What we lose when the city snatches away our walking spaces
Maybe that’s why I like to walk; I have always been greedy for more details. Even in a monotonous train from top to bottom of my construction terrace in Bangalore, there were details to bring together. For example, the exact length of a cup of tea is 12 walks from top to bottom of my terrace, at a rate of 1.5 sipped per step. Absolutely unnecessary information for some, but a very specific memory of carefree mornings from 2009, when I started my first job. This is not a benchmark, but one time.
Most benchmarks are appreciated because they are affected by nostalgia. When we lose them, we lose a link with our past. Finding himself in Bangalore after many years, a friend felt the desire to walk on the 80 -foot road from Indranagar from his former apartment to his first office in order to see a certain part of his life. When he arrived in the planned neighborhood, he could no longer find his building or remember anything around where the building was. Suddenly, he did not feel moored by the grid of the street, which he recognized and could no longer identify. Disoriented, he headed for his old office building, which had since become a restaurant, retaining his old floors and windows, but without anything familiar. He remembers this incident with a deep feeling of loss.
It is inevitable that each landmark is finally lost in time. Interestingly, however, the monuments will also become evidence of this time. During my pregnancy, walking was not for fun; Instead, it was the only way to counter my diabetes. I religiously traveled the same route for an hour each evening to regulate my sugar and the weight of my child fast growing. During these walks, I met an elderly woman who quickly became a bright point on my route. She was tall and tagged, still dressed in patterns, walking with slow elegance that high and fragile people sometimes have. We never talked, but we exchanged smiles. I no longer travel this path, but if I ever go, I know that I will look for this lady who now defines the route for me, as much as the Sampangi tree at the end of the street. Even if she is not there, for me, she will always be.
