mahabalipuram – ⋆ Second Gen Desi ⋆

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Written April 15, 2020

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India, is a massive country, no secret there. It’s the second most-populous country in the world, and literally defined as a sub-continent.

A behemoth beauty Bharat be…

Unfortunately, I’ve only been to one area of India in my entire life (Tamil Nadu—South Indians where you at?!), although multiple times in my life. That is the tradition of a SGD: you go to the motherland with your parents and siblings, perhaps every two years or so, and stay with grandparents for a couple weeks—months if you are young enough and can afford to miss school for that long…

A quick look at (part of) the sub-continent…

Traveling to India is also a strenuous ordeal. Many SGDs and their families live in countries on the other side of the globe…unless you’re in Europe, or so lucky enough to be “nearby” in Singapore…

Even my Dad, who is a pretty tough guy, has recently found his yearly trips to India to be a source of sheer exhaustion and stress. A lot of that is centered around trying to fit seeing 20+ extended relatives and friends within a time frame of days. Trying to avoid hurt feelings, missed shopping items (can’t forget to bring back Grand Snacks to the States!!), and getting sick…it all adds up. No wonder trips to India are rarely seen as a vacation for many desi families🤷🏽‍♀️ .

In a recent trip however to India in late 2019, my Dad, sis, and I discussed that maybe it was time—now that we were all older, and the number of people to visit has grown smaller over time (due to life, to put it gently…)—it would be worth trying to visit other parts of the country.

Unfortunately, time wasn’t in our favor yet again. We found ourselves with many commitments as usual, and not too much time to fit in extra excursions. But unlike in the past, we did step beyond the households of perimas and peripas. Even though we were still restricted to an area close to our “home base” (Chennai), we made an effort to have our “mini” vacations with stops at the following:

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Marina Beach

Beaches in Southern India are unlike beaches in Cali…for one thing, something called humidity dictates everything.

For the three weeks I was in Chennai for Dec. 2019/Jan. 2020, running wasn’t a huge priority for me, but when I did get the chance to run, I tried to race with it 😉.

Unfortunately, humidity levels close to 100% and temps of 80 degrees Fahrenheit by 8am just doesn’t sit well with me. And being one out of three women running that morning out of like, hundreds of men? It felt super awkward, not gonna lie.

Although, I did see a significant speed increase in my pace! I was hesitant to look around me because desi men (and women) are known for their stare-downs, so I just ran until my legs gave out and the humidity was too much 😅.

The best time to visit is in the early morning, of course. Given that Chennai’s population is 7.088 million (2011, Google), the likelihood of having a “normal”-sized crowd is only likely to happen before 7:00am strikes.

But not everyone is so keen to wake up that early…

Boy, would I have loved to see how Marina Beach looks now in the time of corona lockdowns…

Tirupati

Tirupati is another city in Southern India, located in the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh (so, not Tamil Nadu, but we drove here from Chennai!). The drive there and back is a little over 6 hours roundtrip. The reason we visited was to pay our respects at the Tirumala Venkateswara Temple. In Tamil, my family’s language, temple = Kōyil (கோயில்).

A lot of devotees come from all over India (and the globe) to visit the auspicious கோயில். So much so, that there are dedicated travel bus and van services that are designed with a full-day itinerary package. I traveled with my Dad, sister, cousin, her husband, and uncle, so we were able to book a decent-sized van.

Our driver was a mad man. We left at 6am, and nearly shed a full hour from our morning half of travels 😐. Meaning, there was no doubt that he was speeding at *many* points during the trip.

We were lucky to have made it one piece, and our first stop was at a local “canteen” for breakfast. It was simple, carb-packed fare of idli, sambar, rasam, chutney, vada, etc. but no protein meant I would definitely get hungry later…

We were warned of the high altitudes as we made our ascent into the mountains. The கோயில் is located in the Tirumala Hills, which is part of the Seshachalam Hills range ~2,800 feet above sea level 😱. The hills have seven peaks, representing the seven heads of Adisesha, ” King of all Nāgas and one of the primal beings of creation” (Wikipedia).

The secenery is absolutely gorgeous. We spotted all sorts of wildlife—including monkeys and warthogs!

