In the vast course of human history, great cities have risen and fallen.
Glorious cities have often faded away into senility - gradually, elegantly. Some of them continue to live on as museums of the past, reminiscing in their own varied layers of nostalgia. Others, reinventing themselves to cope with the times.
And then there are cities that have died quickly and were swept off the face of the earth in one go.
Wars, or for that matter, Nature's Fury, come to mind. Harappa, Mohenjodaro and Pompeii, among other great cities, suddenly ceased to exist.
But never were cities built overnight. Rome clearly wasn't, going by the popular adage.
And so, the Human Race, having discovered answers to life's greatest puzzles and thoroughly bored with itself, found a new challenge to brace up to -
"A city shall be built overnight, and thou shalt be named Gurgaon!"
That's it! That's how, a millennium or two from now, the story of Gurgaon's origins will be told. A bit too melodramatic, perhaps, but I think that would make it intriguing- Nature had always been unleashing her Fury on Man, and it was payback time!
(a) huge glassy buildings that house offices,
(b) traffic snarls
(c) malls and daaru thekas
Every evening, its residents move from (a), through (b), to (c), before disappearing from public view, - the concept of public view itself being cognate with traffic snarls.
I have been living in Gurgaon for almost a year now. The public life I have been exposed to has been fascinating. In my daily commute to work, I have experienced several instances where we almost act like a society, in the way residents exchange pleasantries and help each other out.
For instance, there were a couple of times when the cab driver and I needed to ask for directions. You see, the city's road layout is dynamic. The same road that leads to a junction on one day may run into a wall on another, leaving commuters bewildered. In such circumstances, it is only natural to ask bystanders for directions, as one doesn't budget for walls to prop up around corners unannounced.
It is because of the road layout changing itself every now and then that road directions in the city have a subjective quality about them. Directions are more in the nature of opinions, and are open to interpretations. One can embark on philosophical debates on subjects such as, "Which way to Sector 29 market?", and still find a shade of grey within which one's view is justified. There are no wrong answers. I have gone from pillar to post, and wall to wall, navigating the city, discovering routes, and in the process appreciating the plural nature of existential truths.
I also strongly suspect that the following advertisement was filmed in Gurgaon:
A chap who has lost his way enquires as to how he can get to the Maruti Suzuki service station, and the four helpful blokes point in different directions. This is probably because they didn't want to come across asignorant schmucks unhelpful citizens despite knowing that the truth is sublime and multi-faceted.
Even though residents of the city are conversant with such abstruse concepts, Gurgaon brims with pragmatic energy. The source of energy is, of course, the Sun, who generously heaps a lot of it in the summers. The shiny glass buildings reflect the beams of sunlight to each other, as though the roads of Gurgaon were ping-pong tables.
In fact, through my sharp sense of inference, I have deduced that it is the very same solar energy that causes traffic snarls. How, you might wonder. Allow me to explain.
Because of its abundance, the solar energy is absorbed by people in large amounts. Since each driver on the road is left with a massive surplus of it, he chooses to dissipate the same by flooring the accelerator pedal with the foot, converting it into kinetic energy that propels his vehicle forward.
If he's stuck in a jam and unable to move his vehicle, the same procedure is followed, except that it is with the horn button this time, and sound energy is released in an explosion of sorts.
You see, it is crucial to understand that the excess energy must be dissipated one way or the other. If neither produces the desired result, people leave their vehicle seats and go out to greet each other.
"Ha! But that doesn't explain the traffic chaos during the rains", you quip, referring to the stray showers that chance upon the arid land for a few days in a year, and the vehicular congregation that ensues on the roads.
A cursory analysis reveals that in such situations, there are two types of entities on the road -
(i) shiny metallic vehicles
(ii) muddy water
Exactly 50% of the entities listed above know where they are going, and I am not going to say which. Let's just say that the fellow in charge of building the drainage systems had an egalitarian approach to hydrology.
And malls. They are simply everywhere. There are more malls than policemen, and more daaru thekas than malls. This is the stuff of statement problems in 3rd grade mathematics in school. Kids and economists alike, must be applying themselves at the moment, calculating the ratios and proportions.
