It's more than a decade since we moved into Koramangala. For me, it was the closest I could get to a place in the city that reminded me of my roots in Coorg. It really feels like another place today. We have added another floor to our modest house, but it still seems shrunken next to the huge complexes that are popping up all over the place like the neighborhood soil is overdosed on fertility drugs, structures that are a builders dream and a neighbor's nightmare.

Nobody goes next door to borrow a cup of sugar anymore, the neighborhood nexus now collects each other's courier, shares an occasional conversation and greets each other on a special occasion, or meets for an occasional tête-à-tête over drinks or dinner, no strings attached. I never catch, even the kids in the neighborhood ganging up for evening play. That was in a bygone era.

Every week new neighbors disgorge themselves into houses in the vicinity and those nameless others disappear never to be seen again. This new Mecca of the city is growing outwards gobbling up all the vacant land in the vicinity at an alarming rate. Koramangala's soaring property prices now makes front-page news in leading dailies.

The Fascism of the neighborhood stores, that sell only European, Malaysian or Chinese furniture and modular kitchen which has never seen Indian wood, made in India and things ethnic are getting to be in bad odour. Blonde streaks in the hair and blue or green contact lenses propel you up the beauty ladder faster these days. To me it still is an amazing sight when the Mercs and BMWs offload their precious living cargo, just that these juxtaposition of opposing worlds that the place throws at you on every turn are so compelling. Today Koramangala boasts of its own shopping complexes, movies, eateries, gathering places to swan about and be spotted for the yuppies.

Then there is the Fascism of the rupee-dollar. I must relate an incident that occurred when I accompanied a friend who was house hunting in Koramangala, while my jaws were hitting the floor when the agent kept throwing property prices at us; I questioned him in all ignorance, if he actually managed enough buyers to pick up these properties at such inflated prices. He said, “No problem Madam, some IT bakra wit a whiff of the dollar will definitely come along", need I say more.

Beauty has also become big business, with mushrooming neighborhood parlors and multinationals flooding the market with cosmetics and hair dyes. Ambitious moms drag their daughters, often as young as eight, to beauty parlors. Beauty is power. The body has become a temple. And not just with the young. Nobody wants to grow old. You fight age with all you've got: cosmetics, surgery, vitamins, protein shakes, gyms or new age religion for the next best thing on offer; inner beauty. Don't like your pot belly, get liposuction; don't like the droop of your nose get it fixed, all in the neighborhood.

The new motto in this world is: if you have it, flash it. So people who may have once put away their jewels and heirlooms now let it all hang out, no more nods to socialism. It's not just the Beautiful People who flash clothes, jewels and lifestyles. Real people do it too. No longer is there any real distinction between new money and old money – it is just money, neat. It's the best leveller. It no longer takes generations to arrive. The point to point route is the fastest.

The Fascism of the spiritual gurus. An age of instant gratification also calls for Instant Nirvana. New Age spirituality is the reigning rage. The mind bazaar is open overtime – and the cash registers are ringing ceaselessly. New Age Gurus, spiritual boutiques, books and Reiki centers that are mushrooming in garages. Life according to Vaastu, Feng Shui and your personal guru, like your personal trainer. The spiritual kitty party has also arrived-gossip is being replaced by new age babble.

Finally the Fascism of technology, e-shopping, e-commerce, e-procurement, e-learning and what have you. The fascism of the uncouth, of sexuality worn on the sleeve.....

I could go on with the fascism and the perfidies in Koramangala, but ask me to move. No way. This is home. I just have to get myself a new compass.