Lalbagh Food Security Research Centre (12°57'1.16"N, 77°35'5.34"E)

 

The tree-lined avenues, glass house, iconic rock and verdant spaces of Bengaluru's botanical gardens are a sight to behold, which is one of the only truthful things the city’s tourist guides will say to you. Except they’re still lying, because you cannot see them up close; well, not anymore. Almost the entire area is closed off and inaccessible to the public (only one of its gates remains open for you and me); one would be lucky to catch a glimpse of the huge silk-cotton trees or the glint from the little hilltop shrine on a particularly clear day.

Lalbagh is one of many old parks in this part of the country that were hastily converted into FSR (Food Security Research) facilities once urban areas hit (and in Bengaluru’s case, crossed) their NWB (No-Way-Back) population threshold in a desperate attempt to develop new technologies to keep people fed. Bengaluru reached its highest population figure of thirty-four million inhabitants in 2060; there is a theory amongst those with a wry sense of humour that there had been that many people around for many years prior, and 2060 was the first time a census had been completed without enough bureaucratic red tape to circle the earth five times over. That one still makes me chuckle because there is a non-zero chance that it’s actually true.

Jokes aside, the city’s numbers then went into complete free-fall. Today, just eleven years later, only about fourteen million lost souls stay and call what is now a still fast-emptying urban desert home. Even those at the highest levels of state governance do not live here, in their capital. Every citizen of these reaches has a different theory as to why this happened, and the probability is that they’re all correct; there were hundreds of problems waiting to rear their heads, and I presume they all did at the same time. I’ve heard some say this place ‘had it coming’ in a slightly snarky, knowing tone when asked about ‘The Great Emptying’ at parties; I don’t mean to annoy the censors and I won’t, but anyone who says that knows as much about urban history as an elbow of one human knows about the rectum of another. Bengaluru has ‘had it coming’ for the better part of a century now. The only thing to note is that ‘it’ finally turned up at the door.

Just inside the gate (they still issue paper tickets as some sort of ‘heritage’ gimmick), I can see groups of people engaged in activities. Lots of youngsters and families are quietly queued up for their monthly ration of fresh fruit; you, of course, need a ration card to claim it. Many, many people are walking around aimlessly with glazed eyes as they interact with numerous installations depicting the garden’s and city’s history. The vast majority of people are quite stoned. For the last ten years, Lalbagh has been home to Bengaluru’s largest dispensary for legal marijuana, which funds a significant portion of the FSR centre’s expenses. Citizens from all walks of life like it and seem to be enjoying themselves immensely. The very smart scientists at the centre’s bio-development facility release a new strain every month or so. They must find the process far more exciting than the product.