Remembering to remember

About eleven months ago, I was home, in the middle of another transition. My degree complete, hunting for a job was my new preoccupation. In between however, I got an opportunity to dive into the lives of my old friends, which I really appreciated. Having left home so many years ago, I had never really had this opportunity on my short trips home.

On one such occasion, I accompanied my friend on a unique evening— he was reading a Christmas story at a pantomime-fundraiser put up by young kids at a local primary school. The venue was idyllic, and the energy, palpable.  I wrote the words below at the back of a supermarket receipt on that evening- December 16^th, 2010, without striking out a single word- my pen didn’t leave the paper, even for an instant. I write them here merely to save them and hold on to them. Sitting amongst these kids and their excited parents. Sitting amongst red bricks and a cool Chennai sea breeze. I wrote like it didn’t matter.  

  I sometimes regret not discovering this city as a young adventurous person, on my own. I might have discovered so many hidden secrets like this. But isn’t home where you are mostly protected and shielded from the adventures you want to be on? Well that was my home. Maybe that’s why, till now Chennai has been a     box       - a place of no escape.  A place of no independent thought or action. A place of sedentary life and unimaginative thinking. Or is this something that I have imagined up? Was my life in London or Brighton or Chirag really any more inspiring? Actually- YES! Because the moment I arrived, I was switched on. I was ready for things that would be hurled at me.

Anyway, back to my point. I find it odd to be sitting here amongst young parents of Chennai- remembering those days when Amma used to be one of these women (but her look of course was more regal Indian than Western chic). It takes me back to days of cycling around the CMC campus, arguing with Minu about riding bikes and swinging on the Vidyalayam swing set. I have to keep reminding myself that if I ever have children, I want them to have memories in spaces and places like these. Is that something that might be possible? In fifteen years’ time, will this safe haven be transformed into a ten-storey apartment building with sea views? I really hope not.

I realise I have so much to look forward to, to experience. It’s all too much. I feel so overwhelmed— like I’ve experimented more than enough for a few lifetimes. But looking around me, I realise there is hopefully much to come. It’s scary to think that these little people are growing and learning and absorbing just like I did. I’m really grateful that I have this not-so-normal opportunity to step into another world of Chennai— one that throws me way out of my comfort zone, but keeps me smiling the whole time.

I can’t ever forget that balmy evening in Chennai. It meant so much to me in ways that are completely inexplicable. Almost a year later, sitting in a beautiful, but strangely unfamiliar place, having added Dilli to the list of places I’ve transitioned into, I’m humbled. By the opportunities, the love, the relationships, the people and an amalgamation of it all— the memories.