Here I was, returning from a tight 2 day sojourn to Madras combining work and pleasure like I always do :P. But something felt different this time around.
Having been raised as a Tamil Brahmin in the grand city of Bombay with a rather infamous distinction of having visited my native state of Tamil Nadu only about thrice in my 21 years of existence and with an impaired knowledge of the Tamil language, such visits to Madras always raised the risk of arousing my curiosity in tracing back my roots. This is the dilemma I found myself in constantly this time around as I waded through a swarm of my Tamil brothers and sisters in Chennai Central station while imbuing the aroma of fresh filtered coffee and savoring the spicy Sambar rice minutes before I boarded my train back to Nagpur.
For the first time, I truly felt a lost connection with the Tamil way of life often wondering about so many things I saw around me in Madras which ideally should be very obvious to me. My good friends are aware about the special significance that Madras holds for me for it has always been the uncanny residence of my most cherished social priorities. By saying this offcourse, I am not in the slightest way undermining Bombay and all that it has given me. Bombay will always be my home but an odd feeling likened to that of a refugee (in a place that I had so long perceived as my home) has set in me which has helped me conclude that I need to trace back my roots, get in touch with my birth-culture , my true ethnicity. Especially considering my immediate future plans of pursuing higher studies abroad, I truly feel there couldn’t be a more appropriate time to reaffirm my roots before I spread my wings and fly off to a far away land.