Bengaluru: 'We want our city
back!' By Sudha Ramachandran
BANGALORE - Mob violence after the death
of Kannada film star Rajkumar in Bangalore last
week left eight people dead and property valued at
millions of US dollars destroyed. The explosion of
bloody despair on the streets of Bangalore took
many by surprise, shattering its image as a
largely peaceful city, an ideal destination for
investment and India's "Silicon Valley".
Even as news of Rajkumar's death trickled
in, tens of thousands of his fans rushed to his
residence to pay their last respects. Within hours
of his death, "grieving fans" went on a rampage,
torching buses and cars, pelting shops and offices
with stones. By evening, the streets of Bangalore
were deserted as terrified
residents rushed home for
safety. On April 14, the day of the funeral, the
situation worsened as mobs beat up the vastly
outnumbered police, killing one officer.
According to T V Mohandas Pai, chief
financial officer of Infosys Technologies, the
violence could end up costing Bangalore about
US$160 million, with software firms losing $40
million in revenue. Nine buses were burned and 256
damaged. More than 650 private vehicles too were
damaged. Even as Bangalore limps back to normalcy
the blame game is on, with the government pointing
to sinister forces behind the violence, and the
opposition parties blaming the administration for
not anticipating and acting to prevent the
violence.
Violence was expected in the event
of the film star's death, and he had been ailing
for a while. The Rajkumar Fans Association, which
is controlled by Rajkumar's family - his brother-in-law
is its former president - has resorted to
violence several times, often to pressure the
government. In 2000, when the actor was kidnapped
by forest brigand Veerappan, a Tamil, his fans
went on a rampage against Tamils living in
Bangalore. It is said that the government, under
pressure from the actor's family and fans, paid a
hefty ransom to secure his release. The fans
therefore were not novices in unleashing violence.
While fans might have been driven to
rioting because of grief and poor funeral
arrangements for their hero - southern Indian fans
are known for their adulation of film stars; some
have even torched themselves on the death of their
heroes - there are other more complex issues at
work behind last week's violence.
Rajkumar
was not just a popular actor; he was a cultural
icon, a person who was regarded as a champion of
the Kannada language and culture and of the
interests of Kannadigas (the local population).
His death became an excuse for some Kannadigas to
vent their long-simmering anger and frustration.
The mobs were more than fans of the actor and his
films. They were also loyal supporters of the
cause he espoused - the Kannada cause.
Although Bangalore is the capital of a
Kannada-speaking state, speakers of that Dravidian
tongue constitute just 35% of the city's
population. For many years, Kannada speakers have
felt swamped by "outsiders", mainly Tamils from
neighboring Tamil Nadu. In the past, Kannadigas
have vented their resentments through anti-Tamil
mob violence. And now with the
information-technology (IT) boom attracting brains
and talent to Bangalore from across the country,
the feeling of being swamped by outsiders has
grown to include Bengalis, Gujaratis, Punjabis and
other linguistic groups from the rest of the
country.
Kannadigas feel that Kannada
identity is being diluted with the influx of
outsiders, that Kannada culture is declining
because other cultures are gaining ground here.
The Kannada film industry has been in the doldrums
as most youngsters prefer watching Bollywood
movies. What has deepened the sense of insecurity
among Kannadigas is that economically too they are
on the sidelines, having to watch the outsiders
prosper the most from Bangalore's economic boom.
Noted playwright Girish Karnad has said,
"Bangalore is burgeoning, and its economy is
booming. But the locals are not benefiting from
it. They are feeling cornered in their own
capital."
Bangalore is a city divided
culturally and economically, with the locals
feeling marginalized on both counts. Kannada
activists insist that most of those who have
prospered from the IT boom are not locals; indeed,
they argue that it is outsiders, not locals, who
form the bulk of employees in the IT sector. They
have been demanding quotas for "sons of the soil"
in IT companies, a demand that the latter have
turned down.
The divide is largely between
employees of the tech industry and everyone else.
It is between the affluent and the less
privileged. And this more or less coincides with
the outsider-local divide. It is reflected in
starkly different spending capacities and
lifestyles as well. Bangalore's techies receive
fat paychecks; headhunters dangle fancy job
offers. They live in swanky apartments, unwind in
pubs and nightclubs and vacation in Europe. They
talk different and live different.
The
rest of Bangalore doesn't have prospective
employers lining up with better job offers; many
people simply don't have jobs. What has fueled
their anger is that not only are they not
beneficiaries of the IT boom, they are in fact
suffering because of it. The number of cars on
Bangalore's roads has skyrocketed, putting
unbearable pressure on the city's crumbling
infrastructure, and rents have shot up
dramatically. The cost of living in Bangalore is
beyond most Bangaloreans.
Local discontent
is being articulated in different ways. There is a
noticeable assertion in Kannada identity.
Activists resent English or other languages being
used in public meetings. More Kannada flags are
visible in the city. Advertising billboards in
English are routinely tarred by activists. The
line between Kannada pride and chauvinism seems to
be blurring. A "Bangalore for Kannadigas" movement
is gathering momentum. Agni Shridhar, who founded
the Karunada Sene, a pro-Kannada activist group
that was inaugurated by Rajkumar, observes that
Bangalore hardly looks like a Kannada city. "We
want our city back," he said.
Increasingly
the Kannada movement is merging with the
anti-globalism, anti-multinationals campaign.
Kannada activists protested against Bangalore
Habba, an annual cultural festival, in 2004. They
accused the organizers of showcasing "outside"
talent and of not including enough local culture.
They were furious that the invitations were in
English and dismissed the event as an "MNC
[multinational corporation] conspiracy".
"Multinationals sponsored the Habba
[festival] only to build their brands. Imperialist
forces are attacking us through cultural events,"
said Shridhar.
To appease Kannada
activists, the Karnataka state government
announced last year that Bangalore's name would be
changed to Bengaluru, the way it is pronounced in
Kannada (see Software and boiled
beans, December 16, 2005). The
announcement raised a storm. Many opposed the name
change on the grounds that it was an attempt by
the government to divert public attention from
more pressing issues. Some opposed it as it
detracted from "Brand Bangalore". Still others
whined that "Bengaluru" didn't sound right; "it
wasn't cool enough". Predictably, those in the
last category were overwhelmingly English educated
"outsiders" and from the more privileged sections.
There is concern in some quarters that the
renaming of the city and its roads, the tarring of
English signboards, and the restrictions imposed
on non-Kannada films could become a movement
against all "outsiders" and their culture,
culminating, as it did in Mumbai years ago, in a
demand for them to leave the city. Last week's
violence cannot be dismissed as just grief or
hooliganism. It should be seen as an early-warning
signal.
Sudha Ramachandran is an
independent journalist/researcher based in
Bangalore.
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