I was seventeen years old, when I moved to a new city for the very first time. To study, and start a new adventure, all by myself. I still remember how exciting it was, the day my dad dropped me to college. Most kids were scared and sad that their parents were leaving, scared of being ragged by seniors, scared of things like having to do their own laundry. But me? I was thrilled.
I had always wanted to be independent. To live by my own terms, make my own living. And college was just the first step of that ladder. And I was lucky enough to start that journey in one of the most amazing cities ever – Chennai.
That’s right, you read that sentence correctly. I did, in fact, say Chennai.
Surprised? So was I.
When I first told my friends and family that I’d be going to Chennai to study, I heard what people usually hear – “It’s so hot there!”
“The people are horrible”
“Oh, you’re going to turn into a Madraasi now huh?”
“You don’t know Tamil? Dude you’re screwed.”
Yeah, all of that.
But I was too occupied with the adrenaline of starting a new adventure to pay heed to what anyone said. I decided to go to Chennai with an open mind, and in return, Chennai totally blew my mind away.
It wasn’t always easy though. Travelling was hard (and expensive, if you know what I mean), food was different, people were new, and all put together it was basically like someone had thrown me far away from my comfort zone.
And then I got sick.
For the first time in my life, no one was there to hold my hair up as I vomited. No one to clean up the mess after me. No one to get me water and no one to sleep beside. I missed my mom. I missed having her take care of me when I got sick in the middle of the night. I did call her, and tell her that I threw up but there wasn’t much she could do over the phone. It was my first horrible night in Chennai. One of many, I soon found out. I was so angry for choosing to stay away from home. I was terribly homesick and I just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep all day but the fear of losing attendance (which was quite real, in my first year) kept me going for my classes.
After visiting the doctor, I found out that I had an intestine infection and could only eat bland food for 2 weeks. I remember thinking to myself – bland food? Where the hell am I going to get that? I’m a hosteller; I have to eat whatever is made in the mess!
I thought that maybe I should ask the lady who managed the mess back then, if she could have some food made separately for me. I remember how nervous I was to ask for help, how silly of me to think that.
So right before dinner, I went up to her and explained my situation, and asked if she could help me. She didn’t say anything, she just smiled and nodded at me, and I wasn’t sure what it meant, so I just went back to my room.
That night when I went down for dinner, I was mentally prepared for eating half cooked chapattis, watered down dal and spicy poriyal. But that didn’t happen.
Just as I sat down, the lady who runs the mess came by my chair and put a bowlful of food in front of me.
It was curd rice.
I was instantly taken back to the times I’d get sick at home, and mom would make ‘dahi chawal’ to help soothe my tummy. I remembered how nice and cool my stomach felt after eating it. Suddenly, I remembered everything – I felt at home, even though home was hundreds of kilometres away.
And just in that moment, I didn’t hate Chennai anymore.
I’d be lying if I said that I never complained ofcourse I did. I still do. All the time. The heat really is unbearable, the auto-drivers do overcharge, almost always and the food is really spicy, for me. But all that seems so small compared to the good stuff.
Like the friends I’ve made, the people I’ve met, the experiences I’ve had – all of which was made possible, only because of this amazing place. Somehow, I managed to find a home away from home here.
I don’t know where or how though. Maybe it was in that plate of curd rice I got when I was sick. Maybe it was in the people who didn’t make me feel like an outsider. Maybe it was in the god damned most amazing idli that Malini’s mother would ever so kindly make for me, at my request. (Those idlis are bae, I shit you not it’s soft as pillows.) Maybe it was in Devi’s hug, which was always available on demand. Maybe it was in the comfort of Mansi’s room – where just for a moment my problems didn’t feel like problems and everything felt okay. Maybe it was in the gossip session with my girlies (if you’re reading this, just know that I love all 4 of you). Maybe it was those long and kinda repetitive but always fun Climber meetings (sorry, Mr President, please don’t kill me.)
I guess I can’t really point out one singular reason why I find this city absolutely mesmerising. I never will be able to, because it’s always giving me new reasons to love it more.
A few months back, I remember this conversation my mom and I had – we were laughing about how in the 17 years that I lived in Bangalore, I never saw a calamity or an outrage, but in the three years I’ve stayed in Chennai I saw a flood, a cyclone, riots, and protests. But the unity and kindness I witnessed in the midst of all this was simply breath-taking.
There’s something about this place that just captures my heart. The coffee, the beaches, the tarot card readers that are determined to get couples chilling on the beach to feel awkward, the temples, the sweat inducing weather, the Bovonto soda that tastes like cough syrup – all these little things have so many memories attached to it. So many moments of happiness that have been etched onto my skin that sometimes I forget that I’m not from here.
You know, every city has its own charm – no matter what other people say about it. If you only keep an open mind, and try and love the place, you will get love in return.
And no, things will never get easier. Problems will never disappear. Life will never be a straight road uphill. There will be sad days, there will be fear, and there will be turmoil.
