Grounded Roots

You know how things go in the twenties. Your thoughts oscillate like a teenager, your mind clamors for stability like a middle aged man and your sighs betray a want for a break from the hectic pace of life, in the stages where one should enter Vanaprastha and Sanyasa.

Tumultuous, torrid, confusing, soul shattering thoughts that makes one relive the imagined glories of the past in the morning, contemplate the exciting mysteries of tomorrow in the afternoon, before being dragged kicking and screaming, to live through the weary, burdensome chores of today, in the evening.

Well, one particular morning, when pangs of nostalgia proved exceptionally enchanting, i pulled out my school album. Besides the initial shock (S#$T, i used to look like that!! Wow, i had so much Hair!!) one thing that particularly struck me was, almost everyone in the album had moved outside Chennai. I'll be the first to admit I'm rotten at keeping in touch with folks. There's just a couple of people from school I keep in occasional touch with. But i do know that a lot of the people smirking, giggling, whispering, with a shine in their eyes, unaware of the disappointments, joys and turbulent phase of life ahead of them. As i looked at them, i wondered, how many of them will look at their school photos and wonder, Chennai is where i became the person i am today?

And as is usual, my thoughts then extended to a generation before us. A lot of them from small corners of India. In a Tam Bram family like mine, places you come across frequently in the journey into what has gone past include Kumbakkonam, Sriperumbudur, Virudhangar, Thanjavur, Karaikudi, and so on. A lot of those folks used to tell me, that Madras (love that name) used to be the promised land for them. A place with the promise of ever flowing rivers of milk and Coffee. A place where people got rich, and linked to the grand engine called South India.

A lot of them have grandchildren growing up in America. And in the span of two generations, a chasm has emerged. A gulf dividing cultures, sensibilities, viewpoints and beliefs. I have sadly, never made a trip to the towns where my grandparents grew up. Yet, i can imagine that my urban upbringing will bring about a disconnect if I ever do manage to make a trip.

There are stories there that i will never know about, sadly. About the frustrations at the moment when it dawns on you, that the well which forms the limits of your world, the arduous fights that mark your climb outside, being awestruck at the expanse of the world which awaits outside, yet which doesn't greet you. And the knowledge that once you cross the line, you can never truly come back. And the consequences of that moment.

The struggles of adjustment in a foreign land, coming to terms with the demands of frugality. Learning to cope up with the battles of being a lone wolf, away from the cocooned existence in the pack. Watching your children grow up as total strangers to your way of life. The proud moment when they spread their wings, and the sadness which marks their journey away from home, to lands beyond the extent to which eyes can see.

And finally, the loneliness. In the twilight of your life, in a land which you made your home. Cutoff from the past, yearning for it.

Stories that repeat themselves, over and over. Stories I would have loved to hear, Stories that will sadly, remain unknown to me.

Why do such thoughts occur to me? I really don't know. Will they continue to come to me? Absolutely. Will I make something of them? Working on it.

That's all i wrote.