Vignette of Fraser town

NJ Ravi Chander

I have some abiding memories of my childhood spent in Fraser town, Bengaluru, where my brothers and I grew up. Back in the 1960s, the century-old town housed a sizeable number of Anglo-Indians, Muslims and Hindus, dominated by families of military personnel. Residents lived in quaint monkey-top bungalows (these have made way for high-rises) filled with fruit trees and flowerbeds. One could find modest accommodation for an unbelievable Rs 2 per month — the Mysore Rent Control Act was prevalent then. Many Anglo-Indians lured by greener pastures later migrated to distant lands.

An unforgettable memory was monkeys descending on the orchards and plundering the fruits, but we loved their antics. They are now no more to be seen. Residents walked or cycled to their destinations or got ferried by the ubiquitous cycle-rickshaw or the tonga. The winter chill meant keeping ourselves warm by donning sweaters. Pleasant weather prevailed even at the turn of the century.

The beautiful Madhavraya Mudaliar Road (Palm Road), lined with majestic coconut palms, was a favourite haunt during our salad days. It was embellished with landmarks such as the Lakshmi Bhavan hotel (since closed) and Everest Cinema (still around).

The Independence Day Cup, hosted at the East Ground, drew promising football talent. Drama troupes performed here on festive occasions, and the Bangalore Muslims hockey team — a misnomer as it had players from different faiths — trained here. The Buddha Vihara was another famous landmark in the town, and the road passing alongside bears its name.

Street performers were a big draw. They entertained us with their acrobatics, stunts, music and trained pets. The two cinema theatres, Ashoka and Everest, mainly screened Tamil movies. Staring at cinema posters and photographs of cine stars displayed inside the theatres was an obsession. In the pre-generator era, power outages would witness the theatres issue free passes. Movie tickets cost a few annas, but black marketeers made hay.

The authorities sold firewood through ration cards, and a hired handcart would drop them off. Vendors called on us to hawk anything, from curd to crabs. The donkey was a ubiquitous part of the dhobi identity. The washerman made a weekly appearance to pick up soiled clothes. No clothes ever went missing. I recall an elderly lady hawking appetising appams, vadas and idlis on the roadside for an astonishing 3 paise a piece. She also sold exotic fruits, such as blackberries and the Madras thorn fruit.

Another enduring memory was that neighbours professing different faiths exhibited camaraderie and called on one another to chatter, gossip or exchange views. Festivals witnessed the exchange of hugs, pleasantries and homemade goodies. Evenings came alive with fun and frolic, and one would halt a street game and wait for the odd motorcar or scooter to pass. Fraser town of yore is but a memory!

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