About Madrasi

The name was a fleeting idea that my delightfully idle brain conjured up when scrolling past a trite Facebook post that said,

 

'Chennai is a city, Madras is an emotion'

 

Madras – The word is more than the vintage photograph of a railway station with a clock tower that I’ve never heard chime. Trust me, I lived in that city for good many years as a peculiarly curious teen and passed through the same station’s red brick walls, to board trains that chugged me away to places that I would call home – some I would come to love, some I would not like as much, some that made me bawl happy tears. Never one chime of greeting or goodbye from that wheezy ol’ clock tower.

 

But the yellow sign with bold black letters of Chennai City always made me think of warm sambhar rice and potato fry. It was home. Although, now my preferred lentil soup maker has moved to Bengaluru as she settles into her well-deserved retirement that she is currently busy freaking out about (the woman doesn’t know how to NOT work. Smh!). I cannot deny feeling an odd pull and a bout of nostalgia for the place I called home for the best part of my life.

 

As I hopped about many cities across the length of this country and met more hoppers living in their own little ponds and oceans, I very quickly realized most hoppers had no clue about my beloved ol’ clock tower. They had their own towers that probably chimed. They struggled to identify which specific faraway pond I belonged to. Well, to my own surprise, as did I.

 

I couldn’t possibly fit into any of the neatly labelled boxes with carefully drawn land boundaries, thoughtfully reared languages and dialects. I blended well and stood out in stark contrast with every culture. Hence, the Madrasi. The colonial past that lazily carved one big boundary that neatly places all of me into one not-so-little box. I have to acknowledge the fact that it is sometimes used as a racial slur. I personally choose to delight in your ignorance, but to each their own. The meandering part of the name is less storied. Perhaps it has a little to do with how adulting actually feels like!

 

Why did I take up this pet project? Well, because I can. People pay me a few bucks to write for them. Thought I’d do myself a favor and write something without word limits, SEO keywords, and traffic stats. To write about the nostalgia that a whole generation would share, the nitty gritty of adulting that me and most of my friends wade through, the places and culture that I am grateful to experience and share. In hope that I help bringing faraway ponds closer or at the very least, familiar, for everyone to see, learn, cherish, and possibly experience. Cheers to all of us as we fumble through a wonderful adulting journey!