Parasite (2019) is a story which emphasizes class conflict and inequality. The film meticulously illustrates the vast chasm between the rich and poor. On the other side of the world, this is the reality in one of the cities in India called Indranagar. One Reddit post gained tractions as of late for laying out the dual realities in the city: posh versus
Indiranagar: One Zip Code, Two Worlds
Walk down 12th Main, and the city glistens.
The trees arch like they were handpicked for an Instagram reel. Cafés with unpronounceable names serve ₹400 pour-overs to tech founders and brand managers. At 7 PM, the pubs on 100 Feet Road come alive, neon signs buzz, bouncers flex, and valet drivers maneuver German sedans into narrow spots once meant for scooters.
Rent? ₹1 lakh a month for a two-bedroom apartment with “exposed brickwork” and a swing chair. Not including maintenance. Not including irony.
But a few gallis away, the other Indiranagar begins.
Welcome to Motappalaya, or the unnamed clusters behind the glitzy streets, where the house help, barbers, waiters, guards, drivers the hands and feet of Indiranagar’s performance go home after their shifts. Rooms with tin roofs. Shared toilets. Water once a day. If lucky.
The woman who mops floors in a duplex on CMH Road lives in a one-room tenement with three other women behind 9th Cross, Doopanahalli. Her rent? ₹7,000. Her commute? 25 minutes by foot, dodging cars that don’t stop.
She watches Netflix on her employer’s screen while dusting. Then walks back to a room without a fan.
In the salon on 100 Feet Road, a stylist applies ₹2,000 keratin treatment to a customer’s hair, then boards a BMTC bus from Indiranagar BDA Complex to get home to his 10×10 PG in Murugeshpalya, where he shares a bed on alternate nights.
The delivery boy who gets blamed for being late lives off HAL 3rd Stage, in a line house next to an open drain. He brings hot ramen to a ₹2 crore flat with imported lighting but goes home to a broken bulb and boiling heat.
There are two Indiranagars. One lives in luxury. The other lives in the shadows of it.
They meet daily, at traffic signals, service entrances, and under the same streetlamps. They talk sometimes. Most times, they don’t. But without the second, the first wouldn’t function.
One side books Sunday brunch. The other side serves it.
One swipes to pay. The other prays for tips.
They share a pin code. But not a life.
Image— Assure Shift
