Ticket to Nationality

“If it’s treason ye’r in for, then may God bless yer soul. First, ye shall be hanged by the neck - but not til’ death! No, noooo. That is much too generous for committing this treachery. The noose shall be wound around yer neck until the peachy white of yer cheeks flush with blue. And then, as the light starts t’ fade and yer eyes roll into yer skull, I sever the rope and bring ye back t’ yer wits.”

The audience didn’t move an inch.

“As ye lay on the ground, gasping for breath, I grasp me axe and chop off yer privates. With my sharp, shiny sickle, I tear yer skin apart, detach yer vital organs, and set them alight right before yer eyes!”

Gasps echoed.

“And after yer corpse has been quartered and yer parts scattered across the land, only then, ONLY THEN will you be sent to the depths of hell. That, good folk, is why ye shall never, ever, sell yer soul to the enemy.”

Traitors, beware!

In Edinburgh Castle, a fortress that had stood for centuries, children, parents, and the elderly gave a standing ovation to an actor who had just grotesquely described one of the most brutal forms of execution. Unlike most history classes where each sentence goes in one ear and out the other, this particular pleasant lesson was etched into everyone’s minds. All it took was a simple costume, a few lines of dialogue, and an audience.

The Scots understand how to market history. India, a land that has been occupied since time began, filled with hordes of undiscovered treasures, monuments that make man feel insignificant, and culture so interwoven and rich, can only achieve a fraction of this.

Scotland is astounding. There is no denying it at all. Rolling emerald hills, sapphire seas, and breathtaking vistas are plentiful, and even a short bus ride from one town to another will expose you to its raw beauty. For such a small country, it packs a real punch.

Edinburgh is an stunning combination of old and new, manmade and natural

Pass through any village, and no matter the size, you'll find a few signs pointing to some historic landmark. Back home, we reserve these for only the most important of monuments. Here, a little blue sign directs you to a tiny, seemingly insignificant structure. Some house that an old fogey lived in, or a mill that has been around since 1645. The cornerstone that Robert the Bruce urinated on when his carriage was passing through, or the exact location where William Wallace's pet cat was born. Who cares? one might think.

It's all about identity, though, isn't it? Yeah, maybe your stupid little town only has one grocery store, an antique taxidermy dealership, a postman who is hard of hearing, and a telephone booth that still uses a rotary dial. But what if that town can be connected to something larger than itself? What if your town, a nothing name with nothing people who do nothing, can relate to something?

It makes you feel important. It connects you to the land. I didn't care one bit about Bangalore for many years. It was just another city to me, where I went to school, did my work, came back home, ate food, and slept. Another place where Dushyant existed independently of Bangalore.

But then, I started learning more about it. Discovering the stories it had to offer. One of the oldest substations in India. A village that set the path for the biggest technological advancements in history. An aerospace industry, dating back to the 18th century, that revolutionized space travel. Suddenly, I was a Bangalorean. No more was this 11 million strong city a blip on the map. It became a part of me, and I a part of it. I was proud to write, "Dushyant Naresh, age 16, Bangalore".

India makes it hard for you to love her. It's a wonderful country, but a self-destroying one. Our people have done so much for the world, to the point where without some of these contributions, life would not exist anything like it does today. However, India tries to make you forget about these things. It makes you remember the poverty, the filth, the corruption. The castes, the disparity, the privilege. In some ways, it's a good thing. It makes you face the problems, not hidden behind grey walls like in Beijing.

Scotland is a mirror image. She reminds you that this country of five million, tucked away in some remote corner of the Earth, its only contribution being the riveting, edge-of-your-seat sport of golf, is strong. She tells you- no, she convinces you that to be Scottish is to be Great. Whether you're a bartender in Pittenweem or a financial executive in Glasgow, you are connected to the land, the land of the proud, strong, and brave.

The view from Wallace Monument, a national symbol of pride

Edinburgh Castle is just a building. An old building, I must say. Its walls have felt centuries of change, witnessed the bloodiest battles, been privy to the most scandalous information, crowned the most glorious kings. At face value, it is just another line in the history books.

But you start to weave a narrative, and things change. No longer was I walking through an empty hall where kings and queens once feasted, jesters played, and trumpets blared. The location - a two dimensional set of coordinates - was transformed into a memory. I was watching an engrossing tale of treason, torture, and fear. I was standing there, aching legs, heavy camera, and frozen fingers, immobile, as a stranger transported me to another era. Edinburgh Castle, from that moment onwards, was not another castle struck off my bucket list - it had become a living memory, breaking the boundaries of space-time, hitching me to this land they call Scotland.

