Every day in Bangalore is an epic tale of avoiding traffic, chasing vada with filter coffee, and wondering if the mushrooming number of gold shops means weddings are forever in fashion.
Come to my city. Life here isn’t dull, just Bangalorean.
The morning air smells like filter coffee from the nearest Dharshini. Software engineers, autorickshaw drivers, and retired uncles line up for idlisdrowning in spoon-thick sambaar. Bonus points if you can keep your steel tumbler of hot coffee from spilling while manoeuvring your scooter through morning traffic. It’s a citywide rite of passage. Everyone does it.
Around the corner at K.R. Market, women argue over mallige hoovu (jasmine flowers). This might be the only place in the world where buying a kilo of flowers qualifies as a contact sport.
“Aunty, five rupees more, but see how fresh!”
Aunty squints. “Hmph. I’ve seen better mogras during the Emergency.”
Next up: Traffic, the great Bangalore equaliser. Whether you’re on a 2005 Activa or a brand-new SUV, you’re stuck on Outer Ring Road, wondering if you’ll retire before reaching your destination.
In Bangalore, distance is measured in hours, not kilometres.
“How far is Indiranagar from here?”
“Oh, about 1.5 hours in traffic. Basically, a weekend getaway.”
The only thing slower than the traffic is Metro construction. If it rains, progress pauses. Honestly, you’d reach home faster walking backwards blindfolded. Yet somehow, the Namma Metro remains a lifeline.
Once you arrive at your IT Park in Whitefield, Electronic City, or a mystery lane off Sarjapur Road, you log into your 9 a.m. stand-up meeting. No one stands.
Your company could be a global tech behemoth or one of the 15,000 start-ups that began over chai and samosas in Koramangala. The ideas are big. The bugs are bigger.
Lunch? It’s either bisi bele bath from the canteen (which somehow tastes the same across every tech park), or a ₹400 quinoa bowl that feels healthier than your bank balance.
While you’re at it, check if your PG rent has increased. Odds are, it has.
Afternoons are for “errands”, a.k.a. divine intervention. You might stop by Hanuman temples, the Bull Temple, or ISKCON, especially if you’re awaiting an angel investor.
On your way back, you’ll notice that a gold shop has replaced a pet spa. In Jayanagar, there are more jewellery stores than trees. No one knows why. No one complains.
Meanwhile, anxious parents are checking out international schools.
“Only ₹3.5 lakh for kindergarten,” the staff says proudly.
Evenings are for unwinding, if you can navigate the traffic to that trending rooftop restaurant in Indiranagar, where a deconstructed masala dosa costs ₹280. (Regular chutney not included.)
Or take the BMTC bus — free for women — and head to Commercial Street to “just look” at sarees. Spoiler alert: You’ll walk into a silk shop to buy one saree and leave with six, two dupattas, and a life-long emotional connection with the sales uncle.
As night falls, homes, pubs, and chai tapris erupt in collective roars. IPL is on. People who don’t know what an LBW is will still fight over RCB’s glory.
“This is our year!” they say. Every year.
Not into cricket? No worries. Bangalore’s nightlife has jazz in Indiranagar, gigs in Hennur, and stand-up comedy in Koramangala, where 70% of jokes are about — you guessed it — traffic, start-ups, and landlords.
Bangalore doesn’t try to be perfect. It’s messy, beautiful, always under construction, and endlessly lovable.
Where else can you get your horoscope read on one street and drink artisanal cold brew on the next? Where a ₹25 idli-sambar can heal the trauma of ₹3.5 lakh school fees.
It’s a city where women ride free, traffic moves slow and hope never dies — especially if you’re still dreaming of buying a house here someday.
So, keep sipping your filter coffee, dodging potholes, and dreaming big in this chaotic, caffeine-fuelled, flower-scented miracle we call Bangalore.
Published – August 24, 2025 04:08 am IST