Finding a place to jog in Bangalore is not an easy task. It was one of our top requirements while looking for a house to rent when we first arrived here. We just wanted a community that had some kind safe neighborhood roads that would be jog-able. Within the heart of the city itself it’s nearly impossible to imagine. Just learning how to cross the street and maneuver in the traffic without getting killed is a survival skill that requires time to master. You’re not just avoiding cars and buses, but a cornucopia of vehicles and beasts alike to which no rules seem to apply. I’ve had to jump to avoid rickshaws, and step around sleeping wild dogs; I’ve been nicked by motorbike wheels, and even forcibly pushed by a cow on the streets of this city. The sidewalks are not a protective zone of safety either. Usually a sidewalk here amounts to a curb with a trench next to it. You’re lucky when you find ones with a slab concrete paver on top to have something to walk on outside of the road. Even with these makeshift slab bridges however, there’s no continuity, and you can’t take a leisurely stroll, let alone run on them. There is one huge gap after the other, and these trenches get filled with all matter of trash, water, and you-know-what. Basically you play hopscotch over a fetid pit…not amongst my choicese of pleasant places to jog.
Real straight, runnable roads here are a precious commodity. I was all too happy when we found the gated community we live in now, where kids frequently play cricket games in the street, the tenants go on daily walks, and the only traffic is the occasional slow paced car or kid on a bike. Finally, here, and maybe only here, I found a bit of tranquility amongst the noisy metropolis and concrete sprawl that is most of Bangalore.
Since moving in, I’ve made a habit of going out three times a week for a nightly jog. After spending what seems like endless time in traffic, it is a nice way to decompress at the end of the day. Also, I am pretty sure it’s responsible for helping me maintain my mental sanity, as day to day life can be really stressful in India at times. I like to head out the door right before dusk, just when the air has cooled a bit and the light is perfect. As irony would have it, this happens to be just when the mosquito man starts his shift. I call him Pesticide Zorro. He is in fact masked, with a sort of bandana, and he wears a baseball cap, and is usually covered to the point that his identity is completely disguised. He rides on an old rickety bike with a turbojet engine sprayer behind his back. With this getup he somehow manages to fly at fairly rapid speed through the streets of our neighborhood, sending out the back of his machine, a thick bluish fog of mosquito pesticide. We’ve been told it is non-toxic… but it only takes getting caught in the middle of this spray once to realize it is not exactly beneficial for the lungs to inhale. From blocks away you can hear the low ominous humming of the engine. When Pesticide Zorro rounds the corner, as if straight out of a movie, children run, adults pick up their pace, everyone covering their noses, rushing to get home and in the door before he comes around to their house. On my jogging nights I’ve started to reconfigure my running route to avoid this man. I can now judge, based on the hum, which direction he’s headed in, and as our community is quite large with many tiny side streets, I have been able to weave unique routes to avoid him. At least once a week however, I find myself reaching the end of a cul-de-sac, just as Zorro is bounding the corner, and there’s no escape. I can never outrun him, or hold my breath long enough to avoid inhaling that horrible chemical blue fog.
The first few times I got caught in that fog I would panic, “Yikes, reproductive harm! ….carcinogens!…. I can’t believe I have to inhale pesticides on a regular basis…all those years of being obsessed with organics are completely wasted!” etc. But then like most things in India that are completely out of your control, you learn to accept the things you cannot change. Finding humor in these situations, when possible, often helps as a coping mechanism. I’ve found myself laughing at the irony of being caught in a blue cloud of mosquito toxic fog. I remember the good ol’ days of working at a natural foods coop. The luxury I had of searching meticulously for organic ingredients in products. I remember I used to insist on buying only eggs from proven “pastured chickens” (even when they cost $5+ a dozen). I once spent a week washing my face with only purified reverse osmosis water in order to clear up my skin. I used to try and bake Gluten free, or experiment with using only alternative sweeteners in recipes, just for the health benefits I read about.
And then all of this just seems so ridiculously silly in comparison. Gone are the days of being a choosey, conscientious, green hippie; options are definitely more limited now. Plus, the visible reality of the daily lives of many here can quickly put things into perspective. You think twice about what you thought was essential for a happy, healthy life.
I am now simply grateful to have a machine in my house that makes my water drinkable. I am grateful that I live in a neighborhood with lush greenery, where most of the time, the air is relatively clean. I am happy to have a bit of peace and quiet at the end of my day that involves the outdoors, something I savor in this noisy, chaotic city. I am happy that I have found a place to safely run without having to jump over trash piles, wild dogs, or risk falling into a fetid pit. I am simply happy that I get to run, and that maybe thanks to Zorro, there are fewer mosquitoes while I’m out there.
