Photographing UB City

Before the advent of UB City, the last time I saw a significant change in the skyline of central Bangalore was when Barton Center came up on MG Road. As a kid I remember standing on the pavement fascinated by the beautiful etching along the length of the building depicting a mahout mounted atop an elephant. The added attraction was that it was a good 15 floors tall and in those days that meant a lot. Sure, the much taller Utility Building was there even then but staying true to its name, straining one’s neck to view it brought no joy to the eyes. As the years rolled by, Barton Center declined in stature and besides a restaurant with great views (Ebony) and a computer peripheral seller who sells at SP Road prices (Computer Warehouse), I wonder if there is anything worthwhile left there. Last I read about Barton Center in the newspaper was when a dentist jumped down from the 13th floor. If you know how the elevators in that place are, it was a wise decision to take that route. The end could have been less painful though.

Coming back to UB City. It is as brash and as shamelessly flamboyant as its conceiver. It has ultra exclusive brands’ stores, restaurants, service apartments, hotels, offices and even a Formula 1 track. Ok, I made the last one up but knowing Mr.Mallya, you never know he may put one up soon. I have not had the courage and more importantly, the interest to step into any of those designer shops but I hear that they have stuff priced at rates which makes you wonder whether the price is in rupees or yen. There is something free though. The courtyard near the food court offers a great view of the UB City tower with the sedate glory of Vidhana Soudha lurking in the background. Photographing it though is out of the question with SLR cameras especially being frowned upon. I wonder what the security issue with cameras is all about – maybe they are worried the telephoto lens could capture the wild happenings in Mr.Mallya’s house just next door. The road outside is no better from the photography perspective as I discovered early morning last weekend. The security guards take the fact that road is named after Mr.Mallya’s father rather literally. While I was clicking away from the safe havens of the public BBMP road, a security guard threatened to grab my camera and ring up the police. I reminded him that I was standing on a road built using my tax money and I had a right to do that. After a minute of arguing, I realized it was not going to end in anything fruitful and moved on. It makes me wonder though whether street photography as an art form has any future in this security obsessed world. The planes sure took down more than the towers on that September morning.

Abandoned Beauty

Every time I have been to St.Marks Road, even if it means just passing by it, an old bungalow has never ceased to catch my attention. Despite being wrapped in a coat of abandonment, its endearing beauty is still there for those willing to look for it. I learn from the little information available on the web that the house was home to two sisters, Dulcie Vaz and Vera Vaz. Having dedicated a lifetime towards music, they were spending the winter of their lives in what would have been a most serene and endearing residence. However, the prime location of the place soon attracted land sharks of the worst kind and the lonely couple being easy targets, Dulcie was murdered on the 4th of September, 2001. Since then, the bungalow has become a rat’s nest with all kinds of legal tangles swallowing all the life it had.

I was there over the weekend to photograph the place before it is eventually mowed down for yet-another-mall or a designer store. Navigating through mounds of mud, human excreta, bottles, wood and even a child’s colour palette, I managed to reach the porch of the house. And there stood, a silent witness to all the decline – a car. A Hillman Minx model, the car was in a reasonably good shape from the exterior and added to the overall character of the place. The insides though looked burnt with the leather of the seats ripped apart baring the meshed innards. As with most things in India, whatever could be sold for money had disappeared. I peeked into the house through the window near the front door but apart from a couple of cane chairs, I couldn’t see much. Not that there would be anything to see since it is difficult to imagine anything of significance to have been left behind. After a brief circling around the house, it was clear that there was nothing more to observe and I made my way to the pavement. In what would have been a beautiful garden, now lies a gigantic pit, presumably dug by the homeless who live around that place. The pit acts like a cheap storage for the night to store the trash that they collect from various parts of Bangalore. Once the morning arrives, they sort it into the useless and the useful (translate that as “anything that can be sold”). Sadly, most of the useless and smelly portions make their way onto the street making that stretch of the footpath, both foot and nose unfriendly. Fortunately, they cared little for me and my fervent clicking, lost in their own world of making that day free from hunger. Once I knew, that they were no more angles that I could really cover, I bid the place goodbye. As I was leaving, I saw behind the decaying walls, a glimpse of gulmohar trying valiantly to cast a vibrant red shadow to the whole scene. And I wondered, if someday there would be voices and music wafting through again, making the house, a home once more.