Why I pine for my Mumbai Home

I have umpteen reasons to despise the present home I live in.

The most important of them is, that the windows in my new home make me feel a prisoner, literally. The hall window allows me air utility from its one by four feet vent. In reality, it's a shutter window but will let in only that much air! What a difference from that MHADA home's hall that had the best of windows I have known!

The kitchen is my other eyesore. For a couple who cook together, this kitchen is an apology. It allows only one person to stand comfortable and my gas stove occupies most of its slab space. If I were to do an about turn from the gas, the kitchen shelf is on my face. Negotiating this space is like opening a lock with handcuffs on. Is that what the builder perceived the kitchen should be like? A box of suffocation?

My hall window opens directly into the terrace of the building next door (hardly a feet away). I bear the brunt of the day heat, and am forced to pull the curtain when I find men around there.

A bedroom that looks more like a store room space with its crammed up walls, thankfully has a window facing east. It means cool breeze. Only, I cannot look out of the window. It opens into a dirty backyard of a building, and another hideaway home.

The terrace above my second floor home is a breather. I can finally dry my clothes in the open! And look at the Kalakshetra buildings popping out of the trees in that compound, to dream of possibly spending time there!

The other boon is of course that a ride to the beach is five minutes away!

Am back: Writing from Chennai

For starters, apologies to those waiting for a post from me at Writing on Sand. It's been a neat 20 days since I posted.

My world's turned topsy-turvy in the meanwhile. New City. New Culture. Newer People. I've known this city since I opened my eyes, and yet it feels like I have landed somewhere out of my world. And cry at every image I remember of those sweet Mumbai moments! Chennai. East Coast. Off East Coast Road. How does that sound?

Chennai, where if I chose to sit by myself in a bus, a respectable old man would come by, have the audacity to tell me where I `should' be sitting. If it was Mumbai, I'd have snapped at him, `Tumse matlab?''

It's Chennai, which has perceivably given such characters moral sanction to question women's choice in public spaces. After his consistent pestering, and words I get to hear like, `Looks like you are an educated woman. Why are you not listening to me?', I show him his place politely.

`Am new to this city and I feel safe in this part of the bus. I am comfortable here and am your co-passenger. If you want my seat, go ahead and take it. But stop torturing me like this.''

He is zapped some chit of a woman could talk back that way. I am equally perplexed someone had the time and cowardice to pick on a passenger!

Chennai's good side exists too! The suburb I live in, is vibrant, cosmopolitan, and yet, culturally rooted. The best part over Pongal festival was that I spent three late evenings at Elliots Beach in Besant Nagar, grooving to folk-fusion and classical-fusion beats by bands playing out as part of Chennai Sangamam.

The fire-cracker show at the end of the finale, was the best I've seen till now.

The temples, reverberating music, friendly neighbours, and some lovely local cuisine nearly make up for the civic harshness and that gnawing feeling on roads that I am watched by hungry eyes.

Yet, nothing like those precious moments at Marine Drive.