In that second, I was Scottish.

The Sirens

Eyelids slowly wilt as the soothing hum of the car engine lulls me to sleep. The rising sun casts a golden glow across the endless landscape, with subtle magentas, yellows, and blues fusing together the feathery clouds. Desert grasses and prickly pear cacti blanket the soil, stretching into the distance as far as the eye can see. Idle cows and restless horses dot the countryside, and with The Joshua Tree softly playing in my ears, it feels like heaven.

Sunset in the desert

Yet don’t be fooled by this paradise—by 9:00 a.m., the furious sun scorches anything in its wake. Sizzling temperatures and sandy gusts of wind cause severe dehydration, and it doesn’t help that nearly everything around you is out to destroy you. Dead mesquite branches have a wonderful tendency to find their way through the soles of shoes, prickly pears wind their way into socks, and gravely, sandy soil ensures that the graceless ones among us are constantly wary of our steps. During the day, rattlesnakes and centipedes roam the desert surface like kings, and the same areas transform into the hunting grounds for the coyotes and bobcats at night.

The desert hosts a variety of landforms

This raises the question—why did people settle here? As we continue excavating at the Dinwiddie site, we are getting a firsthand view of how the people who lived in this region before us interacted with the immediate landscape. People made their walls and floors with adobe, a cement-like combination of materials extracted from the ground. They sculpted comals, metates, and manos out of large stones through hours and hours of grinding and pecking. Projectile points flaked out of local Mule Creek obsidian and bone awls and scrapers are scattered throughout our excavation units. Prickly pears produce a delicious fruit, and their pads, de-thorned and cooked, are like green beans. Agave nectar is a natural sweetener, contrasting the savory meats of rabbit, deer, and other wildlife. The Southwest, therefore, stands as a prime example of the resourcefulness and ingenuity of humanity.

Ultimately, there is a certain misconception of the desert. The harsh, arid climate complements the stunning beauty of the landscape. It isn’t just a drab, sandy stretch of land that houses rolling tumbleweeds and tough men galloping on horses. Instead, it is a remarkable feat of nature—dynamic skies, resilient fauna, and hardened creatures inhabiting the landscape. The people who resided in these lands managed to harness the staggering power of the desert to its fullest, stamping their mark into the dirt for centuries. And some teenage rascal from Bangalore is privileged enough to be able to relive some of the experiences that these people had, interacting with the gorgeous landscape just like they did.

Field school students learning tool-making techniques used by the people who lived in this area in the past

Written as part of the Archaeology Southwest Field School 2015 - link here

The Silent Cartographer

A few months back, I was assigned a project to analyze a few maps from a city of choice and come to some conclusions. Naturally, I chose Bangalore because apart from it being the city I was most familiar with, I was positive that there were so few maps of it online, appealing to the hereditary laziness in me. After a frustrating few hours of perusing the deepest depths of the internet, I managed to pick out a few maps from different time periods, each with fairly credible sources.

Alright, now all I have to do is look at the legends, make some vague connections between them, and I'm good to go. Those little green puffs in the 1791 map? Trees, or something. Hey, look! Those green things are gone in the Google Maps version - boom. Urbanization causes deforestation. Blame it on colonialism.

Uhh... those large roads in the center of the city? Now they are the major arteries of the cities, with smaller capillaries branching out into a million different households. Population influx, growth of IT, easy! Again, let me just blame that on colonialism.

This is pretty easy! It's just like a vague connect-the-dots puzzle, but one that traverses space and time. Let's move on to the next-

Hold on. What is that? Is that... the fort? Bangalore Fort? The whole map of Bangalore is simply "Bangalore Fort" in the 1791 version, but in 1914 it's just this tiny little oval perched on the left side of the page. It's not even present in the 1956 map! And the center of Bangalore in Google Maps is far off from Bangalore Fort. Now, it gets interesting. I need to dig deeper, figure out why the most prominent and arguably only element in the city is minimized to this tiny, insignificant dot. Let's analyze the map data with relation to the Bangalorean and - on a larger scale - Indian timeline.

1791: Bangalore is a British establishment, maintained and run by the army. The fort, captured earlier that year, has been taken from the hands of Tipu Sultan, the King of Mysore. Killed in battle, his legacy is being written off by the foreigners just like they did to countless people, victims, and stories before, across every continent. Bengaluru is changed to Bangalore, and words such as "cantonment" and "park" are being introduced into the lexicon. All traces of India are being wiped away, replaced with the crimson cross and the promise of democracy.

