My Lost World

Before leaving Mangalore, I decided to visit Court Road once more. For me, that small, steep, winding road--which connects my old primary school, St. Aloysius, to the high school up the hill--is the physical embodiment of a rite of passage. I had gone up this road as a 13-year-old on my first day at high school. From the top of the hill, I had a fine view of the city. Two decades ago, when you stood at a high point like that and looked down on Mangalore, the city's puny buildings all vanished, submerged beneath a canopy of coconut palms. That was when you felt a sense of contempt for Mangalore and dreamed of going somewhere big. But now you see concrete towers with dozens of metal rods sticking out of their sides, as if they were ripping a path for themselves through the trees. You cannot feel contempt for Mangalore now. You feel a sense of awe at how profoundly it has changed. But if you look a bit longer at the scene, you cannot avoid a faint inkling of something like fear.