Musings of a runner.

These past ten days I had been in Chennai have been very interesting. I never really spent much time in this city but I suspect I am inclined to liking it this time. Chennai is an old old city, part of it strongly resisting the change while the rest is eagerly embracing it. All in all, a charming city bustling with throngs of people. Strangely, every individual seems to have a strong sense of purpose, they have a determined look on their tanned, strongly southern featured faces, and move with such ease through the web of small alleys and gullies. Every few yeards seem to bring you a by-way, a short cut. The natives know how to blend in them and emerge on one of the major streets and successfully avoid the horrendous jams in peak traffic hours, while you are taking in the details of the ineresting setting. If you ask them, "how did you figure that out?", they don't have an answer but they simply look at you and smile, which seems to say, "you just have to be one of us". I grew up in India in a rural setting: with wide open spaces and a serene sense of existence, then moved to a country and continent so distant that it may very well be a different planet. So this stay in Chennai for me is a lesson about the Indian city life.

And, if you ask me to tell you the story of Chennai, I would choose the one of my early morning observations while running in the park. So here it goes. My brother-in-law and I set out in the morning around six to a near by park for an hour long run. Each morning brings me more excitement but the first day was most definitely a sensory treat. As the hour drew to a close, drenched in sweat from head to toe, I was not ready to go home, even with the hot Indian sun beating against my back.

The park is full of intersting flowering trees, most native to India, some showing off their blooms and others in their full, unabashed glory. I specifically mean the old banyan tree, that is sending beautifully tangled roots down to support its widespread branches. That was probably the first thought that occured to me, how different the growth pattern of these trees is from that of the North American trees... Nature in its ever elusive manner, adapts... ever changing, ever more magical!

Under one of these huge, ancient trees is a statue of Shiva. Lord of destruction, the liberator. Yes, there is a sense of freedom in the act of destruction of existing order, is not there? His skin blue in color, sitting in the lotus position on the tiger skin, crescent moon in his matted hair, the third eye mercifully closed, a smile of content adorns his silent lips, holding the posion that would have consumed the world in his throat, right hand raised, making the gesture of assurance.. with his posessions that amount to nothing but a few bone fragments and heaps of ashes. A symbol of sorts to remind the living of the insignificance of one's existence. When it is time to cross the river of Vaitharini (River Styx of Hades?), all that remains behind is a bowl full of ash and bones. His weapon is the Trident and his instrument is the Dhamaruka. In the beginning there was Chaos and then Shiva danced the dance of creation and the drum created the first form of life.. the word... the first syllables uttered, 'ay', 'un', 'ru', 'luk', 'ae', 'om'.. the drum roared life into existence! Of course, many other sects of Hindu religion tell you the creation story very differently but I like this one. The speakers are playing a slow gutteral chant of the Panchakshari mantra. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gEx3ldOUBs . A few people are already praying to the deity, I can't help but wonder what is it that each individual is asking for..

I start to zigzag through the crowd in order to keep up my pace and happen upon the shacks: they must be the living quarters of the construction workers or squatters, I can't say for sure. Some residents are still asleep on the ground under the huge monkeypod tree completely oblivious to the noises of the city, their beds are made out of rags and old sheets. When kind Morpehus pays you a visit, you obey and follow him into his realm. There is not a question of comfortable mattresses and pillows, nor is there the question of pills. Three young men are sitting with their backs leaning against the mud walls, their heads thrown back, half closed sleepy eyes lost in thought and their naturally curved arms hanging by their sides. I see the woman sitting on the sand pile with her little girl in front of her. She is applying coconut oil and making pleats out of the girl's hair, what a beautiful scene! There is a quizzical look on her face as she gazes in my direction. Perhaps she is trying to understand the need of this insane act of walking in circles.. after all, what is the use, it only uses up your energy.. of course, she herself is in amazing shape. These few minutes she spends with her daughter before she goes back in the Sun for a day long incredibly deamnding work are so precious to her that she fails to understand why we are not all doing the same. Must we not spend time with our family before the day really began? Instead we are here walking off the fat, sweating, heaving and sighing.. Being a farmer's daughter, I think I understand her.

I now turn my attention to the people walking and jogging by my side. Men, women and children of all ages, some wearing traditional garb and some in stylish western clothes. If you ever want to witness a society in transition, you want to go to a park like this one for a morning run. Whatever does she mean? you must be wondering.. here is a striking example: I saw an older getleman walking with a transistor radio tuned to a station that was playing old Tamil songs, and an older woman walking barefoot with her anklets softly tinkling. Meanwhile, the younger generation is listening to their iPods and a couple of girls who I could not help but overhear were discussing 'boy friend problems'. But they all are here, there is an elevated awareness of health and exercise. So, the old generation has not stopped listening and adapting and the newer generation is learning.. Old and new waters flow into each other, together they move toward progress..

The noises.. how do I describe them? I shall probably leave it for you to discover them but describe to you the chatter of the birds; ravens, crows, sparrows, finches, mynahs, and the cuckoos. Crows are amazinly communal, I think.. This particular day, they were either bemoaning a loss or ostracizing a member.. I could not clearly see but there was great agitation in the branches higher up. And there was the song of the cuckoo bird.... I never heard such a beautiful song. It was so very different from the songs they usually sing.. it was not the call to the skies for rain nor was it a song of pursuit.. it was more like a song of stillness, a song of absolute happiness and lament, a song of immense pleasure and pain.. it was slow, deliberate and amazingly mellow. Wonderful, ethereal!

I was lost in the song of the bird of paradise when I thought I heard a mythical animal roar, I jumped out of my skin, quickly checked around to see what it was that was making the noise.. To my utter amazement, it was a group of people practicing Yoga.. It must be the 'Lion's face' pose, they are letting out a deep, guttural sigh.. A little stray dog was asleep next to the pavement, it awoke with a start, failing to understand where this threatening animal would materialize from, started to run for its life. After realizing it was only the harmless human beings, it slowed down to a jog and weird enough.. the dog actually ran with me for a couple of laps before it looked at me dismissingly and walked away. I wonder how I failed to play my role, how could I have entertained him to keep him a running companion? It was a cute dog with a healthy shiny black coat and a streak of white on his breast. I wish him well.. the life of a stray dog in a city is not very kind.

As I was finishing up my last lap, I see the old woman in one of the shacks with its door ajar, taking out marinated sun dried fish out of a bowl.. She was about to roast them on open char coal fire.. When I was a child, I hated that smell with a passion. I was utterly unhappy when I had to pass by the fishermen's huts in the village.. with fish hung, spread, gutted... there was fish everywhere.. in the sun to dry.. I almost cringed as the memories flashed but surprisingly as the smoke rose from this fire, I found myself taking in deep gulps of air, filled with the aromas of the elements.. the sea, sun, salt, water, wind and fire.. I can't help but ponder the changes within my own self.. Did the distant society teach me something valuable?? Did I grow older and wiser?

I guess in the end, this turned out to be a story about my own self as much as it is about Chennai!