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That was my reaction on that fateful morning.
There I was all geared up for a hectic weekend . Hectic as in- a couple of days of serious dedication to sleep. Punctuated only by visits to the dining table or else a tray of snacks and fries in front of the T.V.
And then It happened. By It, I mean, the discovery that my neck bones, knee bones, and back bone were all making fervent appeals to me at the same time. It was a call that could not be denied. Imagine, there I was, all prepared to turn side when a sharp twinge of pain at the junction of waist and hip made me halt, transfixed in a precarious pose between the horizontal and the vertical. I waited for the moment to pass and gingerly tried again. Luckily, the aching bone had decided to call it quits. Ah, for just an hour more of delicious napping, I thought snuggling into the bed sheets- only to be rudely interrupted by a dull ache- at my back. And so it went on.
Let me not bore you with the anatomical details of my skeletal system. Suffice to say that sleep was soon the last thing on my mind. Memories of computer bound, bus travelling friends all under traction and pain-killers made up my mind for me.
I was in threat of joining the young men’s club for wheel chair subscribers.
And so, friends, there I was, all geared up for the Great Solo Chennai Bone-Saving Walkathon, ready for whatever Fate opened out before me.
And let me tell you, it opened my eyes.
Not very imaginatively, my odyssey began with the
‘Long live Classical Tamil’ … ‘Other languages down down’…. ‘We will fight to the end for our rights’ ‘Mother Tamil, mother of peace’….
My state of half slumber and relaxation had carried me about without any serious direction. Before I could say ‘Jack Robinson’, I found myself pushed me in the middle of the determined procession of men, sporting purple and green shirts and blue flags, belonging to a new political party, headed by their version of ‘Captain’- a muscular, moustachioed seven-footer seated comfortably on the shoulders of two of his aficionados.
Escape seemed impossible. “If you can’t beat them, join them,” I told myself.
It was thus that a close friend of my father saw me in the thick of these champions of the Tamil language. He, as much of a Telugu as I, watched in open mouthed amazement as I too chorused the phrases invoking the revival of Tamil-which, going by the proclamations of these committed gentlemen in purple, seemed to be already extinct.
How long this state of affairs would have gone on, I cannot say. Luckily for me, I got a brainwave. Very cleverly, I faked a nauseous attack, leaving the other participants to look at me in alarm and walk away as fast as they could.
I watched the departing procession with mingled feelings of pride at my ingenuity and awe at their performance.
Then I moved on.
I watched humanity in its different hues and shades: the mamis gathered together, in 9 yard saris, exchanging horoscopes, the ‘mamas’ sitting together, laughing and discussing the political situation. The ubiquitous couples lost in their own little worlds, the little ‘sundal’ peddlar with his melting eyes as he dedicated his pen and pencil to the cause of feeding the leisure-hungry visitors, the balloon man fixing his target for the next child to shoot, the members of the laughter therapy club personifying happiness with their guffaws and chuckles…
No one leaves the
Yet, it was time to move on.
I walked down the road and watched the bus driver hurl abuses at the car in front of him for stopping at the amber sign.
The clock at the
I had to walk. Thinking of my rusting bones, I straightened up and set forth on a brisk walk.
Talk of an obstacle race! Bicycles were colonising pavements (wherever there were such things) to avoid traffic jams. Cars were pretty close too. In the midst of this, the only chance we pedestrians had was to walk on the road- where we were victims of potholes and abuses of car drivers wondering why on earth we didn’t use the pavements!
Chennai teaches us to be philosophers!
Luz was a variety fair. It offered plenty for the senses. The heady smell of masala emanating from the roadside eateries melded rather well with the incense smoke of the wizened muslim’s urn. Onyx vans put in their appearance too- making sure their presence was noted not only thanks to their fragrant charge, but also their tendency to reverse at the narrowest lane and hence bring out a complete traffic jam.
The temple bells proclaimed that Vinayaka was having His moment. At the same time, the mosque down the road beckoned its followers to come for prayers.
The traffic jams were fertile ground for young salespersons trying to sell dusters, whipping up sympathy by doing the first round of wind-screen cleaning themselves.
As for the snack- house itself- well, it looked as though all Chennai was represented.
Priests relished the idlis and vadais that hardly went with their hair tufts and ash marks. Young teenagers sang ‘Happy Birthday’ for their class-mate to the odd accompaniment of the loud cinema song that the restaurant was playing. An old couple, rather sheepish scrutinised the menu with careless concentration, a young teenager engaged in a wordy duel with the waiter about delay in service while other customers who had come in later were being served.
Yes, as I left the restaurant with the satisfied feeling of the man who has done his duty to his protesting bones and rewarded himself for the effort by a good meal, a kaleidoscope of images flashed before my eyes. Of the myriad sights and sounds that screamed for attention in different ways. Of the different human beings, the different attitudes that made up the peoples of this city of
And, as I wended my way homewards, I realised that it was this magic that grew on me. The magic of that staid old woman of South India who, however modern she grew, never lost her old world charm- That was what gave Chennai the magic she wielded.
