I was ten when they renamed Madras to Chennai. I thought it was a funny name for a city. It took me a while to learn it was pronounced Chen-nai, not chenn-aai.
Not ChennaiThis was my first time there in seventeen years. The train was on time, thanks to the hundred and one coconuts I had broken at the Ganapathy temple that afternoon. My cousin, who/whom (Grammar nerds, some help here!) we were accompanying, and I had the upper berths, and my Mom had one of the side berths. The lower berths were occupied by an elderly Tamil couple, who went to sleep as soon as the train left and showed no signs of life until the train reached Chennai central. (I wanted to poke them to see if they were alive, but my Mom is not a humanitarian.)
We stayed with Mom's good friend (who is known far and wide as Maami). After Maama Uncle (I called him that, he was plain Maama to everyone else) died, Maami's son (Thengenta Maram Chettan) insisted she move in with him, and they have all been living in Chennai from before it became Chennai.
The first thing that hit me was the heat. No, it was the second thing. The first thing was the bag the idiot behind me rammed into my leg. About the heat. It was...hot. As if the fires of hell burnt under the roads. I could feel my skin shrivelling and peeling, forcing me to invest in a bottle of sunscreen lotion. Unlike here in Kerala, the heat was not accompanied by sticky humidity, making my hair less frizzy for the few days I was there.
My hair after a shampooWe did a lot of shopping, mostly at Saravana Stores, the reason for which can be described in one word. Bargain. We finally bought a huge bag to carry home all the stuff we had bought. And most of it consisted of clothes. For me. Because my Mom lurves me. But being the genius that I am, I left my new shoes back in Chennai. If that isn't an epic fail, then, the Kauravas' failure is.
TM Chettan's wife teaches French, and she inspired me to learn French again. I haven't actually begun to re-learn French because je suis lazy, mais je serai soon.
The kids were great. The Brainiac Cricketer is thirteen, and the Drama Queen is eight. We had sword fights with real fake swords, and I ruthlessly killed both of them with my cunning moves, despite sustaining serious injuries, including the loss of a limb. This should come as no surprise to those of you who know that I have a mental age of twelve.
MeI also met this wonderful guy. He is very charming and handsome. He has the most wonderful brown eyes. He actually listens when I talk, and stayed by my side the entire time I was ill. And when he's feeling particularly happy, we play games! He is absolutely perfect. We would have gotten engaged, except for one little deterrent. He is only nine months old. And also, the fact that Linnaeus would call him Canis familiaris.
If you really loved me, you'd share some of that chocolate with me.Now if you know any humans who fit the above description, and is at least as old as me, drop me a line.
Finally, though we had to tear ourselves away, we were on the train back home. Since I hadn't sacrificed any coconuts to Ganapathy for the return trip, the train reached home two hours late. But not before another adventure. I'm a regular Nancy Drew.
The couple in the berths next to ours seemed to have forgotten one of their shopping bags after they disembarked. When we noticed the bag, we decided to find their address somehow and return their stuff to them. They had been very helpful during the night, helping us get safer berths and all. As we were going through the contents, finding plenty of shirts but no address, discussing how we could trace them through the railway authorities, one guy pokes his head in, and says, "Hey! That's mine!" Lots of embarrassment all around, but, as we consoled ourselves, it was in a good cause.
That was my trip to Chennai. Don't hold your breath waiting for the next part. Hypoxia isn't good for you.
