To Bengaluru and Back #01

21 Jun, 2026

STOP AND SMELL THE EGG PUFFS

I've lived in Bengaluru my whole life.

A childhood I can hardly remember. Adolescent years I only wish I could forget. And my adult years, spanning a dozen romantic pursuits and at least half as many career pursuits, with varying degrees of success.

For as long as I've known — save for a couple years in Chennai and a few short trips to North India and abroad — I've called Bengaluru home, and made most of my memories within its city limits.

So when I tell you that this city is a shithole, you'd be inclined to believe me. Maybe you even think that I'm uniquely qualified to make such an observation.

But maybe... don't?

The Bengaluru that tourists experience and the one that residents like me experience are two entirely different beasts. The latter, mostly a beast in hibernation.

You see, for those of us who reside in this city — with full-functioning lives as students, employees, housewives, and entrepreneurs — we barely have the time to go through the motions of daily life. So experiencing the city (whatever that means) is not exactly at the top of anyone's priorities.

Perhaps this is the case for every city out there, but what do I know, boss?

I've only been in Bengaluru all my life, with almost nothing to show for it. Until recently, that is.

I went from passively haunting the city to actively experiencing all that it has to offer.

And, really, it's easier than you think.

All it takes is one step: unemployment. Have you got what it takes?

I fell into unemployment sometime last year, and thought I was finally free from a life of indentured servitude. But it felt wrong to not work at all. I decided to pick up some freelance work here and there, just to keep myself occupied. Before I knew it, I made even more money, and got even more busy.

There comes a time for every freelancer, when they can sense that some or all of their clients are going to fire them. That time came for me, too. I got a little ahead of myself, and ended up firing all my clients before they had the chance to fire me.

In the meanwhile, something happened to the economy, as it so frequently does, and it became near impossible for me to find new work. I decided to lean into unemployment, and stay there as long as my savings would allow. Which was anywhere between a few months to a whole year, depending on how much I'd spend each month.

I'd like to believe it's my excellent financial discipline which let me set aside a handsome-enough fund for the rainy day. Although, if this book were to become a bestseller, as I suspect it would, haters would claim that it's my gender and caste privilege which allowed me to earn enough to warrant savings in the first place.

They wouldn't necessarily be wrong, but it would still hurt my feelings very much.

Through the course of this book, I will break down what it's like to finally experience Bengaluru after simply residing in it for years. At the end of this book, maybe even you can enjoy the city without necessarily losing your job. But I'm in no position to make any promises, you understand?

I used to work jobs that required me to be ALWAYS ON, 24/7/365, so, naturally, I had to cut off superficial distractions like my health and well-being, a half-decent relationship with my family, and friendships of any shape or form. Now that I'm cured from the malady that is formal employment, my social life was beginning to blossom again.

One day, after I was done third-wheeling my friend and her boyfriend at the movies, I got on my two-wheeler. On my way back home, I got stuck in my neighbourhood's evening traffic jam, as one does every day in Bangalore.

It's true. Our roads are riddled with traffic, but they are also riddled with one other thing: bakeries. Look around while you're out and about, and you'll be sure to spot at least one of the three:

1. an Iyengar bakery,
2. an SLV bakery, or
3. if the bakery owner is of Malayali descent, one named after their estranged mother.

Ask any Bangalorean visiting another city, and they'll tell you how they're surprised — no, appalled! — at the sheer lack of bakeries lining its streets. Pure Negligence in Urban Planning!, they'll tell you.

On this particular day, I was in no rush to head back home. I didn't have to send any number of emails or attend any number of meetings when I was back in range of high-speed internet.

And so, I decided to park my scooter next to the bakery, surely making the traffic worse. I closed my eyes and smelled the egg puffs, without a care in the world. For a few moments, I was transported to another world... a culinary heaven.

I was, however, lulled back into the real world with a symphony of honking, yelling, and a selection of Kannada swear words I'd never heard before, despite spending the better part of three decades in this very city.

I singlehandedly improved the traffic situation by dislodging myself.

Maybe tomorrow, I thought to myself, as I made the last leg of my ride back home, I'll make another trip and eat that egg puff. Mmm, it smells so good.

Not like I had much else to do the next day, anyway.

But I better leave the scooter¹ at home and walk instead. Because the traffic is a tad more tolerable when you are not an active part of it.

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#To Bengaluru And Back