Bangalore Fort, 1791
Earl Cornwallis

1914: Unbeknownst to much of the outside world, India has been in revolution for decades. Riots have been extinguished as quickly as a candle, but underground armies refuse to back down. Violence is only one means of revolt - the effective protesters are the ones we never see or hear because they've penetrated the defenses so subtly that even the British have no idea what has struck them. The silent cartographer, in a constant war with history, attempts to reverse the damage that the invaders have done. Bangalore as a city has expanded, but in reality, the focus of the city still surrounds the walls of the fort. The silent cartographer sees this, and slowly, measuredly draws the attention away. First, the structure becomes smaller - because it's all relative. The size of the paper stays the same, the size of the fort stays the same, but the size of the city grows; the building that was 1/3rd of the page is now 1/6th. Then, he ever so slightly changes the perspective: each year, the fort moves half a square to the left. Just enough to be noticeable, not enough to arouse suspicion. Who bothers studying maps, anyway?

Bangalore, 1914
Verlag von Karl Baedeker

1956: Freedom. The British are gone from our lives, never to return. Gandhi was just the end - the last straw on the camel's back. Plans have been in motion for nearly a century, and it shows: Bangalore Fort? Vanished. Mirrors and smoke. Just like that, it's gone.

Bangalore, 1956
Satyaprakash & Co.

How does it matter? Just because the fort is gone from the map, doesn't mean it has actually vanished. Like the Pyramids of Giza, the Taj Mahal, and the Great Wall of China, it too has stood the test of time. History can't be overwritten if the physical structure still remains! Unfortunately for the colonists, it can. Ask any Bangalorean the directions to the fort, and nine times out of ten you'll get the response, "What fort?". Gothilla, saar.

The systematic process of colonization was the driving force behind the erasure of culture and context from the world. It devastated millions of lives, dehumanized the rest, and injected countries with enough large-scale problems to last centuries. Yes, it was terrible. But it is equally important to acknowledge those that quietly, subtly stood up to it. They were the ones who managed to start the process of decolonization while colonization was still happening, right under the noses of the British.

What started off as a pretty mundane project turned out to be arguably the most captivating work I've done so far. I was reading literature I had never in a thousand years imagined I would pick up. The homework had turned into a game - I was playing the detective and the clues were scattered across time. While this is neither groundbreaking, phenomenal, or even close to admirable, the passion I felt completing it is something I haven't felt for years. High school had almost completely dissolved any interest I felt towards history and archaeology, and I'm extremely glad to be out of there. I think my fascination with archaeology is not the artifacts, the mummies, the buildings - it's the prospect that I can play a time-traveling Sherlock Holmes who isn't afraid to pick up a shovel just to find some answers.

The IST Formula

I've done it. After nearly two years of copious research, I've finally cracked the code. This is easily the greatest achievement of my life and possibly one of the biggest benefits to modern science in the last two decades. The enigma of IST - Indian Standard Time - has finally been solved.

Let me take a step back. Let me explain the inspiration for my research and how I arrived to this conclusion.

“I’ll be there in five minutes!” he exclaims over the phone. I sigh. This is a normal ritual. Every time there’s an event, he’s always late. I wait as the clock ticks on. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes pass and there’s still no sign of him. I pick up my phone and hit the redial button. “Arey yaar! Chill! Give me five minutes!”

I can’t help but chuckle. To him, five minutes can range anywhere from three minutes to half an hour. He doesn’t leave his house without strapping on his Casio watch, yet his notion of punctuality is so distorted that not only is he never on time, but he has little respect for other peoples’ time as well. Nevertheless, I cannot attack him singularly, for I have noticed this pattern among all of his people. For some reason, every Indian I’ve met can never come on time for anything.

It’s curious to note that this management of time echoes across all people of India. What is even more intriguing is that for every event, there is a stated time but also an expected time; if, for example, an invitation for a dinner party is sent out, the time on it would possibly say 8:00pm, yet it is an unwritten rule that the guests should arrive earliest by 8:15pm. Somehow, this telepathic coordination between the guests and the hosts works flawlessly, and the visitors arrive more or less around the same time, anywhere between 15-30 minutes after the given time. Any time before this is not considered rude, but it does lead to awkward encounters where even the host might still be bathing and not be ready. This phenomenon applies to nearly any situation, with the exception of academics, job interviews, etc.
The host vs. guest relationship in this scenario is extremely unique. The host broadcasts a time for the guests to arrive, knowing full well that the guests will not reach at the specified moment. In accordance, the guests comprehend that the host is not interested in the guests being completely on time, and are deliberately “behind schedule”. As an intentional latecomer, the guest donates the extra time the host might need for getting ready and tidying the house, after which the host welcomingly caters to the guests’ needs. Surprisingly, being late has no foundation in any religious, historical, or mythological circumstances.  Therefore, we have no way of tracing its roots.

