Bengaluru's story is starting to look the same everywhere. Glass towers pierce the skyline with mechanical precision. High gates seal off neighborhoods. And everywhere you look, there are more cranes on the horizon than trees on the ground. Growth, undeniably. But growth towards what?
Most people see beauty in what's visible: the gleaming fixtures, the dramatic entrance, the Instagram-worthy elevation. These things matter, certainly. But they're also the easiest to achieve and the quickest to fade.
Every monsoon, Bengaluru floods. Streets transform into rivers. Every summer, the same city runs dry. And yet, every season, more land gets built over. More trees disappear under cement. More natural drainage systems get paved into oblivion.
Homes often start with blueprints. Floor plans sketched to maximize saleable square footage. Elevations designed to impress from street view. Layouts standardized for construction efficiency. The human beings who'll actually inhabit these spaces? They enter the process late, as buyers selecting from predetermined options.