Home is where the Heart is!

 "Chennai is a city, Madras is an emotion" read the banner; a popular tagline that is circulated mostly during August every year. 'How true!' I thought. 

Though we use the term Madras much less these days, I get to hear it more in the month of August and more so when I visit older people. August 22nd is celebrated as Madras Day, to commemorate the day in the year 1639 on which the East India Company bought Madraspattinam from the Viceroy of Vijayanagar. And yes, the word Madras reminds me of the black and white days; the old tales my parents narrated of the times when they moved into this city and about grandma who used to call it 'Madhirassi' in Malayalam. 

As our flight lifted over the skies of the city, I told my little champion that I would miss my city. 

'Home is where the heart is, and my heart is always inclined towards Chennai' I told her. 

'I am more Chennai girl than you are, as I was born here' came the little one's retort.

'I have lived here for more than half my lifetime' I protested. 

Now now, we are both Chennai girls or Madras girls I told her, and she wanted to hear grandparents' old Madras tales again. The other Chennai girl (my mother) who had outlived both of us here was quietly smiling at us; but I wonder if she would ever want to call herself a Chennai girl, as she says she belongs elsewhere.

So here goes the story. The young 20-year old lass moved out of her tiny village in Kannur for the first time in 1979, half-heartedly leaving behind her large family. Her eyes were constantly seeking people who looked like Malayalis, her ears always listening to catch some Malayalam words in the air. She narrates how during her first few days she would stop to stare at such people, hoping to find a home miles away from the home of her heart. The young man was strong-hearted, with a will to make a living in this city of dreams, unyielding to the pressures of his wife to move back to their tiny village. Nevertheless with his support, she emerged a new woman confident to travel alone anywhere and learnt to speak and write the language of her new home. Over the following forty four years, they have grown old witnessing the evergreen city changing its shape and form, from the old Madras they had adopted as their home. They had managed to build their own nest within this crowded city. 

I am curious how much the older lady today who had grown to love her new home still cherishes her secret dream of moving back to her little village. If life takes us on a journey where home is miles away from where the heart is, is it truly possible to place the heart in the new home and embrace it. As my heart seeks answers to these questions, I come to realize that it relates to me too. I look down upon the fading shoreline as the clouds creep in, bidding adieu to the home of my heart.