A girl in love with a city

Many kids have this habit of lying about certain aspects of themselves to fit in or appear cooler or even just to amuse themselves. As a kid, I did this too.
It wasn’t necessarily a lie. It was something I desperately wished was true.

 
Having moved places a lot while in school, everyone would ask me where I am from. 
We are Tamil. My parents grew up in Kerala. I wasn’t born in Chennai. We didn’t have close relatives who lived here, but since we moved here when I was 5 (for a short period, before moving away and coming back repeatedly), Chennai has been home. Wherever I was, Chennai was where I wanted to come back to. 

So every time anyone asked where I was from, I’d say Chennai. I had no documents, ancestorial home, or extended family to back that claim, and that always bothered me.

Finally, at 20, I put my foot down and decided to move back to Chennai. For good. Luckily for me, the Gods conspired to make my wish come true, found me a man who loved the city as much as I did (whose birth certificate reads Ahmedabad!), and when I had kids, one of my greatest joys was that they were born here and could “officially” call it home.

For someone who is a romantic at heart, journeys are beautiful. Mani Ratnam made me love local trains and local buses, and luckily, I had a chance to travel in them extensively at a younger age. These metal boxes carry the essence of a city. A face there, a smile here, snatches of a conversation, and people lost in their own world even as they are sandwiched between strangers and luggage. There is beauty in that chaos. With a well-worn pair of headphones (playing FM of course) and a window seat (or the doorway in a local train), I have traveled far beyond the confines of any physical landform.

Cinema is a quintessential part of this city which houses some of the oldest studios and the most devoted fans. But cinema, for those who lived in Chennai before 2018, only means one thing — Satyam. Affordable tickets, large buckets of the best popcorn with as much butter as you wanted and those magical toppings, couple-seats for a cozy movie time… Satyam was every teen/20’s dream come true. Some movies were about the plot, most movies were about the experience. 

Now, Satyam is just a thing of lore, a story we’d tell our children, but it is a memory that unites every Chennai millennial. 

***

A Google search for places to visit in Chennai will give you Kapaleeshwar Koil and Marina Beach and Santhome Church and Guindy Park. Ask anyone who lives here (me included), and we’ll scoff at these suggestions. But my memories too are tied to these places.

I remember going in an auto on the stretch along Marina Beach as a kid, excited to be back in Chennai after vacations. There are steps leading to the beach, right from the road adjacent to Santhome church which we discovered in college. Once a ship got stranded on that beach, and we were all there to ogle. 
I have gone to Kapaleeshwar Koil with a secret agenda to pet the cats that roam there. Guindy Park brings to mind tiny snakes in glass jars, and my cousin scaring me with the story of the Anaconda.

I hold on tight to memories — of the times when Bessy was open to the public through the night, of the oldest Banyan tree that lived in Theosophical Society, and the lived-in beauty of the Drive-in hotel — even as I make new ones.

***

Chennai has never been known for its natural beauty. Until recently, we didn’t have parks and lakes to claim Green City badges. Chennai’s beauty, like the city itself, is unassuming. No one talks about it enough.

As winter moves into spring, bougainvilleas bloom everywhere — in tree-lined roads leading to the beach, over grey unfinished concrete walls, valiantly thriving in an ambitious plant-parent’s small pot. Frangipani, a key element in every tropical-themed marketing material, is probably your next-door neighbor. 

On the inside roads of Indira Nagar and Virugambakkam alike, bright red Gulmohars touch the sky, and that yellow flower that just cannot seem to stay on the trees carpets the ground. The flowers form small whirlpools and blow away, and suddenly the sweaty hot day is just a warm hug of summer.

Most houses have a neem tree right outside, rustling in its unique way when the breeze comes in. Every roosting season, I have seen crows build crude nests with twigs stolen from the broom kept outside the house. You can always hear the parrots as they fly back to their homes in the evening. If you have a good eye, you might even be able to catch that flash of green in the sky.

Come rains, egrets can be seen flying in a row, their white a sharp contrast against the grey skies. In the winter, if you are lucky (really lucky) and know where to go, you can spot the flamingos that make their yearly visit to the city. 
It's their home away from home.

***

Can anyone who has lived in a coastal city ever think of moving away? 
I lived so close to the sea for years but didn’t appreciate her enough. She was just always there, barely a kilometer from my doorstep. Now, living farther inside the city, going to the beach is quite like a journey of repentance.
Every tough day has seen me go driving off to my favorite beaches. Everyone who has lived here would have found some of those.

From the terrace of our college, we could see a tiny patch of the sea. All the trees around it made it look like the water was inside a green cup. We learned colour theory in our classrooms, but we saw it come alive here — blues and greys and greens and how they changed and played with one another.

I have never eaten fish, and like any other vegetarian, I don’t like the smell of fish. But when I go to Pattinapakkam, I welcome it. It is the smell of the sea, of salt, or secret rendezvous and loud friendships.
Here the sea is very close to you, unmarred by pavements and walkways and derelict monuments. You can see her moods. Some days, she is calm, languid, just lapping away at the shore on a lazy afternoon. Some days she is active, with large waves and a general feeling of energy. 
Once I parked my car in Pattinapakkam right before a storm. The sky was turning steadily greyer, the clouds descending to the Earth. The sea was in all her glory. Each wave louder than the last, claiming more and more of the shore. The message was clear. Today she wasn’t in the mood for people.

***

It’s hard to not fall in love with this city. The sea cools you, even on the hottest day. You learn to love the rain and be awed by the storms, despite all the troubles it brings. Life isn't too fast, and it certainly isn't slow. 
The salt in the water and the salt that sticks to your skin are all just Chennai’s way of saying she loves you too.