Leafy avenues

Leafy avenues

Gayatri Chandrashekar remembers the fast-vanishing tree-lined boulevards of the city


Memories of the Parvati Chandrashekar Boulevard, a section of the Krishna Rajendra Road in Bangalore go back to more than thirty-five years. Until fifteen years ago, the stretch was a bower lined by mature trees, over sixty years old. Lofty branches arched from either side high above the ground. In sunshine, they managed to create patterns on the ground that rivalled the intricacy of hand-made lace. Be it the chilly winds during winter, incessant rain or direct sun, the canopy tempered the elements and protected walkers.

Many venerable institutions surround the boulevard. Walking down was a pleasure, as you could attend music concerts by the doyens of the classical music and dance or accompany your children to their tennis or swimming lessons. It also houses many eminent schools and colleges. Over the years, I have never felt lonely, when I have taken the road, with or without another person for company.

During the mid-nineties, the trees were cut to facilitate road widening. In an attempt to portray a façade of decency, some tree saplings were planted far away from the median. Though one was sad to see the old trees go, many felt reassured that, in due course of time, the saplings will grow and bring back the lost beauty of the stretch.

Now, even as the trees were growing, they have been cut down to make way for the metro mass transport system. Unlike last time, no apologies were given and no new saplings were planted.

Along with scores of others, I have felt a sense of deep loss, at the deathly smell of oozing sap and decaying leaves. It is the death of our dreams, when the mountains of dry leaves burn billowing smoke and hacksaws cut the trees and to make piles of firewood.

Walk down the boulevard now and you face a scorching sun, and fierce winds. There is no shade or branches to protect walkers. Many of the old buildings on either side are being pulled down, making way for glass, chrome and steel structures. Small makeshift tents of construction workers have emerged in vacant spaces.

You will feel that similar stories are occurring across the city.The regally named Krishna Rajendra Road is just one symbol of the internal haemorrhage and the body blows that have been inflicted on our erstwhile garden city.