Fascinatingly, nowhere in Indian culture or heritage does it state how temporality should be managed. From birth, the Indian infant is automatically wired to [mis]understand the definition of punctuality. While we aren’t quite sure why this happens, my belief is that this was initially a result of old Indian customs of the mutual respect of the host-guest dynamic. As stated earlier, the guests provide a buffer period for the host to fully prepare themselves, which is considered a sign of courtesy. After years of observation, I have come to the conclusion that this original system of timeliness has transformed into habit rather than practice. If you type into the Google search engine, “why are Indians”, the first result Google suggests ends with “so rude”. Scanning the webpages leads us to find out that other cultures are not so appreciative of the Indians’ lateness, convinced that they are an impolite people. The next autosuggested result, curiously, leaves us with “Why are Indians so smart?” Intellect and temporality, I have deduced, go hand in hand.

Arriving late has become such an integral part of Indian culture that their lack of awareness towards punctuality is subconscious. It is never in their constant stream of thought, and has thereby cultivated a trend that everybody follows without question - almost as if coming on time to an event is a preposterous notion! To us, such a selfish and narrow minded thought process has resulted in a whole new system of time management, only referred to when talking about Indians: IST – Indian Standard Time. IST revolves around the belief that time is elastic, and it can its value can be shortened and elongated to one’s will. IST dictates that regardless of what time it is whichever time zone you are currently in,

minutes must be subtracted from the time (with the variable n representing the time the Indian promised they would arrive in and the variable x representing any positive integer of your choice, tending to infinity). In essence, the resulting output must be added to the intended time of arrival to determine when the Indian will reach.

While we only perceive time as what the clock tells us is correct, Indian brains are constantly, involuntarily calculating, leaving them with their interpretation of time –intelligence is mistaken for rudeness. There is nothing egocentric about their behavior towards timeliness, but contrastingly, it is out of respect that they are late. As anthropologists, we have no right to criticize another culture’s perspective on time; instead, we should figure out ways to bridge the gap between our customs.  With the implementation of this formula, we can successfully calculate when exactly the Indian will arrive at his destination. I believe that this revolutionary equation will completely redefine the way we decipher the Indians’ sense of temporality.

Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I can see a Nobel Prize in Mathematics in my near future. If that is not the case, I shall continue my research in this intriguing field and hopefully, I will stumble upon something unique. Archaeological research can prove to be incredibly fruitful - the study is still in its infantile stages with regards to understanding IST, but with support from the international community I hope to one day completely unravel the mystery that is Indian Standard Time.

Bellandur’s Hundred-Year Sprint

A peek into our community's past and what we can learn from it

It was July of 2008 when my parents and I boarded a flight from San Francisco International Airport, arriving twenty-four hours later in Bangalore. Unlike our usual journeys, this one was not a round trip. We were leaving the United States and moving to India for good.

We soon settled down in a comfortable, modern apartment somewhere on the outskirts of Bangalore – in an erstwhile village called Bellandur, now part of Greater Bangalore. I had a new house, a new school, and new friends… but most importantly, a new town to explore.

The Bellandur neighborhood

Investigate! Explore! Dig! To me, these words conjure up magic. Since childhood, I have always been interested in digging, whether it had to do with geology, archaeology, or paleontology. I have a fascination for the past. I was enthralled with stories of Ancient Egypt, Rome, Greece, and Peru. To quench some of this thirst, my parents and I even vacationed in Mexico and Egypt, visiting Mayan and Pharaonic monuments and historic sites. The magnitude and perfect symmetry of the pyramid at Chichen-Itza captivated me. I stared endlessly in awe at the archaic monoliths of Giza, silhouetted against a full moon and a star filled sky. I absorbed every piece of detail I could obtain about these ancient civilizations. I even tried my hand at hieroglyphics.

When I say “a town to explore”, my expectations of course are muted. Bangalore clearly did not have the same appeal as ancient Mayan or Egyptian history. I had never heard of anything interesting with respect to Bangalore. All I ever associated with this city were phrases like “Information Technology” and “outsourcing”. What could this city possibly hold in store for me, a student of history?

