"It isn't time that passes by, its you and I"
Ruskin Bond
The windows are much more open now. There is the moist smell of the cool fresh breeze, just beginning to get chilly. The rain gods are not pouring vengeance out like barbaric monsters, but dancing to a little tune with mother nature. The streetlights are brightly lit, and the flickering of the neon lights are more luminous. I can sense the maddening rush of the city, as the road is buzz with the droning sound of vehicles. The woman behind the bike seems reluctant, only by a hand of a social moral code more than everything else to cling on to her man dressed in the choicest of white shirts, smeared in sandalwood paste and delighted at the freedom of a 'mundu'.
Yes, this is not Mumbai, but a city known as 'Chennai' to some, 'Madh-Raas' to others. The 'outsider' comes in with a image of a city immersed in a sour tinge of 'Sambhar' with looks of disgust on his face. The weather presumably must always be hot, and people must be drenched in sweat. But these are some of the good times of my life. The Gods above have decided to be generous and bless all humankind with their existence. I carry images of a city which is bathed in brownish hue, where the roads are drenched with torrential rain which has been pouring for 3 days continuously now. When the silence around this city is not filled with the pitter patter of rain drops on the streets, a cold chilly wind blows all around, encompassing the city in its pleasant armour.
On a cold breezy evening such as this, with its unusual tinge of chill, I decided to take a walk with my friends along such streets and through my new found eyes of discovery, I realised that the memories of Chennai I am going to carry around with me are those of absolutely silent still nights and rooftop bars. Apparently, the city is full of them and occupies a lonely and isolated space in Chennai's night life. Its much like how the most subtle and beautiful of things get lost under the vision of the human eye due to consent or pure ignorance. The rooftop bars are eerily silent, and the movement of the winds adds to the silent charm. There is no music and a handful of waiters. The presence of a drink in such solitude is but an understood statement, but what is extremely gratifying in this company of solitude, is the panoramic view of this city , resting in its quiet beauty during the lull of the night. As the time passes by in such a moment, I realise that the wind, which has been with me for quite a comforting while now in this journey, is going to carry the stories of our pasts and small joys, which we discuss as the alcohol rhythmically begins to soothe our parched throats. That is pretty much how the lovely forces of nature have somehow symbiotically arranged themselves at peace with the urban chaos in the metro cities of INDIA. The oceans of Mumbai, the rare cool winds of Chennai carry with them an ever compassing motherly notion of carrying such stories all the while, of loss, happiness and the dreams of life.
The night is turning more quieter now and in the hush of the breeze, I soak in the final view of the city from the top and decide that the empty streets are one to be explored. Having got a car at our disposal, we switch on the radio and find ourselves starring to a mist of droplets on our screen. Much like our sense of perception, the glass shields reflect the haze outside and inside our lives. To my absolute thrill and shock, the radio plays some vintage classic tracks and the speeding traffic signals play an audience to 'LA Woman' sung by Jim Morrisson.
Sure, I may not have written about the beaches of Chennai, and how the ECR is the road to absolute heaven or on the flipside,the humid climate and the absence of a genuine warmth among people, but the ideal man is not a tourist, he is an explorer. And in those silent nights at the rooftop bars, and the crowds stuck in the traffic jam , all of this exploration gave rise to a chilling but comforting thought.
GETTING LOST IN A CROWD ISN'T ALL THAT BAD.
Harish Mohan
Ruskin Bond
The windows are much more open now. There is the moist smell of the cool fresh breeze, just beginning to get chilly. The rain gods are not pouring vengeance out like barbaric monsters, but dancing to a little tune with mother nature. The streetlights are brightly lit, and the flickering of the neon lights are more luminous. I can sense the maddening rush of the city, as the road is buzz with the droning sound of vehicles. The woman behind the bike seems reluctant, only by a hand of a social moral code more than everything else to cling on to her man dressed in the choicest of white shirts, smeared in sandalwood paste and delighted at the freedom of a 'mundu'.
Yes, this is not Mumbai, but a city known as 'Chennai' to some, 'Madh-Raas' to others. The 'outsider' comes in with a image of a city immersed in a sour tinge of 'Sambhar' with looks of disgust on his face. The weather presumably must always be hot, and people must be drenched in sweat. But these are some of the good times of my life. The Gods above have decided to be generous and bless all humankind with their existence. I carry images of a city which is bathed in brownish hue, where the roads are drenched with torrential rain which has been pouring for 3 days continuously now. When the silence around this city is not filled with the pitter patter of rain drops on the streets, a cold chilly wind blows all around, encompassing the city in its pleasant armour.
On a cold breezy evening such as this, with its unusual tinge of chill, I decided to take a walk with my friends along such streets and through my new found eyes of discovery, I realised that the memories of Chennai I am going to carry around with me are those of absolutely silent still nights and rooftop bars. Apparently, the city is full of them and occupies a lonely and isolated space in Chennai's night life. Its much like how the most subtle and beautiful of things get lost under the vision of the human eye due to consent or pure ignorance. The rooftop bars are eerily silent, and the movement of the winds adds to the silent charm. There is no music and a handful of waiters. The presence of a drink in such solitude is but an understood statement, but what is extremely gratifying in this company of solitude, is the panoramic view of this city , resting in its quiet beauty during the lull of the night. As the time passes by in such a moment, I realise that the wind, which has been with me for quite a comforting while now in this journey, is going to carry the stories of our pasts and small joys, which we discuss as the alcohol rhythmically begins to soothe our parched throats. That is pretty much how the lovely forces of nature have somehow symbiotically arranged themselves at peace with the urban chaos in the metro cities of INDIA. The oceans of Mumbai, the rare cool winds of Chennai carry with them an ever compassing motherly notion of carrying such stories all the while, of loss, happiness and the dreams of life.
The night is turning more quieter now and in the hush of the breeze, I soak in the final view of the city from the top and decide that the empty streets are one to be explored. Having got a car at our disposal, we switch on the radio and find ourselves starring to a mist of droplets on our screen. Much like our sense of perception, the glass shields reflect the haze outside and inside our lives. To my absolute thrill and shock, the radio plays some vintage classic tracks and the speeding traffic signals play an audience to 'LA Woman' sung by Jim Morrisson.
Sure, I may not have written about the beaches of Chennai, and how the ECR is the road to absolute heaven or on the flipside,the humid climate and the absence of a genuine warmth among people, but the ideal man is not a tourist, he is an explorer. And in those silent nights at the rooftop bars, and the crowds stuck in the traffic jam , all of this exploration gave rise to a chilling but comforting thought.
GETTING LOST IN A CROWD ISN'T ALL THAT BAD.
Harish Mohan
2 comments:
ur perception of chennai sounds rather peaceful...hmm... even delightful. qutie different from the memories i have of the place...nice piece... i like the way u rite.
guess u need to spend some more time to decipher Madras (i like this name more). The beach for instance is far more violent and huge, the temple culture which as a shawl is wrapped around the city trying to protect it from getting too urbane and snooty, red blood which is so much visible on the eyes of its residents, the man made gods and their insane worshippers, the mad craze for everything tat is huge (may it be even khushboo)
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