But you know what?
There’s nothing a plate of thaiyyir saadam can’t fix.
I had always wanted to be independent. To live by my own terms, make my own living. And college was just the first step of that ladder. And I was lucky enough to start that journey in one of the most amazing cities ever – Chennai.
That’s right, you read that sentence correctly. I did, in fact, say Chennai.
Surprised? So was I.
When I first told my friends and family that I’d be going to Chennai to study, I heard what people usually hear – “It’s so hot there!”
“The people are horrible”
“Oh, you’re going to turn into a Madraasi now huh?”
“You don’t know Tamil? Dude you’re screwed.”
Yeah, all of that.
But I was too occupied with the adrenaline of starting a new adventure to pay heed to what anyone said. I decided to go to Chennai with an open mind, and in return, Chennai totally blew my mind away.
It wasn’t always easy though. Travelling was hard (and expensive, if you know what I mean), food was different, people were new, and all put together it was basically like someone had thrown me far away from my comfort zone.
And then I got sick.
For the first time in my life, no one was there to hold my hair up as I vomited. No one to clean up the mess after me. No one to get me water and no one to sleep beside. I missed my mom. I missed having her take care of me when I got sick in the middle of the night. I did call her, and tell her that I threw up but there wasn’t much she could do over the phone. It was my first horrible night in Chennai. One of many, I soon found out. I was so angry for choosing to stay away from home. I was terribly homesick and I just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep all day but the fear of losing attendance (which was quite real, in my first year) kept me going for my classes.
After visiting the doctor, I found out that I had an intestine infection and could only eat bland food for 2 weeks. I remember thinking to myself – bland food? Where the hell am I going to get that? I’m a hosteller; I have to eat whatever is made in the mess!
I thought that maybe I should ask the lady who managed the mess back then, if she could have some food made separately for me. I remember how nervous I was to ask for help, how silly of me to think that.
So right before dinner, I went up to her and explained my situation, and asked if she could help me. She didn’t say anything, she just smiled and nodded at me, and I wasn’t sure what it meant, so I just went back to my room.
That night when I went down for dinner, I was mentally prepared for eating half cooked chapattis, watered down dal and spicy poriyal. But that didn’t happen.
Just as I sat down, the lady who runs the mess came by my chair and put a bowlful of food in front of me.
It was curd rice.
I was instantly taken back to the times I’d get sick at home, and mom would make ‘dahi chawal’ to help soothe my tummy. I remembered how nice and cool my stomach felt after eating it. Suddenly, I remembered everything – I felt at home, even though home was hundreds of kilometres away.
And just in that moment, I didn’t hate Chennai anymore.
I’d be lying if I said that I never complained ofcourse I did. I still do. All the time. The heat really is unbearable, the auto-drivers do overcharge, almost always and the food is really spicy, for me. But all that seems so small compared to the good stuff.
Like the friends I’ve made, the people I’ve met, the experiences I’ve had – all of which was made possible, only because of this amazing place. Somehow, I managed to find a home away from home here.
I don’t know where or how though. Maybe it was in that plate of curd rice I got when I was sick. Maybe it was in the people who didn’t make me feel like an outsider. Maybe it was in the god damned most amazing idli that Malini’s mother would ever so kindly make for me, at my request. (Those idlis are bae, I shit you not it’s soft as pillows.) Maybe it was in Devi’s hug, which was always available on demand. Maybe it was in the comfort of Mansi’s room – where just for a moment my problems didn’t feel like problems and everything felt okay. Maybe it was in the gossip session with my girlies (if you’re reading this, just know that I love all 4 of you). Maybe it was those long and kinda repetitive but always fun Climber meetings (sorry, Mr President, please don’t kill me.)
I guess I can’t really point out one singular reason why I find this city absolutely mesmerising. I never will be able to, because it’s always giving me new reasons to love it more.
A few months back, I remember this conversation my mom and I had – we were laughing about how in the 17 years that I lived in Bangalore, I never saw a calamity or an outrage, but in the three years I’ve stayed in Chennai I saw a flood, a cyclone, riots, and protests. But the unity and kindness I witnessed in the midst of all this was simply breath-taking.
There’s something about this place that just captures my heart. The coffee, the beaches, the tarot card readers that are determined to get couples chilling on the beach to feel awkward, the temples, the sweat inducing weather, the Bovonto soda that tastes like cough syrup – all these little things have so many memories attached to it. So many moments of happiness that have been etched onto my skin that sometimes I forget that I’m not from here.
You know, every city has its own charm – no matter what other people say about it. If you only keep an open mind, and try and love the place, you will get love in return.
And no, things will never get easier. Problems will never disappear. Life will never be a straight road uphill. There will be sad days, there will be fear, and there will be turmoil.
But you know what?
There’s nothing a plate of thaiyyir saadam can’t fix.