Gurgaon is in a continuous state of inorganic growth, much like a newborn cub suddenly finding itself to be a fully-grown beast, not caring for a sense of identity yet. Well, the millennium has only just started.
Glorious cities have often faded away into senility - gradually, elegantly. Some of them continue to live on as museums of the past, reminiscing in their own varied layers of nostalgia. Others, reinventing themselves to cope with the times.
And then there are cities that have died quickly and were swept off the face of the earth in one go.
Wars, or for that matter, Nature's Fury, come to mind. Harappa, Mohenjodaro and Pompeii, among other great cities, suddenly ceased to exist.
But never were cities built overnight. Rome clearly wasn't, going by the popular adage.
And so, the Human Race, having discovered answers to life's greatest puzzles and thoroughly bored with itself, found a new challenge to brace up to -
"A city shall be built overnight, and thou shalt be named Gurgaon!"
That's it! That's how, a millennium or two from now, the story of Gurgaon's origins will be told. A bit too melodramatic, perhaps, but I think that would make it intriguing- Nature had always been unleashing her Fury on Man, and it was payback time!
Let's examine how the experiment has fared till now.
Gurgaon today is largely composed of the following:(a) huge glassy buildings that house offices,
(b) traffic snarls
(c) malls and daaru thekas
Every evening, its residents move from (a), through (b), to (c), before disappearing from public view, - the concept of public view itself being cognate with traffic snarls.
I have been living in Gurgaon for almost a year now. The public life I have been exposed to has been fascinating. In my daily commute to work, I have experienced several instances where we almost act like a society, in the way residents exchange pleasantries and help each other out.
For instance, there were a couple of times when the cab driver and I needed to ask for directions. You see, the city's road layout is dynamic. The same road that leads to a junction on one day may run into a wall on another, leaving commuters bewildered. In such circumstances, it is only natural to ask bystanders for directions, as one doesn't budget for walls to prop up around corners unannounced.
I also strongly suspect that the following advertisement was filmed in Gurgaon:
A chap who has lost his way enquires as to how he can get to the Maruti Suzuki service station, and the four helpful blokes point in different directions. This is probably because they didn't want to come across as
Even though residents of the city are conversant with such abstruse concepts, Gurgaon brims with pragmatic energy. The source of energy is, of course, the Sun, who generously heaps a lot of it in the summers. The shiny glass buildings reflect the beams of sunlight to each other, as though the roads of Gurgaon were ping-pong tables.
In fact, through my sharp sense of inference, I have deduced that it is the very same solar energy that causes traffic snarls. How, you might wonder. Allow me to explain.
Because of its abundance, the solar energy is absorbed by people in large amounts. Since each driver on the road is left with a massive surplus of it, he chooses to dissipate the same by flooring the accelerator pedal with the foot, converting it into kinetic energy that propels his vehicle forward.
If he's stuck in a jam and unable to move his vehicle, the same procedure is followed, except that it is with the horn button this time, and sound energy is released in an explosion of sorts.
You see, it is crucial to understand that the excess energy must be dissipated one way or the other. If neither produces the desired result, people leave their vehicle seats and go out to greet each other.
"Ha! But that doesn't explain the traffic chaos during the rains", you quip, referring to the stray showers that chance upon the arid land for a few days in a year, and the vehicular congregation that ensues on the roads.
A cursory analysis reveals that in such situations, there are two types of entities on the road -
(i) shiny metallic vehicles
(ii) muddy water
Exactly 50% of the entities listed above know where they are going, and I am not going to say which. Let's just say that the fellow in charge of building the drainage systems had an egalitarian approach to hydrology.
And malls. They are simply everywhere. There are more malls than policemen, and more daaru thekas than malls. This is the stuff of statement problems in 3rd grade mathematics in school. Kids and economists alike, must be applying themselves at the moment, calculating the ratios and proportions.
Gurgaon is in a continuous state of inorganic growth, much like a newborn cub suddenly finding itself to be a fully-grown beast, not caring for a sense of identity yet. Well, the millennium has only just started.
