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Madras musings

Can a man love two women at the same time? Tangentially, can one love two cities at the same time? The latter is a question I wrestle with every time I leave Mumbai, my adopted city, and spend time in Chennai, the city of my birth and growing up.

This time was no better, even though it was a briefer-than-usual visit. As I trundled along the roads and bylanes of Chennai, I could not but be struck by the force of memories, all as strong as they were 15 years ago when, as a callow, wet-behind-the-ear youth I set out to break personal shackles and make a life for myself in a strange city.

Oh, memories can be bittersweet, the taste not altering with the passage of time. The images, while in Mumbai, may be patina-laden, but all it takes is a bit of the Chennai sun to burnish them back to clarity. Perhaps time heals, but that would be only if we are talking of wounds. Bruises just don't go away, regardless of time.

But things change externally with time, for sure, and that is not a statement that is going to win me laurels for being original. Still, the extent, and more recently the pace, of change in Chennai is breathtaking. What was a sleepy, overgrown town in my time is today a city that is as swinging as they come. And mind you, this is not to say that the old has been abandoned. Quite the contrary. If you want to see the traditional coexisting with the neo-modern, the Kanchivarams keeping pace with Calvin Kleins, check out Chennai. And my apologies for sounding like a travel brochure.

You know there are only three climates in Chennai -- hot, hotter, and hottest -- so I won't bother you with details of the heat there. What I will bother you with, instead, are my late and unsung father's theory for why the city was facing such a chronic water scarcity that it has spawned an entire jokes factory (check out 'Madan' in Ananda Vikatan on the subject). A sample: Q: So your son is getting married, what have you asked in dowry? A: One water tanker a day only. Q: Why is the army here? A: To guard the local well...

About my father's theory. On the Marina promenade is a long line of statues of ancient and medieval Tamil personalities, among whom is Kannagi, the heroine of the classic Silappadikaram (Tale of the Anklet), in an incandescent pose as she burns down Madurai with her wrath, holding an anklet aloft. Sivaswamy Sr would say that since she is facing Chennai city, her ire has scorched the city. Not content with voicing his view, my dad wrote to quite a few publications, arguing that the statue face the other way.

In retrospect, I can see why his suggestion was not heeded. One'd rather the city is sere, rather than have a dried-up Bay of Bengal!

Flyovers are the craze in both cities. Thankfully for Chennai, there is no civic vigilante derailing the city's traffic with PILs, so the southern city is a dream to drive around now. The journey from airport to home, which normally took me around 40 minutes, was done in just 20 minutes this time. Some flyovers are still under construction, yes, but I can well imagine what the city must look like when they are all done.

Even otherwise, this time I felt a vibrancy in the city that I had not felt for a long, long time. Economic inactivity, which had driven me and countless others like me out of the state in search of gainful employment, seems to be a thing of the past. How can I say that after spending just two days there? Simple, by using my rule of thumb. This being the avarice indicator of the Chennai autorickshaw and taxi drivers. Normally as renunciatory as Hansie Cronje before a match, this time I found them unusually undemanding. If that is not a sign of things looking up, what else is!

If Chennai is wearing a new gloss, at least some of the credit must go to its mayor M K Stalin, aka Chief Minister M Karunanidhi's son.

Of course, there can be a dissenting view over my attribution of praise, but I stick to my statement. Stalin is proactive, a fact that even his critics cannot dispute. He is said to go on city tours and get things done, like having garbage cleared on the spot. The intent is obvious: he hopes to succeed his father at Fort St George when the time comes, and till then showcase his administrative abilities using Chennai as the guinea pig.

One question that I am buffeted by whenever I go down to Chennai is, when will I return? And that is also a question that my wife and I often wrestle with, ourselves. There are any number of factors that endear Chennai over Mumbai as a place to set down one's roots, not the least of which is that one can have a 'life' in the south. Commuting time is less, life is easier, good schools, great getaways, a sense of family, and not the least, Tamil which rules one's being... All these persuasive factors were defeated with the single argument that one cannot be professionally happy in Chennai, as one can be in Mumbai despite so many odds.

Mumbai may wring out your soul, but it has a magic about it that I have not encountered elsewhere on this planet -- bar during a distant visit to Manhattan. So the last 15 years it has been like I am wedded to two women: I love Chennai with my heart, while the head is firmly with Mumbai. And I thought I could live with this personal dichotomy.

Till this time, when the truth literally stumbled out of the mouth of babes.

As my seven-year-old daughter undertook the long commute between my parents' and in-laws' house for the umpteenth time in her life, she asked me, 'Daddy, how come you were born in Chennai but live in Mumbai?' Wearily I explained to her my compulsions 15 years ago which drove me to Mumbai and have kept me there since. Cocksure about her reply, I then told my Marathi-speaking, Mumbai-born and Mumbai-loving kid, 'But we will live wherever you want to...'

And got zapped by the reply in Tamil: 'Enakku Chennai venum Daddy...'

I think my head and heart are now feeling very confused.

Saisuresh Sivaswamy