Apartment complexes in Bellandur

As luck would have it, I met two very interesting people over the last three years. I met Dr. Aruni of The Indian Council for Historical Research in 2010. He shared his passion for history, and showed me several hundred-year old artifacts that he recovered from various metro rail construction sites and offered me access to resources on old Bangalore. More recently I traveled to Chennai and met Dr. Shanti Pappu, an eminent archaeologist and co-founder of the Sharma Heritage Centre there. She too encouraged me immensely. Interestingly, both advised me to do a micro-history project of my locality; they felt that I would enjoy it immensely and would learn a lot in the process. Reluctantly, I agreed. After all, what would Bellandur have to offer in terms of history or historical interest?

I couldn’t have been any farther from the truth. My work in this area over the last two months has given me a perspective I never had. I have gained a deep and abiding respect for so many small things that make a small community rich and vibrant.

If you have read this far, thank you very much. But before I move ahead, let me pause and ask you a straightforward question. “Why should history matter to us?” How will the assassination of, say, Julius Caesar, or the War of 1812, affect our lives in any way?

As Mark Twain said, “history tends not to repeat itself, but rhyme”. History serves as an important link between the past and the future. Events of the past tend to show up again in the future in a somewhat similar fashion. History tells us the story of the lives of people who lived before us, and the mark they made on their world. History is also the story of our evolution - our food, clothes, language, religion, and lifestyle are a result and reflection of our history. History gives a person a sense of belonging. Studied well, history is likely to also tell us where we, as a community or country, are likely to head.

I soon figured that learning the history of our immediate neighborhood could be just as enriching, informative, and captivating as the fascinating stories of Ancient Egypt and Rome. Culture, after all, is a vital component to a person’s character.

So I set out on a mission to collect as much information as I could about Bellandur, so that I knew how to make myself a part of history. I was surprised to know that just a little bit of history made a world of difference to the way I perceived this place I now call “home”.

To those like me who are not native to this wonderful state and city, here is a little primer. Karnataka officially became a state on November 1, 1956 – it was formerly known as the State of Mysore. It borders Goa, Maharashtra, Tamil Nadu, Kerala, and Andhra Pradesh. With 61 million residents, it is the ninth largest state in India by population, and the eighth largest by area. Bangalore, Mangalore, and Mysore are its biggest cities.

Bangalore has been coined “the Silicon Valley of India” due to its huge contribution to the growth of the information technology industry in India. While Bangalore has been an urban center for a long time, the phenomenal growth of the information technology industry has lead to its rapid modernization and urbanization. When I say “rapid”, understand that hundred years ago, the inhabitants of my little “erstwhile” village called Bellandur never had electricity.

Bellandur itself has a curious and very interesting history. I learnt a lot about it during my long sitting with Mr. Jagannatha Reddy, a respected community member of Bellandur, and former Sarpanch. We sat inside a large, beautiful temple that is under construction right next to the lake. He gave me insights that books could not have given me. He told me stories that I could not have read anywhere. Apart from speaking to Mr. Reddy, I also scoured other sources for material about Bellandur. My understanding of Bellandur has been enriched significantly by these interactions and readings.

So now, let me transport you back in time. The year is 1914. A relatively unknown Indian lawyer by the name of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi returns to his native Porbandar in Gujarat from South Africa, and starts what is to become the greatest freedom movement ever. Closer home, a far more trivial event happens. Three Reddy families leave their native Andhra Pradesh, with nothing but a few clothes, travel on foot through rough terrain in search of a place they can settle down and earn a living. After several days, they reach this tiny village by an expansive, crystal clear lake. They make Bellandur their home. The Reddys are farmers, so they fit in well with the small community of fifteen families living there. Soon, the hardworking Reddys own sprawling fields growing paddy, ragi, guavas, apples, and grapes. The Reddys are also adept fishermen and experienced cattle herders. With their versatility, they are soon one of the wealthiest families in Bellandur.

Like every great civilization, Bellandur develops on its road to progress. In 1935, one of the Reddy males decides to renovate the existing temple. Months of labor and hard work result in a small but impressive temple. The new temple complex adds character to the little village. This “change is necessary for development” attitude seems to be the hallmark of Bellandur.

