Mind the History Gap — Next Stop, Common Sense

Picture this: a damp Bengaluru morning, traffic sulking in every lane, and a knot of reporters huddled near Shivajinagar Metro Station. Chief Minister Siddaramaiah’s Congress government has floated a new pastime — rechristening this bustling stop as St Mary’s. A minor clerical tweak, you’d think. But if you listen carefully, there’s a whisper in the air, a story waiting to escape from under layers of dust and diesel fumes.

Cut to a flashback — the year is 1638. The city isn’t a glass-and-concrete sprawl yet; it’s a rough patchwork of mud ramparts and gardens. Through its gates rides Shahaji Raje Bhosale, Bijapur’s dashing general and the father of a boy history will later call Chhatrapati Shivaji. He doesn’t just seize Bengaluru from Kempe Gowda III — he claims it, tames it, and makes it sing to his tune.

Watch him at work: fort walls repaired, new watchtowers bristling against the horizon. Inside, Gowri Mahal hums with music and gossip. Scholars in Marathi, Sanskrit pundits, Kannada poets — all jostle for Shahaji’s ear. He lays out gardens, coaxes merchants from every corner of the Deccan to set up shop, and makes caravans feel safe enough to rattle in with their spices and silks. Even irrigation tanks and travellers’ rest houses sprout under his steady hand.

And somewhere in this swirl, a young Shivaji sharpens not just his sword arm but his wits. He learns how to rule, how to parley, how to read a room — skills that will later rattle the Mughal throne.

Back to the present: autos honk, the metro whooshes, and a signboard waits for a new coat of paint. The government’s zeal is commendable, but its touch has all the delicacy of a man slicing a mango with a chainsaw. St Mary’s is a fine name, but why must it shove legacy of Shivaji into oblivion, along with Venkoji and the lone inscription crouching near Kadu Malleshwara temple?

If Khushwant Singh were still holding court at The Illustrated Weekly, he’d probably pour himself a generous Scotch, grin through his beard, and say, “Keep St Mary by all means, but leave room for the Maratha who once gave this city its touch of sophistication. Bengaluru is big enough for saints, soldiers, sultans — and yes, software engineers. Why settle for a one-course meal when you can have the whole thali?"

Cities breathe through their stories. Strip them, and you’re left with a drab junction with no tales worth a peg of rum. So, let the station keep its old name — or at least let a brass plaque tell commuters that long before the metro screeched to a halt here, a Maratha general stood on these ramparts and taught Bengaluru how to hold its head high.