On my first day I went in complete seriousness to a Madras Cafe. A man on the next table asked for a bigger cup of sambar so he could dunk the idli in it. It hit again that this is definitely a different place.
When did it first hit me that I was moving? Piecemeal, and mostly on Gmail. First when I sent an email to my old institute that I wouldn't be continuing there for Masters, and they replied with a thank you and all the best. Fitting, really, a crisp but kind goodbye. Then when my new institute sent me an email with the formalities I would need to complete upon arriving. Collect this from Mr Shinde, submit this to Mr Chavan, get the signature of Mr Waingankar. Oh my god, I thought, I'm moving to Maharashtra.
India, that is Bharat, is a Union of States. So begins the Constitution of India. So began the story of independent India - leaders tirelessly convincing state after princely state to join this new country, in a whirl of hope and idealism and freedom (and bloodshed). My point is, these states began as proud countries of their own and the passage of a couple of generations will not erase that entirely. Moving to Maharashtra from Tamil Nadu is in some ways like emigrating to a new country and in some ways not. For starters, their Marathi-inflected Hindi teeters on the edge of the span of languages I speak. I make an effort to read it from billboards as my favourite cricketers smile down beside it. I did feel a bit treacherous crossing over from parched peninsula into thunderstorm territory.
I'm already making a mental note of the things we could learn, one state to another. Signboards are bilingual if not trilingual, without fail. Waterlogging is definitely not as bad as it would be if Chennai got this much rain in this little time, nor does the rain cause an upsetting number of trees to fall. Taxis are metered!
Cultural events jostle for space in the day's papers - once the rain abates, I may have a realistic problem of plenty.
It looks to be a promising time here. [raising wide cup of sambar] To new beginnings!
When did it first hit me that I was moving? Piecemeal, and mostly on Gmail. First when I sent an email to my old institute that I wouldn't be continuing there for Masters, and they replied with a thank you and all the best. Fitting, really, a crisp but kind goodbye. Then when my new institute sent me an email with the formalities I would need to complete upon arriving. Collect this from Mr Shinde, submit this to Mr Chavan, get the signature of Mr Waingankar. Oh my god, I thought, I'm moving to Maharashtra.
India, that is Bharat, is a Union of States. So begins the Constitution of India. So began the story of independent India - leaders tirelessly convincing state after princely state to join this new country, in a whirl of hope and idealism and freedom (and bloodshed). My point is, these states began as proud countries of their own and the passage of a couple of generations will not erase that entirely. Moving to Maharashtra from Tamil Nadu is in some ways like emigrating to a new country and in some ways not. For starters, their Marathi-inflected Hindi teeters on the edge of the span of languages I speak. I make an effort to read it from billboards as my favourite cricketers smile down beside it. I did feel a bit treacherous crossing over from parched peninsula into thunderstorm territory.
I'm already making a mental note of the things we could learn, one state to another. Signboards are bilingual if not trilingual, without fail. Waterlogging is definitely not as bad as it would be if Chennai got this much rain in this little time, nor does the rain cause an upsetting number of trees to fall. Taxis are metered!
Cultural events jostle for space in the day's papers - once the rain abates, I may have a realistic problem of plenty.
It looks to be a promising time here. [raising wide cup of sambar] To new beginnings!
Yo, this was a fun and touching read! Looking forward to the next one!
ReplyDeleteThat was a jolly good observation. Looking forward to more such interesting write ups.
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