When we got to the top, we were dropped off at a meeting zone away from the கோயில். We could see that even at 9am, it was packed. Because everything in India usually takes place 30 min+ after the call time, we really didn’t assemble and head over to the கோயில் until around 10am or so.

The “guide” gave instructions on what you were allowed to bring (no video cameras, etc.) and dress etiquette in Hindi, Tamil, and Telugu. Then we had to fight for our place in line to enter.

Things got crazy soon after.

I never thought I’d experience the feeling of being crushed against hundreds of bodies in a holy place, yet here we were. I am so glad we went before the covid outbreak…and I’m also glad they temporarily closed the கோயில் to the public, because those crowds mixed with a virus….nah 🙅🏽‍♀️.

It reached the 90’s (Fahrenheit) by the time afternoon rolled around. My sister and I were exhausted—too sleepy to eat at the canteen even! We thought that after our second meal stop we would head straight home, but alas, the driver wanted to stop for coffee at another roadside canteen. I however, had the appetite for more sleep, not coffee!

The drive back was also slower compared to the morning, due to increased traffic flowing in and out of Chennai. Needless to say, sleep was enjoyed that night once we got back!

Mahabalipuram

Our “semi-relaxing” stop on this trip was a vacation-from-a-vacation-like detour to Mahabalipuram, a coastal town approximately 1 hr south from Chennai, in the Chengalpattu district of Tamil Nadu.

We stayed in a beach resort that had direct access to a private section of beach, and it was meant to serve as our getaway from the city life of Chennai.

The entire resort on the inside was air-conditioned, so it was extremely refreshing compared to the hot, humid weather in JANUARY! Funny thing was, the temperature difference was so extreme that every time we came back from outside, our phone screens would immediately fog up!

Mahabalipuram was definitely not immune to crowds. My sister spent most of the weekend of our visit indoors, while my Dad and I made the brave trek outdoors in the late afternoons. The crowds were unbearable for us too, so we decided just to “hike” near Roya Gopuram, but in reality, we wandered off somewhere and tried not to fall over great boulders!

In the evenings, the weather would cool down significantly, making it an awesome time to go to the beach. Compared to Marina Beach, it was quiet, serene, clean, and not cluttered by people! There were the frequent pariah dog visitors, however 😉

Oh, speaking of dogs, there were plenty all around! Pariah dogs are an indigenous breed in India, and prowl the streets in search of food. They are hungry, cautious souls that I wish I could hug, but they can get pretty vicious when they feel threatened.

Still, even when watched from afar, they made sure to make my heart melt 💔

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The good ol’ TN will always hold a sacred place in my heart, as it is the home of my family and ancestors, as well as the roots of my culture, but I don’t want to limit myself on future trips to only visit Tamil Nadu out of obligation. I don’t restrict myself in the same way when I visit other countries, so why should it be any different in this case?

Have you ever visited India? Which part?

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Conceptualized November 30, 2018

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I hate being the target of assumptions.

I hate walking into a room feeling stuck in a mold that was imposed upon me by others.

Mahabalipuram, a town in the Chengalpattu district of Tamil Nadu. 56 kilometers south of Chennai.

Growing up, I would vow before each trip to Chennai that things would finally be different. I would speak up. I would face my grandmother and say, “Pati, nee eppadi irruken?”, and not the safe and comfortable “How are you?”

But as soon as our plane hit the tarmac in Chennai, the humidity would blast me and a frog would nestle in my throat. I would subconsciously tuck behind my Dad as if his presence would help me disappear for the next three weeks…

We would walk out into the open, luggage in tow, with a million eyeballs facing us as we tried to find our familiar faces. Uncles and aunts would be there, but my tongue would stay still. I felt embarrassed to speak in English, so I would just smile and hesitantly laugh at every word my relatives spoke to me.

Every time they turned to my Dad, they spoke in Tamil. My ears would tune in, just in case one of my uncles threw in a joke along with a head shake, a hand wave, and loud clap. I would try to laugh as hard as I could just so they would know I understood. But when their eyes landed on me—-in the rare moments after the meet and greet—it would be a simple question, and it was always in English.

Rusting gate in Thiruporur, a town in Chengalpattu district in Tamil Nadu ⭐ Hate to admit that I often felt “locked in” in regards to being able to truly express myself on these trips to Chennai.

