(An edited version was published in The Hindu- Sunday Dairy on June 23, 2012)
It’s been 6 weeks. I was dying to get away from Chennai’s scorching heat and sweltering humidity. And was excited to head to Canada to visit my daughter. It was wonderful seeing her with her new family and we have been basking in their warmth and hospitality.
Canada is a beautiful country. The air is pure and unpolluted, the water is sterile enough to be drunk straight out of a tap, roads are squeaky clean, cars are big and state of the art, homes are spacious and opulent and people are gracious and friendly. There are lakes and streams everywhere, verdant parks and gardens in the middle of a big city. Every street looks the same and homes are designed to have the same façade. Every city has the same chain of restaurants and coffee shops.
People respect lines and solemnly queue up for everything. No mad scramble to get to the counter before you. Discipline, punctuality, civic sense, dignity of labour, mutual respect for fellow citizens are qualities imbibed by Indians living here, while also trying to retain the flavour and ethnicity of their home country. Every Indian has stories about failing the driving license test a few times before getting one and being handed the infamous ‘tickets’ from traffic cops for over -speeding, bad parking or jumping signals. Indian men help around the kitchen and do chores, children help with clearing garbage, women work very hard at home and outside and everyone strives to fit in, in an alien country they call home now. So much so, they find India too dirty, disorganised, corrupt, convoluted, crowded, chaotic, with nightmarish traffic and people prying into each other’s lives and getting entangled in family politics and gossip. While men may consider returning to their home land someday, I suspect the women may never allow that to happen, as traditional roles have rather blurred and been blotted out here, much to their comfort and convenience. The weirdest thing for me is to hear our kids speak the American way – accent, twang, shrug, rolling eyes and all…it’s almost unreal, coming from an Arjun, Shyam or Divya! I sometimes wish they should be genetically modified to have white skin!! And first generation adults have a confused accent, as if they can’t decide which way to go.
Chennai is everything that Canada is not. Yet, I miss Chennai – its heat, humidity, crowd, noise and all. Chennai throbs with art and culture. There are people on the streets, at all times. Groups of youngsters hang out near tea shops and juice centres all through the day. Posters scream welcome to some politician attending a meeting or gracing an occasion; banners proclaiming successful completion of a term in office of a minister claim our attention; our ubiquitous Chief Minister smiles and greets us from every highway/ over bridge/ traffic junction from giant-sized posters sponsored by sycophants; fan clubs celebrate their favourite film star’s birthday with posters pasted shabbily on walls; and then there are random, ugly graffiti all over our walls in ‘Singara Chennai’! There are vendors and hawkers on every street, however posh, selling fruits and vegetables. There are roadside eateries doling out just about anything, including ‘panneer butter’ and ‘Andhra style chinese items’.
We wake up to a cocktail of sounds and smells. Smell of food from neighbour’s kitchen, vehicles plying and honking on the road, M.S.Subbulakshmi chanting from a distance, Ilayaraja blaring from somewhere, cycle bells, an old lady loudly selling keerai, fragrance of agarbathi and flowers from puja rooms, our neighbour mama ringing the bell as he completes his morning prayers, dishes clanging as our maid cleans them.
We can hail an auto or a cab if we need to go out. We can stop anytime anywhere and get directions to get to any destination. Auto drivers and pedestrians are aplenty and willing to guide or misguide you. No need to use a GPS - the clever device that tells us which exit to take on which highway.
I miss the people. The simple folk crisscrossing roads all day. Who are always toiling to make ends meet and yet do not complain. Who work for us for a pittance and yet respect us as masters. Who are grim reminders of how fortunate we are in more ways than one.
There is something about home and routine. When we are caught in it, we long to get away from the madness. When we are away from it, we miss the very same madness!
It’s been 6 weeks. I was dying to get away from Chennai’s scorching heat and sweltering humidity. And was excited to head to Canada to visit my daughter. It was wonderful seeing her with her new family and we have been basking in their warmth and hospitality.
Canada is a beautiful country. The air is pure and unpolluted, the water is sterile enough to be drunk straight out of a tap, roads are squeaky clean, cars are big and state of the art, homes are spacious and opulent and people are gracious and friendly. There are lakes and streams everywhere, verdant parks and gardens in the middle of a big city. Every street looks the same and homes are designed to have the same façade. Every city has the same chain of restaurants and coffee shops.
People respect lines and solemnly queue up for everything. No mad scramble to get to the counter before you. Discipline, punctuality, civic sense, dignity of labour, mutual respect for fellow citizens are qualities imbibed by Indians living here, while also trying to retain the flavour and ethnicity of their home country. Every Indian has stories about failing the driving license test a few times before getting one and being handed the infamous ‘tickets’ from traffic cops for over -speeding, bad parking or jumping signals. Indian men help around the kitchen and do chores, children help with clearing garbage, women work very hard at home and outside and everyone strives to fit in, in an alien country they call home now. So much so, they find India too dirty, disorganised, corrupt, convoluted, crowded, chaotic, with nightmarish traffic and people prying into each other’s lives and getting entangled in family politics and gossip. While men may consider returning to their home land someday, I suspect the women may never allow that to happen, as traditional roles have rather blurred and been blotted out here, much to their comfort and convenience. The weirdest thing for me is to hear our kids speak the American way – accent, twang, shrug, rolling eyes and all…it’s almost unreal, coming from an Arjun, Shyam or Divya! I sometimes wish they should be genetically modified to have white skin!! And first generation adults have a confused accent, as if they can’t decide which way to go.
Chennai is everything that Canada is not. Yet, I miss Chennai – its heat, humidity, crowd, noise and all. Chennai throbs with art and culture. There are people on the streets, at all times. Groups of youngsters hang out near tea shops and juice centres all through the day. Posters scream welcome to some politician attending a meeting or gracing an occasion; banners proclaiming successful completion of a term in office of a minister claim our attention; our ubiquitous Chief Minister smiles and greets us from every highway/ over bridge/ traffic junction from giant-sized posters sponsored by sycophants; fan clubs celebrate their favourite film star’s birthday with posters pasted shabbily on walls; and then there are random, ugly graffiti all over our walls in ‘Singara Chennai’! There are vendors and hawkers on every street, however posh, selling fruits and vegetables. There are roadside eateries doling out just about anything, including ‘panneer butter’ and ‘Andhra style chinese items’.
We wake up to a cocktail of sounds and smells. Smell of food from neighbour’s kitchen, vehicles plying and honking on the road, M.S.Subbulakshmi chanting from a distance, Ilayaraja blaring from somewhere, cycle bells, an old lady loudly selling keerai, fragrance of agarbathi and flowers from puja rooms, our neighbour mama ringing the bell as he completes his morning prayers, dishes clanging as our maid cleans them.
We can hail an auto or a cab if we need to go out. We can stop anytime anywhere and get directions to get to any destination. Auto drivers and pedestrians are aplenty and willing to guide or misguide you. No need to use a GPS - the clever device that tells us which exit to take on which highway.
I miss the people. The simple folk crisscrossing roads all day. Who are always toiling to make ends meet and yet do not complain. Who work for us for a pittance and yet respect us as masters. Who are grim reminders of how fortunate we are in more ways than one.
There is something about home and routine. When we are caught in it, we long to get away from the madness. When we are away from it, we miss the very same madness!
Hi all,
ReplyDeleteHave a nice day.
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