Temple built on the banks of Bellandur Lake

The 1940s herald the first significant signs of modernization. 1940 sees the arrival of the bicycle as a means of transport. Seemingly trivial, this is the beginning of the influence of western technology on rural Bellandur. 1947 is another landmark year - a Muslim resident sets up a rice huller to process the rice that the local farmers grow. And to power the huller, electricity is drawn from the city of Bangalore. This relatively insignificant event proves to be a giant leap for the village.

Throughout the 1900s, Bellandur Lake is an integral part of the village. Fishermen fish in the crystal-clear lake, children swim in the refreshing waters, and farmers harbor the water to irrigate their fields. By the 1960s though, the lake looses its pristine beauty. Colossal seaplanes begin landing on its still waters, disrupting the peace and tranquility. This of course restricts access to the lake at times, but it definitely puts Bellandur on the map.

In 1962, the village establishes a Panchayat, with people’s representatives running the affairs of the village. This is a remarkable feat because what Bellandur manages to establish sixty years after its birth, “advanced” countries such as France and Germany took nearly a thousand years to establish! The village is now self-governing, and prosperous.

In 1965, a bus service connects Bellandur village to Bangalore City, a distance of twenty kilometers. The village is finally recognized as a settlement in its own right.

By 1970, Bellandur’s population crosses 200. The iconic “Bullet” motorcycle finds a home in Bellandur. Lift irrigation from the Bellandur Tank is implemented in 1978. The lush fields of Bellandur are a deep emerald color, speckled with dabs of vibrant yellow bushes and vivid red flowers.

By 2000, the effects of Mr. Jagannatha Reddy’s progressive Panchayat are clearly evident. In 1994, computers are donated to government schools in Bellandur so that kids are technically qualified for jobs that are slowly showing up in the area. Interestingly, government schools have computers even before private schools do. In 1998, the village Panchayat wangles a computer from the state government to digitize land records! Revenue leakage is plugged, and bribery dramatically reduced. Land records and revenue data is now available at the click of a button. Official correspondences are typed, stored, and printed from the computer instantly. Prior to this, they had to travel several kilometers to the High Court to get a letter typed. Waste segregation begins in Bellandur in the early ‘90s, a system introduced only in 2003 in the United Kingdom.

The year is now 1994. Mr. Jagannatha Reddy is elected as the Sarpanch in 1994 and revolutionizes grass roots politics in India in his own way. Gram Sabha meetings are broadcast live to all residents of Bellandur, as a way to drive transparency in governance. Mr. Reddy also introduces ward level communication, which allows different wards within Bangalore to cooperate and collaborate with each other, leading to a widespread flow of thoughts and ideas, and sharing of best practices.

Mr. Jagannatha Reddy’s  persistence and dedication pays off. Bellandur is transformed into one of the most advanced wards in not only the city, but also the whole country. It wins an award from the Government of India for its transformative initiatives.

During my research, I found that there is an infinite amount of data about Bellandur, dating back from early topographical surveys done by British cartographers to word-of-mouth from elderly residents, still living along the banks of Bellandur Tank. Yet from this small effort of mine, I have learnt an enormous lot about Bellandur. I am proud to be a member of this “village”.

There is something I have learnt through this study of Bellandur’s history. The residents of Bellandur follow one principle: “Not new things, but new ways”. For instance, “Bellandurians” introduced “lift irrigation” well before many other villages did, as a means to water their fields. Bellandurians also saw the benefit of garbage segregation very early. They had the foresight to embrace computers and technology, familiarizing their children with computers so that they were better prepared for jobs of the future. Finally, Bellandurians used television to improve transparency in their Panchayat.

The list is endless. What this small village of Bellandur has done to a country of 1.2 billion people is flabbergasting. Bellandur is a fantastic neighborhood with some of the most resourceful and enterprising minds in the country; it is stunning to see how far a village can progress in just under a century.

This short exercise in studying Bellandur’s past helped me understand a small civilization’s march towards progress over a relatively short period of time. If anything, this project has further helped to reinforce my interest in the subject. I shall continue to dig deep into the past to understand the ancient civilizations of China, India, Greece and Rome. As a six year old, I was always found squatting over a small pit that I had freshly dug, stick in hand, and with a smug yet content look on my face; now, as a seventeen year old, I am often found poring over a Wikipedia page, “digging” for more information to gain extra insight into history. I did not quite fathom my fascination with digging.

Until now.

To me, digging is just a way of understanding. It helps me uncover the past as a way to understand the present. It allows me to delve deeper and deeper into the endless abyss of knowledge until my craving and curiosity has been satisfied - for the time being at least. I know that as long as I keep digging, I will keep discovering.