The first few days back from our annual visit to India have become an all too familiar drag. My dazed thoughts ping pong between the quiet hums of emptiness which we instantly become aware of here and the loud but lively chaos of home (ahem former home) - Chennai. Heck it wasn't even called that when we were growing up here. It was our dear Madras, fashioned as such by our former homies, the Brits. we were blissfully oblivious to colonial names, mid day heat and hordes of people. Instead, my memories of childhood - drifting through the trees of IIT endlessly searching for woodapples, soodukottai (for scorching unsuspecting friends with ..) , gulmohar flowers to munch on, neem fruits to bite into and spit amid a backdrop of the very things I avoid as an adult now - oppressive mid-day heat and crowds. I once again pine for some 'noise'. Be it sounds of horns honking, dogs barking through the night, loudspeakers blaring devotional tunes at ungodly hours and at decibel levels that would annoy even the most forgiving of our many Gods :)
My morning run today fades into a meditative recollection of the numerous characters I encounter on daily runs on the streets of Neelankarai. Including the aging and humungous 'foreign' breed dog laboring through its morning walk goaded on by his handler with a lathi in hand, trailed by jeering street dogs. The few times my eyes met the dogs', he seemed to moan 'what the heck am I doing in sultry Chennai, take me home'. The middle aged man chanting 'Om Nama Siva..' loudly as he made hasty work of his morning ritual walk. The many stray dogs that adopted the various homes that lined the streets, judging people and pet dogs alike while fiercely guarding their territories from other strays who felt equally entitled. The cat Kalyani that belonged to the fishing folk who lived nearby and has raised several generations of a feline family tree that could rival the entire population of small towns in America in sheer numbers. On this most recent visit, I learnt she moved to a nearby neighborhood to start a new 'township' or maybe cult this time. Leaving the current digs to her trusted daughter. The sleepy cow that ambled through the cross street, always seemed to have missed the morning call to milk on cue and also appearing to pray for mercy for her tardiness. The murder of crows atop the power lines plotting their next meal which typically ranged from upma(breakfast porridge) to curd rice (rice with yogurt) to left over biryani packets to unlucky sewer rats that float up as bloated carcasses by the road side. The dude who is adorned in branded clothing from head (band) to foot(wear) and swinging his arms so wide, he is tantalizingly close to taking out fellow walkers or joggers who come anywhere near him. The groups or gangs of people who maybe friends or colleagues gossiping as they walk together, adamantly walking side by side enveloping the entire stretch of road, creating bottlenecks and stranding other morning warriors in infuriating run-ins and 'traffic-jams'. I could go on about the actors on feet alone but I must also acknowledge the people on cycles (tea vendors, trash pickers, and so on), motorbikes, cars, school buses, all vanishing through the morning fog like Jason Bourne in a market in Marrakesh.
At the end of this sensory overload of a morning run, I get ready to indulge in a piping hot south-Indian filter kaapi(coffee), but alas it is the American Mr. Joe Cuppa heralding what promises to be another quiet, boring day filled with routine and minutiae. But I feel comforted knowing I can always close my eyes anytime and revisit the colorful denizens of my fatherland.