Those trips to India left me exhausted, ashamed, and embarrassed. Meeting extended relatives brought on anxiety more than anything, and the pressure to be Indian, when I was obviously not (at least in their eyes) made things more confusing than I could handle.

The last time I went to India, it was four years ago, a few months before embarking on my PhD journey. It was one of those trips I went in saying things would be different. This time, I would try.

But the three weeks I spent in a homeland that felt foreign took an opposite turn. I was battling an eating disorder, and on top of trying to cover up my shame of not being able to speak Tamil fluently and confidently, I felt overwhelmed with the food I was trying so hard to avoid. Instead of drinking chai and indulging in sweets, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried.

4 years later, and I am still at a crossroads with my mother tongue.

Wearing the clothes, but feeling self-conscious—especially on the traditional streets of Triplicane.

At least my dad had a choice. He grew up in a large family, interactions abound. He may have fallen in love with the American radio shows and Western movies his eyes laid upon as a boy, but despite making the move to America and actively choosing to live a new life, assimilate into a new culture, and allowing his accent to fade away, he still managed to have no problem with coming back.

But I was born into a world I had no decision in wanting to be a part of. No one asked me if I wanted to be an ABCD—an American-Born Confused Desi .

When it came time for me to formally learn a second language, I was in high school. Though when I walked in on the first day of class, I was already put into a stereotype: in the eye of my German teacher of Chinese-origin, I was the studious, quiet Indian girl who probably spoke Hindi at home and was going to ace his class and add German to my language repertoire because I study all the time.

He got the quiet part right, and to a certain extent, I picked up German—-the passive way of course. In my four years of high school, I was “Inge” every minute I was in his classroom (we had to pick German names for us to use on our first day), and while the first 3 years were fun, I still could not build up the courage to speak the language and build oral fluency. I did what was mandatory in class, but I had no desire to build upon the language outside of class. Especially when I developed depression in my senior year—-speaking fluent German was far from my priorities when I was face down on the kitchen floor sobbing every night, facing an existential crisis at only 17.

I’ve made attempts after each trip—with recent memories of time spent with family still fresh in my mind. This would be enough to motivate me to dust off the number of Tamil learning books I accumulated over the years. I’d bring up my desire to start practicing to my Dad, and we’d hold a few short conversations here and there over the phone, but I found myself losing patience and steering back to English.

Because it was comfortable, and provided me with the words necessary to express myself.

Orange County Airport Views ⭐ Returning to the US after long trips in Chennai gave my subconscious a sense of relief. I felt like I could “be myself” again.

If I was too exhausted after a long work day, depressed by an emotionally traumatic event or angered by someone and needed to vent, my basic vocabulary in Tamil was not enough for me to get my emotions out. It would be a battle of frustration just to find the words…and that would only add to the negative feelings I harbored at the moment.

As a student in the last stages of her PhD, change is hitting me from all angles. As with all transitional points that have occurred in my life so far, I have a deep, intrinsic feeling that my next chapter waits for me beyond the abnormally sunny skies of LA. As people get older, nature usually kicks in—people want to settle, find comfort, and engross themselves into a routine that they can rely on for years.

But I am a person who can’t be static. I want to explore the world, live in different countries, and be a “global citizen“.

I just feel guilty for not being fluent in the language of my heritage 😞.

This will continue to be my internal battle until I am able to truly decide if this is what I need to feel like I “belong”, and if so, I will need to fiercely prioritize my time with the language. I oftentimes feel frustrated because looking to the past, my parents could have made it their duty to make sure my sister and I spoke Tamil fluently. I could have been more adamant to learn when I was younger. I could have tried this, done that, used this, read that…

One thing I try to emphasize to myself is that my lack of fluency doesn’t make me any less “desi”. Most of the time, it certainly feels like it does, but in all other aspects of my culture—my Hindu faith, my awareness of basic customs, my observance of societal “rules” when visiting Chennai—I’m as desi as can be.

Weak in fluency, strong in cultural awareness

One of these days, my daydreams to communicate effortlessly with extended relatives will become a reality.

Hopefully as I grow older and wiser, my confidence with Tamil will grow with me.

Hopefully the frog in my throat will find a new place to haunt, and I’ll be comfortable enough to express myself in the words of my ancestors.

Tamil Nadu at the End of a Decade

Holding Back