In the summer of 2010 I found myself, quite unexpectedly, in a city that I had no association with before, nor have I since. I am talking, of course, about Chennai and there’s a very present-tense account of that experience here.
Exactly ten years ago, almost to the day, I packed my bags and went out by myself on what would be the most liberating experience of my life.
In Chennai.
Now, people with some context on the south of India ask me as politely as they can, “But, what does Chennai have?”
To which I reply, “It has a piece of my soul, which is more than I can say for several other places I have inhabited so far in my life.”
Sure, it isn’t the place with the craft beer or the virtual play arenas. It doesn’t have the quick bustle of a Bombay or the sheer magnitude of a Delhi. But it has a part of me- the free, careless, wild part of me that I haven’t met since leaving.
And much like the city’s infamous high tide, my nostalgia is running amok today, and there’s no TL;DR version here.
I remember standing in front of the gates of The Park Hotel, two other musketeers for company. We would gaze up wistfully and say to ourselves, “In exactly ten years’ time, we’ll be rich enough to come back here for a meal.”
For someone with a net worth of 300 rupees, that does seem like a tall order. But I still remember the wistfulness like it was yesterday.
I remember the time when I met S, my ‘research associate’ if that’s what you could call a bunch of interns bumbling around. She was the bright spot in every workday, sharing stories with a gusto I haven’t experienced from anyone again. I remember, like it was yesterday, the stories she could tell about the sunshine and the stars.
Every time I use the phrase, “I don’t give a shit about that”, I try and say it just as she would- with a very specific emphasis on the ‘shit’ bit.
Doing so reminds me that some people stay in our lives for too short a period of time, but the impact they leave on us, that stays with us forever.
The sun in my face is one thing, but having the courage and wherewithal to look up and find it- that’s what I remember the most.
One fine morning, we take off to the beaches of Mamallapuram. While there, I almost drown.
No, seriously, I drown to that point where I start mentally aplogising to my parents for being such a disappointment. My friend notices and rescues me. However, that’s not the memory I remember too distinctly.
What I remember with absolute clarity instead is spending exactly five minutes freaking out. Once that emotion was processed, we spent all day at the beach building sandcastles and developing a legendary sun tan. What I remember then is the resilience that marks a truly carefree youth.
Did you know that we once managed to sneak into the IIT Madras campus in the middle of the night? We settled down with cupfuls of Maggi and coffee right on the pavement, watching the many deer on campus go by.
Never mind the fact that we had no passes, and no reason whatsoever to be hanging out there.
After falling asleep in turns, we snuck out once again to head to the beach and watch the sun rising slowly, completely in awe of being one with everything that surrounded us.
There are some moments in time which cannot be put into words, and this was one of them.
Freedom.
Such a simple word. And yet, it has caused revolutions. It has overthrown empires.
As all of humanity shares in the common experience of a lockdown thus essentially questioning our freedom to choose, I can see why this particular floodgate has been opened now.
Chennai is where I was, and will always be, free.
