The shiny brass sign above the entrance to the Bangalore Club neatly sums up India’s information technology boomtown. Here amid the clipped lawns, billiards tables and peons in their green livery is Old India in a microcosm, a relic of the Raj where time seems to stand still and the air is thick with the ghosts of an imperial past.

But New India is intruding into the rarefied air, often rudely. The new blood is the freshly monied IT crowd with their designer labels and mobile phones – phones that are expressly banned by the brass sign at the door. Here is a clash of civilisations as the young scions of India’s ‘new order’ leap from the overstuffed Chesterfields and race outside to take their calls.

One of the enduring clichés about India is the collision between old world and new. In Bangalore, the cliché is writ large.

Even from the air, it is clear that Bangalore is different. The view on approach is of ordered green fields cut by meandering lanes and small, tidy villages of substantial buildings. More southern England than southern India.

The city’s new international airport is a shining example of how to do things right – from the gleaming glass and steel arrivals hall to the efficient baggage return – the whole experience puts airports such as Los Angeles and Heathrow to shame.

The only smear on the polished facade is the sandbagged enclosure for the soldiers on duty and the young men in camouflage fatigues with sub-machine guns slung over their shoulders – a stark reminder that this is a country on guard and gearing up for war with Pakistan.

But this “new” India story begins in Bombay, with a flight on one of the country’s burgeoning cut-price airlines. If the sprawling, creaking railway system represents “old” India, the ever-growing network of budget airlines surely represents the new. Patronised by the country’s wealthy middle classes – even a budget airfare is still out of reach for someone on an average wage – the market for quick, efficient travel has boomed across India.

On board the SpiceJet flight to Bangalore (or Bengaluru) the crowd is a mixture of young professionals with Samsonite briefcases and old boys in blazers and greying moustaches off to meet other old boys at the Bangalore Club – new and old India at 30,000 feet.

Even the buses from the airport are a study in contrasts. Ours is an old bone-rattler with a smiling driver in an un-tucked khaki shirt and no real sense of urgency to get moving. His colleague is a laconic conductor whose leather satchel is slung over his shoulder while he jokes with passengers and collects fares. It’s a scene straight out of On The Buses that is only reinforced by a senior member of staff furiously blowing into his whistle, annoyed that the pair are taking too long to leave.

Sitting next to this 1960s tableau is a brand new air-conditioned Volvo bus with plush seats, a driver in a peaked cap and an electronic destination sign. Just the sort of vehicle that would be pulling up at the city’s air-conditioned and hermetically sealed bus stops. Ours deposits us at the more traditional “old” India bus stop – the side of the road.

Bangalore’s success as India’s Silicon Valley is well documented, the city is home to the country’s dotcom darling, Infosys. With its manicured lawns, air-conditioned buildings, multi-cuisine canteens and staff gyms, it is straight out of the original Silicon Valley, where firms such as Google and Apple boast of their collegiate atmospheres and good working conditions.

Looking at just some parts of Bangalore it is easy to see the vision India has for itself: international and outward-looking; efficient, clean, public transport; some well-maintained roads (with traffic laws that are at least vaguely obeyed); green spaces; breathable air and high-tech, low-impact industries with a well-educated, well-travelled workforce.

It’s a laudable aim, but the real question is whether there are enough Infosys-type success stories to help repeat Bangalore across the country.

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