This month, we were joined by Meenakshi and Parnika, two Bangalore-based highschoolers. They spent their time reading, understanding Mod Foundation, accompanying us on our visits, and writing about their experience. Here are some pieces they produced on how they view the city differently after interning with Mod.

The Networks We Don’t See

by Parnika Dutt with support from Meenakshi Ganga Ganesh

MOD works with understanding Bengaluru, and with every meeting, every conversation, every event, their aim grows stronger-for Bengalureans to understand Bengaluru.

The flower shops, the metro, the Vidyarthi Bhavans and the Taaza Thindis, how do all of these elements interact in a city that has been constantly changing for five centuries?

The more pressing question is-

What about the networks that we don’t see? What about all of the systems that have been quietly evolving and have kept our lives running every step of the way?

What about the sewer systems, storm water drains, construction sites, maintenance work? Why have we been hiding them, and what gets hidden with them? Have they always been hidden?

These are some of the things that interning at MOD has gotten me to think about.

Some of these, I can address, but some I have not thought enough about.

I understand that sewage, if not hidden, will cause health concerns, but because they are hidden, out of mind, they are sometimes not maintained. Manual scavenging from the local neighborhood will be a last resort.

 Rajakaluves should definitely not be causing health concerns, though.

All of the issues that come up with these drains are because of poor planning and maintenance-mixed up connections between storm water drains and sewers- and the dumping of garbage.

None of these can be fixed by hiding the rajakaluves behind fences or walls, in fact, seeing clean, open rajakaluves might nurture a sense of responsibility and pride towards our city and help in reducing the amount of garbage dumping.

This, from my perspective, is along the lines of what the people at MOD were thinking about when taking up projects, but, of course, only so many roads and rajakaluves can be redesigned by them, which is why they conduct awareness events.

I think that citizens growing a sense of responsibility for the environment that nurtures them is essential for the development of that environment, and awareness does just that-instills responsibility. With the city, MOD has been slowly adapting to get to know all of its networks, its mapping, parks, roads, waterways.

All of these ideas are reflected even in the collection of books in the library at MOD-ranging from Paul Fernandez’s watercolour work, that treats the people of this city like they are just as much a part of the city’s design as the workspaces, cafes, and parks, to the personal experiences of Suresh Jayaram and Roopa Pai with Lalbagh and Bengaluru’s stories, all of them push me to the question- whose stories do we get to see and whose are hidden?

 

Ooru

Poem by Meenakshi Ganga Ganesh

The bangles clinked, as
The lady threw her hands in all directions.
A market specialty- a delicacy
Of spicy arguments and pungent prices.
She tucked her saree pallu around her waist-
“Wait till my husband comes”

Her husband, a seasoned bullock cart rider,
Now rides people around, wondering,
If he’ll ever get the chance to drive Tipu Sultan.

His could not go to school, so he waits-
By the rajakaluve every day for his friend
Just so his friend could teach him what he learnt.
Just so they could sneak into the park,
And catch their favourite messenger-
Kulfi in hand-resting.
With sticky fingers, the child would go to the market,
Hugging his mother, nuzzling his head in her tummy.

Now, traffic calls, a distant voice in the background.
Always there, always present.
The market still remains,
Now impaled by two tar roads,
Quietly accepting its fate
Until the clock strikes 8, and vendors trickle in.
The faint hum of the nearby metro fills in the
silent pre-sale preparations.
Bodies stack into the heightened coach,
Station after station, mechanically.
A routine of monotony as the bus driver
Drives half asleep to the world around him,
Only woken up by the stench of sewage
Passing through a rajakaluve,
the harsh sunrays piercing his drooping eyes,
and the wailing cry of a child who just wants his lays chips.

Drawing by Parnika Dutt