From Cold Calls to Community: An Intern’s Bengaluru Story

In a quiet park in J. P. Nagar, a Bengaluru neighbourhood known for its old-world charm, I sat on a sun-warmed bench with the president of the Auto Rickshaw Drivers’ Union, preparing for what would become my most challenging interview yet. I was in the city as part of my media internship with the Deccan Herald, an opportunity offered to me by the Asia New Zealand Foundation's Asia Media Centre — an internship that would soon become a mirror to Bengaluru and, in unexpected ways, to myself.

Until then, most of my sources had spoken fluent English. This man, however — smartly dressed in the khaki uniform worn by auto-rickshaw drivers across India — spoke primarily Kannada, the local language of Karnataka. My carefully crafted, hard-hitting questions suddenly felt useless. But with a mix of basic English, Google Translate, hand-drawn diagrams, and a generous helping of goodwill, we pieced together an interview. Slowly, the realities of life as an auto driver in a rapidly changing city — one overrun by low-cost, unregulated bike taxis — came into focus.

Afterwards, my patient interviewee asked a passer-by to take a photo of us on his phone. I was a novelty — a foreign journalist in a part of India where foreigners are rare, especially in everyday neighbourhoods far from tourist trails.

That article, however, was never published. My second source — the president of the Bike Taxi Welfare Association — simply stopped replying to my messages. It was a common challenge while reporting in Bengaluru: interviewees cancelling at the last minute, forgetting appointments entirely, or endlessly rescheduling.

One solution was to cold-call people — something I usually tried to avoid. It was nerve-racking to dial an unsuspecting number, hoping the person on the other end spoke English and quietly worrying they might struggle with my New Zealand accent.

Despite these obstacles, reporting in Bengaluru offered a kind of behind-the-scenes access to the city and its people that few newcomers get.

Caitlin in the Deccan Herald Newsroom with her colleagues. Image supplied/AMC

Heart surgeons, drone engineers, authors, pilots, traffic controllers, musicians, and animal behaviourists generously made time for interviews. Each opened a window into a part of Bengaluru I hadn’t yet seen. I learned about the politics of feeding stray dogs; the creation of emergency “Green Corridors” through the city’s infamous traffic so transplant teams could move organs quickly; and the everyday challenges faced by millions of commuters.

At a panel on women’s access to the bus system, participants spoke of gruelling daily journeys stretching four hours or more — a reminder of how uneven urban life can be in a fast-growing city. A police press conference gave me a glimpse of the latest crime updates, mostly gold thefts and drug smuggling.

A photo from the Police Department's Press Conference in Bengaluru. Image Supplied/AMC

When the Special Commissioner for Education invited me to his office for an interview, I rushed over, only to find him at the head of a long table, conducting rapid-fire meetings with an endless queue of citizens. Watching him field concerns, sign documents, and direct staff offered a fascinating glimpse into how governance actually works — something even many Bengalureans never see.

Beyond work, there were endless opportunities to explore and continue my Bengaluru education. 

During Onam, a harvest festival celebrated widely in southern India, I wore a bright yellow saree and devoured a 26-course vegetarian feast before heading to the newsroom.

The following week, I wandered through Maya Bazaar, a queer carnival, flipping through political zines and cheering on the city’s queer youth as they battled it out on the dance floor.

Both experiences felt worlds apart, yet perfectly at home in this sprawling, endlessly surprising city.

If I was exhausted by the relentless grind of Bengaluru’'s infamous traffic, or disinclined to venture into the monsoon rains, I would go home to my cosy flat and spend time with my flatmates.

Like me, they were imports to Bengaluru, all originally from other cities in India.

We would chat until the small hours, do weekend craft activities and annoy the neighbours by dancing to Shakira.

One of the several experiences Caitlin had in Bengaluru. Image supplied/AMC

I knew Bengaluru was ‘home’ when I started to recognise every turn of my long commute across the city - the rug seller, the coconut seller, the hand-painted mural of a Bollywood actor Dilip Kumar, the Shiva temple lit in neon lights, the unfinished flyover that everyone insisted would be completed “next month”.

My sense of community grew more when I started running into people I knew - something I never expected in a city of over 12 million people.

A new life had unfolded from scratch - every bit as rich and complex as the one left behind - filled with work, friendships, flirtations, sick days, boredom, and constant surprises.

I knew Bengaluru was ‘home’ when I started to recognise every turn of my long commute across the city. Image Supplied/AMC

In many ways, the internship became more than professional training; it became a way of seeing Bengaluru — and of seeing myself in it. Finding a place of belonging in a foreign culture had become second nature, and simultaneously my contentment with my own company gradually grew.

Back in New Zealand, I now carry a steady sense of my own resilience and resourcefulness.
I will also always carry the complex and beguiling city of Bengaluru in my heart.

Other photos from Caitlin's Bengaluru journey below:

-Asia Media Centre