The Kankanhalli Bridge across Arkavathi
This is a story about my grandfather A Narasimhiah, as recollected and told to me by my father. It was a blazing mid- morning sun beating down on the ragi fields. A small boy in Gundulpet watched the English Surveyor, who rode into the village. The rider, wearing a pre-independence pith hat and a leather cross belt, was seated on a magnificent black horse. The white cross on its forehead, made it seem as if it had descended from the heavens. The boy watched, open mouthed, with fascination. He looked at his oversized worn-out brown shirt and khaki shorts with dismay. A seed of ambition began to grow in the boy’s head. He determined that one day, he would learn to know the ways of the English and sit on such fine beasts. He ran back to the sand covered patch under the huge banyan tree, where his father taught the local boys, the art of wrestling. As he watched his father, it became clear to him, that this ancient art, would not get him on that fine horse. The family moved to Myso...