Publishing a post for Lawrence Liang who is unable to do so himself at the moment. This piece also appeared in the Hindu this morning. I flew in myself from Bangalore last night and scenes of departure, though not nearly similar to those at the train stations, were palpable at the airport as well. Let me add to Lawrence’s words below three more thoughts that are still forming in my head. The first is the weakness of the word of public institutions and officers in our cities and how little solace they seem to offer or reliability they seem to have, particularly for “minority” residents — (how that word seems to have lost all other meaning other than identifying targets). Panic is also evidence of the fragility of structures that are meant to protect difference rather than just tolerate it. As Lawrence says below, the empirics do not negate how real the fear itself is.

The second is the limits to ideas of “tolerance” in response to diversity versus a more affirmative and protective inclusion — what would it take for the space between rumour and panic to be wider, deeper and further so it is not so easy to bridge?  Here a range of global experiences on cities and their attempts to hold difference are well worth looking at — we are not the first and nor will we be the last to fight this battle which is, in a sense, as old as cities themselves. But, to take one example, would we tell a different story today if public services in Bangalore were framed in response to the diversity of the residents — where they were offered, in all the languages really spoken by residents including the hundreds and thousands of residents from the states of the Northeast? Would the word of the Law minister have more power then? Would panic hesitate? 

The third is a reminder of how Indian cities still belong to states. The supposed linguistic and ethnic organisation of our federal structure has scripted a different urban future for many of our cities — how can Lawrence’s desired anonymity and cosmopolitanism take root if Bangalore still belongs not to its residents but to the idea of Karnataka?  Onto Lawrence’s much more articulate thoughts.

Strangers in a Place They Call Home

Lawrence Liang

One of the underrated pleasures of living in a city is anonymity —guaranteed not by the fact that you look the same as everyone else but that no one really cares that you look different. And a truly cosmopolitan city is one in which everyone looks different. I have been fortunate that for the 30 or so years that I have lived in Bangalore I have not had to deal with the fact that I look different. Save for occasional reminders of my Chineseness, the city has given me enough space to be who I am — cinephile, bibliophile, foodie — without having to bother too much about questions of identity. It is therefore disconcerting to suddenly step out into public spaces self-conscious of my Mongoloid features. Paranoia is not a grand sensation and it manifests itself in the myriad minute gestures and encounters. It seems unbelievable that the experience of a city can change so rapidly because it is clear to me that the last few days in Bangalore have been precisely about that. A miasma of fear, doubt and anxiety has descended on the city. It is possible that much of this has been fuelled by rumours and hearsay; and while the rumours may be false the fear sadly isn’t.

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