In a poetic obituary posted on LinkedIn by Vishnu Vardhan, former Executive Director at Morgan Stanley, the spirit of Bengaluru has been declared dead — not in a literal sense, but in soul and substance. In a post that has resonated widely, Vardhan’s eulogy is not just a lament — it is a scathing societal critique, a love letter, and a wake-up call rolled into one.
Titled “Obituary Notice: Mother is Murdered”, the post uses the metaphor of a nurturing, giving and quietly enduring mother to personify Bengaluru — a city once synonymous with garden walks, filter coffee musings and a harmonious blend of intellect and intimacy. But in Vardhan’s rendition, this mother has died. Not suddenly, but slowly, silently — as her 1.6 crore children watched, unaware or perhaps unwilling to act.
A green dream turned grey
Bengaluru, once dubbed India’s “Garden City”, is now better known for its tech corridors, glass towers and gridlocked traffic. In Vardhan’s words, she was once “draped in green, cooled by soft winds & warmed by human connection.” But today, that pastoral promise has been replaced by “5 minutes of rain, 4 hours of gridlock,” and a suffocating urban sprawl.
The city that once brewed ideas over humble filter coffee is now an engine room for global tech giants. But what has this meteoric transformation cost?
The trade-offs of progress
The obituary cuts deep with its list of gains and losses — a haunting reminder of how development, unmoored from community and care, can turn pyrrhic:
- Got international schools – lost civility.
- Built flyovers – but never bridged divides.
- Enjoyed 10-min deliveries – but had no 10 mins for family.
- Created apps for everything – but forgot everyone.
In just a few lines, Vardhan dissects the social paradox of a smart city that feels increasingly soulless. A middle class once cushioned by economic optimism is now “crushed,” navigating an exhausting labyrinth of EMIs, inflation, and crumbling aspirations.
Tech boom, human bust
Bengaluru’s identity today is tethered tightly to its status as India’s Silicon Valley. But with towering ambitions have come rising temperatures, vanishing water tables, and sky-high rents. Vardhan’s metaphor extends into hard reality — the ground beneath is not only “cracked and tired” symbolically, but geologically too. The irony of innovation co-existing with infrastructure collapse is not lost on the city’s weary residents.
A mother’s last words
Perhaps the most piercing moment in Vardhan’s post is Bengaluru’s imagined parting note:
“Let it be known, the people I loved, they let me down.”
It is not an accusation hurled in anger, but a whisper of resignation. A quiet surrender from a city that gave everything — ideas, identity, innovation — and was rewarded with exploitation, neglect, and silence.
No farewell, no ceremony
Fittingly, Vardhan closes by saying there were no last rites. No ceremony. No protest or mourning. The city wasn’t lost in one fell swoop — it was gradually worn down by apathy. By a population too busy climbing, consuming, and coping to even notice her slipping away.
But the elegy does more than eulogize. It urges reflection. It suggests that while the city might be buried “under glass, concrete, and chaos,” her memory — and perhaps a chance of revival — still lingers.
Will anyone listen?
As the post gains traction, it has ignited a range of reactions — nostalgia, guilt, anger, and introspection. Whether it sparks real change remains to be seen. But one thing is certain: Vishnu Vardhan has given Bengaluru the tribute she deserves — not just for what she was, but for what she still could be.
Because maybe, just maybe, it’s not too late to say goodbye — or better yet, to say sorry and start again.