sufficient. They were cleared every day. People bought milk and oil in steel cans or re-usable glass bottles. People with large gardens composted their green waste, while those living in smaller houses fed it to the cattle that were reared in neighbouring houses. Some food waste used to be consumed by the friendly neighbourhood stray dogs. Ramu was such a sweet fellow. He would wait patiently till ten in the night for us to finish our dinner and then eat the leftover food. Though we never adopted him formally, he remained loyal to us and stayed outside our gate all the time. When we shifted out of that house, we were all in tears, as Ramu followed our vehicle for a long distance and then stopped, looking at us with sorrow.  

Yes, the city was cleaner and greener. After the entry of super-markets, pre-packed grocery items, attractive packaging for every item, canned and processed food items, etc., garbage increased multi-fold. Bangalore grew too fast as it became the Silicon Valley of India. The governing authorities, with their old, slow, outdated systems and ancient thinking, could not keep pace. The roads could not handle the ever-increasing traffic and the corporation always lagged behind in proper planning. Housing layouts sprung up all over the city, but the government could not extend its services to all the residents. Garbage mounds lay in so many spots, unattended. In the name of widening roads and constructing flyovers, bridges, metro lines and so many other developmental works, thousands of trees were and continued to be mercilessly felled. Beautiful lakes have turned into landfills or sewage pits! Huge mansions surrounded by lush greenery were being brought down and multi-storied apartment complexes being built. 

Gomathi’s house was so beautiful. We could not see the house from the gate. We had to walk almost 200 metres in to reach her door. It seemed a resort. In fact, her children’s weddings were all conducted in their own garden! Every year, Gomathi sent us yummy mangoes from her garden and I don’t remember having bought a coconut as long as we were her neighbours. She insisted that we used coconuts from her trees only. Three years ago, when her children decided to sell the property, Gomathi could say nothing, as she was already 83 years old and her 65-year-old son, who took care of her in that house, had to move out as per his three siblings’ wishes. Gomathi was very sad. She had spent 67 years in that bungalow, which was always full of people in the good old days, when her father-in-law, a very popular musician, lived and her sweet mother-in-law was over-generous to all her extended family members. Great musicians visited their house and they used to conduct music concerts once a month. She could never cope with the fact that her beloved home was to be razed and all her pet trees were to be felled to construct a huge apartment complex. She took ill and died just a week before her son’s family was to shift out along with her.

Revathi entered her tenement after the walk. Thoughts kept haunting her. Not just Gomathi’s house: so many beautiful mansions are gone. During her tour to Europe, she was so touched to see 300-400-year-old buildings preserved well as heritage buildings and shown around to tourists. She had heard about some activists fighting to preserve such heritage buildings in Bangalore too. But such people were few. Most people had become greedy land sharks and had no concern for either the trees or the heritage buildings. All they wanted was to turn every inch of land into a commercial tool! Sad state of affairs!

As she sat and started reading a book, she received a call from her youngest sister-in-law Madhu, her husband’s first cousin. “Hello atthige, how are you?”

“I am fine, dear. How are you? Has Rashmi gone back to her house with the baby? How is the baby?”

“We are sending her next week. We are then planning to visit Karthik for a couple of months.”

“That’s good. Has the visa arrived?”

“Yes, we just got it two days ago. Did you know Bharathi atthe is in a critical condition? Heart-wrenching to see her suffering in bed! She was so active, social and cheerful. Now, she is so depressed because of her dependency and sheds tears often. She misses her three children, who are abroad. Ganesh and Uma take care of her so well and her other children keep visiting her once in 4 or 5 months. Yet, she is sad. She longs for a return to the life of yesteryears, when all her children lived around her”.

“Girija told me about atthe’s condition. What to do, Madhu? All of us are sailing in the same boat. I too feel very insecure and lonely. But the past is past. She should be happy that at least Ganesh and Uma are with her. So many of us are alone. We educated our children and took pride in their achievements. Thanks to globalisation, they flew to faraway lands in search of opportunities. How can everything be reversed? I am keeping myself sane only thinking of that golden past, when all of us were together and you all visited us so frequently. Good memories are my main support system. Come over after sending Rashmi back.”

“Sure, atthige! Girija too wanted to visit you. She will be coming to Bangalore next week. We both will come over to your place. Take care.”

‘I think my generation has seen the best of both the times and faced the most challenges. I have seen change turning both personal lives and this beautiful city topsy turvy! God give me the strength to remain healthy till my end.’

“Ajji, lunch time! Do you need help?”

“No, Shanthi! I can walk. I will come in a few minutes. Thank you.”