After almost 20 years, I visited Bangalore recently. We had to attend a conference in Hubli and decided that we’d keep aside a few days for Bangalore to catch up with friends we hadn’t met for a long time. In any case, having read so much about the buzzing life there, I decided that we must see for ourselves what has changed. The short answer to that was: Everything! The lovely parks and verdant neighbourhoods have become crowded spaces with towering high-rise apartment blocks and although the trees still stand, they are now a dwarfed and apologetic presence in this new concrete jungle.As for the traffic, the less said the better. Just covering a few kilometres can take up to two hours in a car or cab and if, God forbid, you have an early morning flight to catch, you have to leave at 4 am to be there by 6 am. As if the volume and chaos of cars and traffic jams were not enough, half the city has been dug up for the Metro that is expected to help commuters. The joy of going out to meet friends in a convivial club or restaurant is wiped out by the sheer logistics of a rendezvous. Never again will I curse the Delhi-Noida or Delhi-Gurgaon traffic. Nothing can possibly be worse than being stuck on Bangalore’s narrow winding roads choked with cars, two-wheelers, buses, trucks and delivery vans. Whew!What is still wonderful is the balmy Bangalore weather. Often, you don’t even need a fan and in the 10 days or so that we spent in this region, we did not feel the need for an air-conditioner. This despite the fact that there is a severe dry spell there and Dharwad farmers are worried about the prevailing drought. Those of us who live or travel mainly in North India can be unprepared for the evident prosperity and civility of India south of the Vindhyas. I must add, however, that when you hear rapid Kannada being spoken, you can be forgiven for thinking that there is an argument going on instead of greetings being exchanged! The harsh consonants and pitch of voice are so alien to our ears.South Indian food is another experience. We were served a sadya lunch with dozens of little dollops of pickles, chutneys, papads, avial, and rice, sambar and rasam topped with payasam and heavenly aromatic filter coffee. I snored shamelessly through the session of lectures that followed but there were others who looked as if they were dozing secretly too. All in all, we returned exhausted and ‘fully fed up’ as they say in sadda Punjab to mean replete with food and drink.Another shock awaited us here: the BRICS conference meant that large areas of Delhi were cordoned off for the delegates and traffic diversions took one on a safari in another direction if you were forced to enter Delhi for some reason. Happy to be holed up in peaceful Noida, I savoured the peace and quiet this meant. I wonder though, what happens to those who need to go to a hospital in such a situation, but the answer is that we have so many medical facilities across the NCR that one can be reassured about getting help in case of an emergency. Children and their parents got a long weekend off as office-goers were encouraged to work from home and schools were shut down. I’m told the streets were so quiet that one wondered if a leopard had just passed by.Now about a film that has made box office history: ‘Hanuman Ansh’. Made on a shoestring budget of just about Rs 2 crore, it has raked in almost a hundred times more and is being dubbed now into Tamil and other languages. I’ve wanted to go and see it but no hall has free seats and viewers stay on for two consecutive screenings. My interest is partly because I want to see what has made it such a blockbuster but the more important reason is that my husband’s family were devoted followers of Neem Karoli Baba. He was a regular visitor to our home and whenever we went up to Almora, a mandatory stop at Kainchi was always on the trip.Babaji never gave gyan: he just looked at one with such love in his eyes that it felt as if he had entered one’s secret heart and taken away all one’s tension. Reclining on a takhat, clad in just a rough blanket, he accepted no gifts or offerings. Often he shooed away a visitor rudely for a reason only he knew. But the love he exuded and the peace that descended on one when seated close to him can only be described by someone who has felt it.Babaji passed away in September 1973, the same year as our first-born arrived in December. He had told my mother-in-law, ‘Main tere ghar aaunga,’ so she always believed that her first grandson was the reincarnation of Babaji. The stories about Babaji from Steve Jobs to Virat Kohli are now well-known but for us, he will always be the protector of our family. He loved my husband, a dedicated atheist, so much that even now, I am convinced that he is there for us.— The writer is a social commentator