The urban drama

When I was 10, we moved from charming Dharwad back to our hometown, Bengaluru. Instead of settling at the agriculture university campus in north Bengaluru, where my father worked, he opted for a place a bit beyond the South End Circle, all for the sake of our schooling.

South End Circle fascinated me, not just for its bamboo basket weavers and mat makers dotting the footpath but also for the enchanting “Lady Cauvery” fountain. Amidst the hustle of six intersecting roads, it felt like a serene oasis.

Looking back, I realise I was an enthusiastic child, eager to dive into every extracurricular activity. Drama held a special place in my heart, and I found myself cast as none other than Lord Rama in two plays – one where I vanquished Ravana and another where I took on pesky asuras bothering virtuous rishis in their ashrams. The former was eventful for more than the vicarious pleasure I derived from “killing” Ravana, played by my neighbour, classmate, and a bitter academic rival.

We crafted our own costumes, fashioning bamboo bows and arrows. My diligent practice sessions, complete with loud dialogue rehearsals, annoyed everyone at home. “Akatakata, Sita elliruve... maragaLe, nanna Siteyannu kandira?” (Akatakata - can’t be translated - where are you Sita. Trees, have you seen my Sita?) echoed through the walls of the house. My siblings and neighbours knew my dialogues by heart. The arrows, blunted with pieces of rags tied on both ends, flew around.

On the big day, the late Vajramuni, renowned for his villain roles in Kannada films, was set to grace us as the chief guest. In our innocent minds, we believed our next stop was the silver screen.

The day arrived, and regardless of our roles, we all sported two rosy cheeks with plops of rouge, long black and red tilaks, and a generous application of bright red lipstick – some of it unintentionally on our teeth.

Then came the climax. As Rama, I took aim and shot the arrow; it hilariously ended up behind me. But miraculously, the Ravana in front of me collapsed.

The real highlight for me, though, was crafting that bow and arrow from bamboo sticks I didn’t buy. When the vendors in South End circle learned it was for a school play, they gave them away. The arsenal was promptly dismantled later for my mother to use as supports for her tomato saplings in the kitchen garden. But the generosity of the vendors and memories of our bamboo weaponry will always be vivid.

It’s a shame the vendors were driven away back then and continue to be driven away to this day, robbing the city of its essence.