Being in Bangalore from Bombay is a breath of fresh air, literally. Meaning, there actually IS air, clean air, unadulterated by carbon monoxide, nitrogen dioxide, sulphuric fumes and dust particles that, in Bombay, seep down into your lungs one by one, until you feel like you are drowning in sand.
Jason and I spend the whole of the first day marvelling at how clean, fresh and liveable Bangalore is. Look at that shopping mall: it has Samsonite AND MAC shops! Look how perfectly intact that footpath is! Why I could walk for a whole hundred metres without having to stray onto the road, into the path of speeding traffic which will slow down to let a cow pass but not spare me. Sure there's not much in the way of sights, but who cares when all the rickshaw-wallahs speak English! And there are funky bars and clubs and an international, cosmopolitan population of highly skilled, well-paid professionals to cavort with. Neither of us mention it, but we're both thinking: hmmm, perhaps if this Bombay lark doesn't work out, there's always plan B, B-town. Isn't there a big Reuters office here?
Day two, and we spot a sign proclaiming "Bangalore: Welcome to Pensioners' Paradise!" and it hits us:
Bangalore is Melbourne.
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