Trip to Chennai

Warning: Long pointless post. Like most ones in this space.

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Since the last post, things have improved. Thankfully, Ms.Asthma wanted just a one-night stand this time around.

The week started off well. I was to catch a train to Chennai on Sep 3, and I reached VT (ok, Raj, Chattrapati Shivaji Terminus!) without any issues. In spite of the fact that it was Ganapathy (or, Ganpati as Mumbai makkal say) Visarjan. And no, I wasn't running away from the threat that I may be mistakenly drowned by drunk revellers. Though my friends like to hint at it, not too subtly.

One of my good friends (and for a very long time, the only reader of this blog who did not call himself SRK) was getting married.

And though it has been ages since I wrote this post, I wanted to see if I was still nostalgic about sleeper class. I walk in, and it looks like a ghost compartment. Yes, 72 seats, and not a single person other than me (and the voices in my head). I was slowly getting the joke that my father had made when I mentioned that I was taking the Madras (ok, MK, Chennai) Mail. "The train that stops every time a buffalo wanders within 5 metres of the tracks to let it pass.", were his exact words.

Anyways, I had a very interesting read to give me company. A 150 page report full of descriptions of once-through boiler specifications, cooling water chemical dosing pre-treatment and other engineering stuff that I attempt in vain to understand. And after failing spectacularly, start writing posts cursing the damn engineers. You see, unlike mere mortals who carry a boring novel, we nation building champions of infrastructure lug along mega power project project reports. Small sacrifices for lighting up the country.

I drowsed off by the time I was in the second para of the executive summary of the report. I wake up to the sounds of chai garam and bread aamlayte. Smell of vada pav and bhajia.The stink of the loo (I was in seat 72!). People. And more people. Three guys sitting in what was supposed to be my seat. And telling me they'll get off at next station, tension nako. Aah, good bye empty train, welcome nostalgia.

And while I struggled through civil works and mechanical design, the stations hurtled past. And I drowsed off again. Yes, the train takes a day and two nights to do the Mumbai-Chennai distance.

This time, I was woken up by the tap tap tap of a police lathi on my berth. And before I could yell "you can't arrest me for killing that cockroach on my berth", he drawled "Chennai Central" and moved on to the next berth. Phew. Why hadn't my alarm gone off? I looked at my watch. Damn Indian Railways, how can Madras Mail arrive 1/2 hour before time. My dad might say there were no buffaloes near the track.

Having been forewarned about the greedy auto rickshaw guys of Chennai who think meter is such a peter concept, I just hopped along to Park Station and caught a local train. To St. Thomas Mount. Why does Chennai have such peter names for stations? Leave the Elphinstones and Currey Roads to Bombay and have more stations with names like Pazhavanthangal. Uphold Tamizh tradition I say.

Blame it on the effect of having stayed in Bombay for 11 years now, that I expected Nanganallur to have naked chicks. OMG, I am making lame indhi payyan jokes. Shudder.

Couldn't do too much sight seeing in Chennai. Short two day visit, punctuated with visit to uncle's place, visit to cousin's place where the 1 year old niece absolutely refused to come anywhere near me (in spite of chocolate bribes), and I spent most of the time at the wedding hall.

Which brings me to the only point of this post? Where have all the pretty girls gone? I was given coffee by a azhukku veshti payyan, there were no cute faces at the entrance sprinkling rose water, all the malli-poos were on the head of old maamis... damn, even the girl who sang Mukunda Mukunda was not an Asin lookalike, but a tiny eight year old!

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PS1: The pretty girls may be missing, but the food continues to be divine. Thank God (and the caterer) for that! If I had to choose between a good girl and a good payasam, I'll go for the latter. Unless the good girl can make good payasam...

PS2: And the friend, in spite of agreeing with my Mehendi post, had two big red circles on his hands. Traitor!