It’s been 33 years since I left the arms of Madras. In those 3 decades much has changed in Chennai and my life. The ease with which I slipped back into its familiar warm (February is kind, it will soon be hot) embrace surprised me. I don’t know what makes me feel at home in this city. Maybe it’s true for everyone when they go back to the place where they grew up, or perhaps I am just lucky to feel this connection.
When I booked a taxi and the driver called me to say “Anna location pin please annup…” (please send me your location pin) or the fruit lady said “veet cleaning panuana, oru amma iraku” (there is a lady available for house cleaning) the connect comes alive. It’s the comfort of communicating easily, a reminder that a common language creates a powerful bond.
My sister and I walked into a store we used to frequent called Fairlands. The owner who had not set eyes on us for years greeted us with a smile and said “rumbo nalla pakaleh…” (not seen you for many days). He pulled out a pack of my sister’s favourite chewing gum from when she was a kid and asked her if she wanted to buy one. To be recognised, and to be known by another is also part of what makes a place a home.
There are subtler ways the city flirted with me. Memories as I drove past a familiar building, the smell of curry leaves, mango trees laden with fruit on my morning walks, and soft idlis that make all willpower melt. Many old friends from school and college also made for a melting pot of emotions that took me for a walk down memory lane. Being able to pick up from where we left off in some cases and other places noticing the distance that had grown, comfort, and discomfort both showed themselves to me.
Driving through the Madras club, which was in many ways home to us during our college days, was also bittersweet. The badminton court that had entertained us on many a hot summer evening was no longer there. In its place was a brand-new building, where I’m sure others have made memories, but it had taken mine away.
The majestic main club building, with Mowbrays cupola adorning it, still looked exactly the same. The big tree below which I spent many hours in a sandpit as a child still stood strong and tall. The thrill of finding someone else’s dinky Car in the sand came rushing back as I drove past. The tennis courts are in the same place but the beautiful clay is now replaced with hi-tech astro turf courts. Memories of my grandparents and the wonder years flooded my mind and then suddenly we were out of the club, driving across Teynampet Bridge, heading to the hospital. The reality of what brought me to Chennai crowding out the nostalgia. Fear, worry, and checklists around insurance, medicines, doctors, and caregiving came rushing in.
And yet this see-saw between what was and what is feels comforting. It’s a city where my grandparents, parents and I have many shared memories. It’s those memories that hold my hand in this difficult time and say to me “You will all find a way through this…”. A reminder to be grateful for each day we have and make more memories together. A reminder that the sounds and smells of home are a gift to be cherished. May we all find our way home.
How does this all connect to the world of communications and coaching? A simple reminder that the language we choose to communicate in creates a special bond and relationships matter. Two human truths that tie it all together – stories are powerful, the ones we tell others and the ones we tell ourselves. Deep inner connection is the common denominator of effective communication and coaching. To quote myself in a piece I wrote in March of 2022, “Our journey in this world is one of sense-making. Stories are a tool to help make sense of the world. So as a storyteller the more I can open up my senses, the better sense I will make.”
The views and opinions published here belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of the publisher.
