The unnerving shake
N J Ravi Chander
We believe Bengaluru, lying in the heart of the Mysuru plateau, to be free from earthquakes and tremors. But did you know that the city has had its fair share of them? One of them occurred on 20th March 1984, at around 4 pm, leaving the residents rattled and shaken. Though the shock lasted a few fleeting moments, it left an indelible mark on scores of old buildings in the city.
My colleagues and I recall that afternoon at the busy State Bank of India (SBI), Main Branch on St.Mark’s Road, Bengaluru, when the low-intensity quake struck the city like a bolt from the blue.
The massive building, with its high ceilings, bay windows, massive pillars and colonial architecture, set out in the sprawling grounds, is a treat to the eye. The compound houses a 200-year-old British bungalow that now serves as the official residence of the Chief General Manager (CGM) of the SBI, Bengaluru Circle, and once housed the British resident. Employees’ who had the opportunity of working in these heritage buildings where every brick and column has history etched on it must count themselves fortunate! The CGM’s residence had a secret tunnel (sealed long ago), which appeared to have served the purpose of an emergency getaway for its occupants.
It was late in the afternoon on that eventful day when we felt the earth shudder below our feet, and the building tremble. The quake scared the living daylights out of panic-stricken residents, including this writer. A mad scramble ensued which saw people fleeing toward the lone exit and congregating in the safety of the open space. The suddenness of the event puzzled the residents, many of whom wore a look of bewilderment.
None in the crowd had gone through such a mind-boggling experience earlier and the earth, quivering as if possessed, was a rare sight. The building shook for a brief moment before normalcy and sanity returned. For many of us, it was our first experience of the shifting of the tectonic plates, and we could not believe our eyes. Spared of a calamity, we thanked the gods and our lucky stars.
A few weeks after this episode, my youngest sibling, N J Chandran and I took a Sunday out at the movies and trotted off to view an English film at the Symphony theatre in the Public Utility Building – the city’s tallest building then – on the famous Mahatma Gandhi road.
Just minutes before the intermission, the pranksters in the hall pulled a fast one and hollered, “earthquake, earthquake”. The high decibel shouts set off alarm bells as people jumped out of their seats, ran helter-skelter towards the exit doors and hurried down the stairs like frightened rats. The scene was reminiscent of watching a horror flick.
With confusion reigning supreme, the projectionist turned nervous and halted the film screening before switching on the lights. A sea of footwear lay strewn around after the stampede. Even as it dawned on us that it was a false alarm, the sense of fear and panic of losing one’s life or limb was to be seen to be believed. It took a few minutes for the moviegoers to gather their wits about them and return to their seats to watch the film after the resumption. But a feeling of trepidation continued to haunt us till the show concluded.
These episodes became the subject of animated discussions long after they were done and dusted and their mere mention gives us the shudders even today.
(The author is a former banker and a past time writer. His write-ups feature in the Deccan Herald, The New Indian Express, The Tribune, The Hitavada, The City Tab, The Hans India and Kashmir Vision)
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