Pune shows how the drive towards globalisation can have a peculiarly Indian flavour. Residential complexes invoke images of foreign lands. They co-exist uneasily with uprooted rural communities on the city's margins.
November 22, 2011:
Driving down from Mumbai to Pune city some 180 km away over the
Expressway one could get the illusion of cruising down a European
autobahn or an American highway. The route has its own language of
imperious communication signs — of speed limits; warnings against
overtaking in tunnels; and advice on lane discipline, with heavy
vehicles being sternly told to stay on the outer lane. But this is
India; even in the most modernised State, the seductive power of speed
is too tempting to resist. Life is dear but speed is so much more fun.
A sense of displacement gathers as one reaches the end of the
expressway; at the Pune end, this merges with the bypass to NH4 to
Bangalore, which skirts the city with various exits into it. The road
surface is more silky-smooth than the expressway's. You look out the
window at the scenery; rain-nourished verdant slopes of the Western
Ghats occasionally marred by billboards now give way to huge hoardings
that compound that sense of displacement.
‘Heights' of imagination
Unlike the American highways, hoardings along the bypass leading into
Pune do not tempt you with hamburgers or drive-in motels. They offer
fantasy, a promise to re-order your life by offering you a Swiss chalet,
Spanish haciendas, Thai villas around the city of Pune.
Globalisation has wormed its way into the city, not just through malls
and coffee cafes or multiplexes — transient experiences of globalised
modernity at best — but through a fantasy of actually owning and
therefore immersing yourself in it.
What helps fortify the fantasy, and for the sceptic a sense of
disbelief, is the usage of language itself. Developers of residential
complexes eating up rich farmlands for lifestyle homes have begun
reinventing English.
One can still find residential complexes with indigenous names such as
“Samarth Nagar” but the globalisation bug has bitten deep; developers
cannot resist adding the suffix, “Heights” or “Residency”. But the more
adventurous ones invent in a way that would have made Shakespeare, no
mean coiner of new words, wince.
Hoardings beckon you to “Capriccio”, “Apostrophe”, “Mont Vert”. The
developers of “Wisteriaa” are taking no chances with the name of a
flower. The extra letter of the alphabet could change fortunes. The
creator of “Euthania” stops short of mercy killing. If that phonetic
resemblance rattles the sensitive home-buyer, “Invicta” should
compensate.
At a surface level, this play with the English language appears crude
and the work of demented builders. But it expresses the way
globalisation transforms itself into a new creature of post-modernity
that at first sight seems obviously syncretic.
Degree shops
This view of two worlds co-existing uneasily at best, and with tension
at worst, is strengthened along the bypass. Behind the hoardings for
Swiss villas lie vanishing farmlands and the first signs of shanty towns
are appearing with garishly painted notices advertising roadside
eateries, car repair garages, tyre treading and clumsily built two,
three-storied buildings posing as office blocks.
Soon modern, glass-fronted buildings appear and now they express the city's new present and future: academic degrees.
Once again, as with real-estate, rich farmers have seized the
opportunity to sell their lands to academic entrepreneurs or transform
themselves into chairman and directors of business schools whose
roof-topped neon flash grandiosely at you at night along the bypass.
Pune seems to parody the opening lines in T.S. Eliot's Burnt Norton: “Time present and time past/ are both perhaps present in time future/ and time future contained in time past.”
Pune has had a rich tradition of learning and scholarship: Fergusson
College where D.D. Kosambi taught for a while, Deccan College for
ancient Indian history, not to mention Bhandarkar Oriental Research
Institute, Gokhale Institute of Economics and Politics where the late
V.M. Dandekar wrote the seminal Poverty in India in the mid-1960s.
It is still a place for higher education; but not of scholarship. Its
innumerable business and media “study” centres are “degree shops”
without the compensating attributes of reflective or critical study.
Globalisation has created a huge demand for skills of dubious value but
no one's complaining, not the students who flock to this city from north
and eastern India, not the IT personnel at its high tech parks and
certainly not those kulak-turned academic entrepreneurs promising
degrees and jobs for bloated fees.
In the bargain, Pune is losing its attribute of rootedness that may not be lamented.
As a place of learning it always had a shifting population; its small
middle-class was anchored in a community that may have bred Nathuram
Godse but that also gave the country D.R. Gadgil, B.G. Gokhale and Bal
Gangadhar Tilak.
New gods of modernity
Now globalisation has created an urban sprawl and a rootless
middle-class; conversely, globalisation has also uprooted rural
communities on its extending margins, coaxing them into petty and large
service trades.
But the city's transition is not painless: at the margins, violence
against women is on the rise as are burglaries in those fancifully-named
complexes.
At night, in the newer parts of the city along the bypass, village life
still survives the relentless march of post-modernity and its new gods.
At temple sites or under ancient trees, Vithoba, Khandoba and Masoba
still reign and bhajans usher in the new morning.
From: http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/opinion/columns/ashoak-upadhyay/article2650495.ece?homepage=true