Sunday Walk in RK Puram
February 11th, I took a morning walk through Ramakrishnan Puram, a Chennai neighborhood near mine. Flavored as it was by India's dose of sensory overload--the warm gritty smell of the choked Buckingham canal, women dressed spotlessly in their best colorful saris, honking horns, men emptying their bladders on walls, dusty trash, and the omnipresence of people, people, and more people--it was also an insightful two-hour sliver of some of the ups and downs about Chennai and India. And once I got off of the main roads and back into the neighborhoods teeming with residents, I felt less on-guard about traffic and could look around more. Pumping water, fixing cars, playing, working, sleeping, cooking. Click here to see my pictures.
The pictures speak for themselves, but they can't capture the sounds. At one point, I walked past a yoga center, where a bored guard was sitting by the gate. We didn't share enough words in common except "Sunday holiday, no open." I glanced over the reading list, and then put my shoes back on to go, and as I walked away, the guard put his hand out for a tip, "helping." I just left with a smile and a wave.
Along one road, the drivers of trucks and autorickshaws were tinkering with motors and repairing vehicles. Usually there are auto drivers asleep in their cabs or lounging nearby, but everything is more relaxed on a Sunday. As I approached one cab, I could hear three boys playing inside. Each one was beating a stick against a notebook-sized chunk of styrofoam packing, in rhythm and singing at the top of his lungs.
After walking through the St. Mary's Cemetary, I wandered back towards the church and crossed through an intersection where several local and national political parties had their banners waving, constiuents loitering, arguing, discussing. I had just visited a cemetary of the Christian minority, wandered past a few Hindu temples and shrines, and then a Muslim man in a festive mood coaxed each of his three shy children to practice their English "hellos" and "how-do-you-dos" on me.
And all this before 10 a.m.
The pictures speak for themselves, but they can't capture the sounds. At one point, I walked past a yoga center, where a bored guard was sitting by the gate. We didn't share enough words in common except "Sunday holiday, no open." I glanced over the reading list, and then put my shoes back on to go, and as I walked away, the guard put his hand out for a tip, "helping." I just left with a smile and a wave.
Along one road, the drivers of trucks and autorickshaws were tinkering with motors and repairing vehicles. Usually there are auto drivers asleep in their cabs or lounging nearby, but everything is more relaxed on a Sunday. As I approached one cab, I could hear three boys playing inside. Each one was beating a stick against a notebook-sized chunk of styrofoam packing, in rhythm and singing at the top of his lungs.
After walking through the St. Mary's Cemetary, I wandered back towards the church and crossed through an intersection where several local and national political parties had their banners waving, constiuents loitering, arguing, discussing. I had just visited a cemetary of the Christian minority, wandered past a few Hindu temples and shrines, and then a Muslim man in a festive mood coaxed each of his three shy children to practice their English "hellos" and "how-do-you-dos" on me.
And all this before 10 a.m.
posted by John at 02:57
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