Having gone from the idyllic pastoral rhythm of the surroundings to a bustling, overcrowded, cramped, over-populated, stench-filled, and brazen modern concrete townlet, Alwal is beyond imagining ruined.
We—the nostalgic old romantics—have much to say about our beloved town, but we merely confess good things and shrug at others while offering platitudes and dismissing criticism. Two of us from our friends' group of four have experienced a childhood filled with everlasting love and unutterable longing in Trishul Park during the 1990s. While the other two members moved here from other states and settled down in the gentle curves, breezy spaces, spectral expanses, and enchanting undulations of the land around the suburban country in the romantic north, at least a good seven kilometres away in the once-leafy cool cantonment from the laid-back twin-cities of Hyderabad and Secunderabad, which, regrettably, has lost its reputation as a laidback city of pearls, glittering bazaars, and quiet neighbourhoods, but instead has turned into an incredibly bland metropolis, a starkly indifferent urban sprawl of IT—Information Technology—soaring to the skies in ominous-looking spires of steel, concrete, and glass.
(I've my poetic cap on today. Software developers of the so-called forward-thinking, contemporary IT industry have—believe it or not—sunk into endless standup meetings, wherein talented Agile engineers and undeniable Scrum masters discuss bugs, codes, hotfixes, deployment, etc., chasing years of agonizing struggle and sneaking around with their sleek LinkedIn profiles in tow while also downing Java coffee, have produced decade after decade full stack nothingburgers that you can neither see nor feel crap.
A del key is all it takes to erase your digital-binary output, so chill. That's how working in IT is done, which—according to my memetic chicken thoughts—is not nearly as glamorous as it once was. I wish my competency (or lack thereof) lay elsewhere. If only I were an Explorer or Author or at least wiser at whatever I am not. (Access denied!) So, do you wonder, then, why people leave? Hey, chuck this if you can because we need a meme break, don't we? "I want this task done by EOD." I'm like...ROFL (rolling on the floor laughing!))
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We still manage to live among the ruins of the nostalgic yesteryears: our lovely past, but all we have left to perceive about this ruined, cheek-by-jowl town are great memories that live on in our hearts. In the past, this small town had an abundance of sky and vegetation, like serene greenery beneath bright sunlight and beautiful twilight pools of sparkling starlight and night blackness under the silvery moonlight: Sky, clouds, trees, open spaces, Trishul Park, Alwal, that kind of thing. But, I'm sad to say, it's hell out here today. Life is no good in Alwal.**
I remember those days when Raju and I used to jog around Trishul Park or the Sub Area. We loved jogging or running, but once Raju left, I never felt the same desire to go for a run. We used to sprint through rain-soaked meadows and desolate open landscapes in the Sub Area during our sporadic jogging days in the 1980s. Then, afterwards, too tired to continue running, Raju and I would sit on the grass, luxuriating in the subtle curves of the lonely roads on which we jogged early mornings. There was scarcely anybody on the road back then and no vehicles. The environment everywhere was fresh, breezy, and serene. We had no idea or felt any need to know what air or sound pollution was like because those things didn't exist and didn't matter to anyone as there was nothing the matter to be concerned about because there was no pollution back then, zero pollution. Life was so good back then. "Life was sounder when technology was more spartan." So true. Angular old trees are still in evidence but are passing a slow death. Some of these magnificent trees, which have stood for decades, have been chopped down to create room for additional asphalt and concrete roads in Alwal, where traffic is increasing by the day, population growth is exponential, and air, water, and plastic pollution is a disaster which even destroys human life. Everyone wants to construct their houses and apartments and will have no shame or remorse to chop down anything that comes in the way of their unrepentant aspirations. The age-old peepul, neem, and banyan trees that were once so comforting, soothing, tender, and affecting and dreamt a gentle pastoral dream decided they no longer wanted to live. They did not want to be in these once lovely wooded landscapes of tall grasses, bushes, meadows, and country lanes where birds cooed and flowers blossomed in abundance; instead, they wanted to wither away and die. They just wanted to be permeated with the Alwal countryside forever and ever.
Those tall, swaying trees are gone; the relentless march of people toward pointless affluence and meaningless wealth was too great for them to survive. My great friend Raju would have been devastated to see this, as I'm heartbroken by this slaughter. History doesn't repeat itself; those who say it does must be demeaning themselves. Where are the night jars, the skylarks, the shalik birds that talked noisily, and an occasional sighting of a kingfisher or a parrot or two?
This quiet little town had a charm of its own that, sadly, had waned over the years of its relentless development that brought all kinds of numbing traffic, cement dust, population explosion, and mindless pigeon-infested apartment buildings, hot tar roads expanded to the limits, filling every inch of all available spaces with hardened cement roads. All kinds of refreshment kiosks (encroachment kiosks?), stands, booths, stalls, vendors, and open-hawking counters have illegally encroached on the sidewalks as if they have been developed exclusively for their wares. Haphazardly parked two-, three-, and four-wheelers—often, the rudest and the rowdiest, devil-may-care drivers or riders hanging out, with flagrant chutzpah and bouts of insecurity high on their “yo-yo-bro” cult agendas, who only know how to be guilty of misconduct, roughhouse badly, like the veritable king of the road—are the ultimate transgressors violating the purpose of sidewalks. Give it to these hominid skunks: They own the damn roads! Road rage is all the rage these days. In a world of amorality and shamelessness, they reign supreme.
Unfortunately, this lonesome town is no longer lonesome. Alwal town has declined into ludicrous affluence. The old way of life has unhappily met a lamentably heart-breaking end, and its old-timers, like me, no longer dream their pleasant pastoral dreams of self-sufficiency and belonging. Gone is the easy familiarity, that old-time sense of place, time, space. Suburban Alwal, like its twin-city counterpart, was formerly well-known for flaunting its easy, laidback way of life, blissfully free of all the accoutrements of city living. Today, the town has given way to a hectic, noisy, and worrying life no old timers like. But one must learn to get accustomed to and continue to act as though nothing drastic is happening around you or that one can do anything about. So, we unmindfully dismiss all the conspicuous failings and the obvious flaws that the twenty-first century is bringing out, including the failures of our human society, while completely disregarding all the aggression that accompanies attitude annoyances in some people. Nothing else can exist between the two extremes we see today in our so-called modern world: you either live or become extinct (or, as the saying goes, become irrelevant or "pension eaters"). The choice is yours. There's no love. Nobody is true. Nobody cares.
For those who cherish nostalgia, the past—with all its familiar history—is never meant to be forgotten. The good old days have found a sanctuary in our hearts and minds forever. I've now realized that history never ends and that the past, despite the future, will always ache in our hearts. No matter what you say about anything in life, you will always cherish your nostalgic memories, which you will never forget or omit from the present or even stop thinking about in the future. Memories are everywhere in our lives.
Alwal, once a tranquil and peaceful place, has now transformed into a well-known neighbourhood, but it is difficult for me to recognize or connect with it any more than I do with its distant past. Despite the changes, I hold onto my memories of growing up in the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s in Alwal, and I know that it can never return to what it once was. Nevertheless, by some good fortune, I have all my memories safely in my heart, where they will remain forever—for eternity.
(To be continued…)
By Arindam Moulick