I'm writing again after a long time. For those of you who wondered about the break, it is not for lack of topics to write about or even worse, that I was too busy to write (*shudder*). It is just that right now I am too restless to sit still for a few minutes and patiently formulate sentences and paragraphs. So if my post is slightly substandard or ends up sounding like ramblings on a gtalk conversation, I hope you would find it in you to forgive me or clear the hell out of my page.
Preparations to send Divya to the big A have started full fledged at my home. The whole family (minus me) is running around, looking busy, announcing to everyone in sight that I'm leaving to the US of A (California pora, very nice climate you know. LA, the place with all the stars!) And since I'm the latest export to US, everyone who has a son/daughter abroad (which includes almost everyone in my family) has some advice to give and some contact or trivia to remember. And much to my surprise, most of them are quite useful. Like the paati who said there was a temple in Malibu which is an hour's drive from LA and which serves nice Indian food in the canteen. Me, being the girl who had long previously researched all beaches and nightclubs in and close to the city and ignored more practical necessities of student life (like Indian food serving temples), found this grandma-interaction session quite informative. The same paati also advised me very strongly to visit Vegas (I swear I have the coolest globe trotting grandmas in the country). And once the contacts-and-trivia-and-i-know-so-much-about-the-US session is over, every conversation takes the same bent. "Come back," they say. I assure them that I will. They give me a skeptic look and shake their heads. Then they give me a 500 Rs note (Yes!!! The part I've been waiting for!) and bid me farewell. And I drive away while they stand alone in their balconies thinking of their sons and daughters and grandkids in the US, the ones that left and never came back.
I went to Tirupati this week, the fulfillment of a promise I made to my grandma to take her there. Having never been to Tirupati before and not knowing what to expect, it was a shocker of a first time. The long wait, sure I saw that coming. What I didn’t was that I would be shuffling along complaining about leg painand improper management while grandmas and grandpas several decades older than me be running happily, all the while shouting "Govinda Govinda" at the top of their voices. Now, that, was a humbling experience. At one point when I was sick of all the standing around and waiting endlessly and was about to bite off an acidic comment about the poor organisation, a probably in her 60s lady next to me said "Avar azhaikum bodhu namma povom" which loosely translated means that when He is ready to see us, He will call us. That kinda shut me up. And when I first saw the gold-plated domes of the sanctorum, I went "wtf???" in shock, only to have my mom give me the evil eye. The sheer frenzy and faith of the devotees, the opulence and beauty of the temple itself combined with the sleep deprivation of the night before almost brought tears to my eyes. And we got lotsa laddus too. One question though. Why are so many of our temples built on hilltops?
More friends left this week. So more goodbyes to tell. Packing for Maya, sticking labels on her suitcases, checking and rechecking and re-rechecking her documents, knowing that exactly a week later it would be my turn…. Sigh! A lotta pals have promised to come and help me pack too. What will I do without them! Every other day, I go to Anjana's place and talk to her mom and tick off things while she runs through a mental checklist of things to do and stuff to take. Meanwhile Anjana and her roommates promised to give me temporary accommodation in LA if I cant make other arrangements (so I wont stand in the airport with no place to go like Aishwarya Rai from Jeans and no cute looking Prashant will ever rescue me:() My total journey duration is 33 hours, including the 6 hour stopover. Imagine me keeping my mouth shut for a little more than a day. I am keeping my fingers crossed for a hot guy like Vinay sitting next to me a la Unnalle Unnalle, but considering my luck, I'll probably get a seat next to a grumpy old lady or a crying baby. And the brat from Biz class has finally been forced to travel Janta class so I can see another humbling experience in the making.
Mornings are lonely. There is noone to call. Everyone I talk to when I have something to tell are either busy getting paid for staring at computer screens or are in another continent. Times like those suck.
I am standing in my terrace watching the rain clouds rumble over me. Monsoons are my favorite times of the year in Chennai, especially those days when it rains so hard that the government cancels schools and colleges and the electricity is shut down and the water comes to knee level but it still continues raining. I would sit in my balcony, my ipod plugged to my ear, some old book of my mom on my lap waiting to be read, messaging on my cellphone comparing statuses with my friends till the moment when my cell switches off by itself. Sometimes Bunty would sit next to me and we would stare pensively together at the flowing waters while some poor passerby waddles his way to work, drenched to the bone. I could write several chapters on the smell of earth wafting up to me and the resigned and adjusting nature of the Indian temperament in the face of adversity and probably win a Booker prize for it too, but I shall refrain. I will miss the coming 2 monsoons, possibly more. But even if I am here to witness them, I doubt I would have the same carefree monsoon-experiences of the last 4 years.
I am not one of these people who have a native place they travel to every summer. Chennai has been my only home. Sure, I love travelling but this has always been my base point, my touchdown point. Leaving the city I was born in, the city of my childhood, the place I grew up in, where I suffered teenage pangs in, where I fell in love in, where I roamed the streets and discovered hidden secrets in, where every passerby became an 'Anna' when I needed help starting my impudent Activa, where every bus conductor would make sure 'Papa' didn’t stand on the footsteps, where every friends' mother would feel compelled to feed you till you burst even if you are not hungry, where every random stranger on the bus would find it necessary give you advice on the proper use of cellphones, the city I played and studied in and the city that's sending me off for greener pastures in a week is a painful experience. Much more painful than saying goodbye to any person, family or friend. Every street corner, small wall, every song played on the radio holds so many memories. There is so much that I have not done here, so many places I have not seen. I would come back just for the city, just for this dot in the forehead of Tamil Nadu. I wish I could have told that to my Visa interviewer but I doubt he'd have believed me.
The next time I write I probably wont be in India but I'll make sure I upload loadsa pictures so all you people reading this blog in the dusty premises of Gurgaon and Mysore and Siruseri can burn in envy. Till then I remind you to call often.
