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I had a novel idea: what better way to relive the old days than to walk in my footsteps - literally?
I told Dad about my plan. He seemed skeptical of my abilities. I could swear he thought I was insane, but all he said was, "Why don't you wait until 5 o'clock so it might have cooled a bit?"
Sage advice, which I'm glad I took, well almost - I stepped out at 4!
On the other hand, I was well prepared for my walk. I reluctantly traded my favorite platform heels for more sensible half-boots. It broke my heart to cocoon my toes in such hot weather, but the practical side of my brain (yes, it does exist) prevailed. I paired a light cotton blouse with linen pants and felt confident I was ready for my adventure.
To give some context, it has been nearly 30 years since I moved to the US and the same 30 years since I last walked from my house in Adyar to the main road. While my sister has enjoyed the freedom of zipping to nearby stores on a scooter during her visits to India, I made the sedate choice of using a hired car and driver, an Uber, or similar rideshare alternatives. Wanting to break free from being at their mercy (tired of listening to creative excuses from drivers for their lateness or the rejection you feel when Uber drivers cancel minutes before pickup), I figured I could still easily walk to the main road and back without breaking a sweat.
That was not the best figure of speech to use. Mid-May, with its 90°F+ temperatures, can have you dripping with sweat in a matter of seconds. Still, it was liberating! It gave me a fresh perspective that I missed when rushing through the same roads in the comfort of an air-conditioned vehicle.
To begin with, I had forgotten the greenery! Huge, majestic trees provided a fresh dash of color and much-needed patches of shade. Left to me, I would have continued my walk with my head tilted back, drinking in the beauty of the centuries-old vegetation.
With a big grin on my face, I strolled on, recognizing the familiar plants and trees growing along the roadside: Datura, Gul Mohar, and the Crown flower, to name a few. Ernie—our irreverent yet affectionate nickname for our high school biology teacher—would have been satisfied with the results of her painstaking efforts to drill some knowledge into the heads of attention-deficient teenagers. Satisfied, not proud, for what member of that generation of South Indians would have been proud when mere satisfaction sufficed?
I lengthened my strides—this was too easy! Why did I ever hesitate? I started planning in my head: I would head out every day at the same time, maybe even a little earlier. I would focus on a different store each day—Adyar had plenty to choose from. There was my favorite, Soch, with its sparkly collection of sarees and fun, colorful ethnic skirts. I also had good luck with Westside, which not only had a reasonably large selection of soft cottons and linen wear but also organized its collection in a way that required a bit of hunting. This setup easily guaranteed an hour or two of satisfying shopping.
On the way back home, I could pick a snack for Mom and Dad from a different place each time: Madeira cake from Adyar Bakery, cheese samosas from Teabon, badusha from Adyar Ananda Bhavan, bhaji from Ratna Cafe.
HONK! The castles I was building in the sky came crumbling down in seconds. I had unconsciously assumed the right of way and was avoiding puddles and other inconveniences by strolling confidently in the middle of the road. Word of advice: do not try this in India! At worst, you will end up as roadkill; at best, you will be the target of murderous stares and some choice language.
The autorickshaw driver, who had been trying to drive past this oblivious tourist, reached the end of his patience and expressed his indignation in the way that Indian drivers do best.
I looked as apologetic as I could, glanced around furtively, reassured myself that no one else had observed my lapse in judgment, and proceeded onwards—this time closer to the edge of the road. For those wondering why I was not walking on the sidewalks (or platforms), it is high time you make your first visit to India!
Chastened but still hopeful, I continued, but this time with my eyes and ears open. The heat was becoming unbearable, so I navigated by darting to patches of shade whenever possible.
The discomfort of the heat was mitigated by the riot of colors that surrounded me: a small streetside shop stocked with goods, the ubiquitous temple on every corner adorned with fresh flowers. They seemed to do their best to compete with the glare of brilliant sunshine of our Indian summer.
In just ten minutes, I reached the main road. The chaos began! Crowds of people scuttled about. Cars, motorcycles, and scooters honked, more from habit than necessity. The sun blazed with more might and power, and I felt the impact of the reduction of trees sacrificed to broaden the 'main' road.
The noise was not the only aspect of the sensory overload of India. One minute, I was overcome by the strong stench of garbage, only to walk into the delicious aroma of a bakery the next. An Indian bakery is unique. It presents the most colorful, prolific assortment of treats. Every time I see it, I am tempted to buy everything, but after making my purchases, I find that I lose interest.
Either the cake does not taste like what I imagined, it is too sweet, or I forget about it, only to discover it days later, older and naturally no longer in its prime. Regarding bakeries, I have decided I prefer the 'ones that got away.' So wisely, I restrain myself from buying and instead enjoy the much sweeter regrets that dance around in my mind of just how delicious the cake would have been!
By this time, the heat was winning, and I had to switch to what I consider my stubborn "you shall make it through" mode. Just when I thought I couldn't go on, I saw hope—the neon lights of Odyssey, one of my old haunts, flashed in front of me. I walked in triumphantly; the cold, refreshing air-conditioning revived me, and the stacks of books comforted me—I had survived.
The walk back home was much easier. It had cooled down a bit by then (you were so right Dad), and I was propelled by a sense of achievement.
Thinking back, I had a great time. I picked up a few snacks for Mom and Dad and relived the good old days when I walked the same route to catch the bus to college. Best of all, I got to experience Adyar again—up close and personal!
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