Arriving in Chennai

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In Singapore I stayed in Little India. It was a festive place with Dihwali fast approaching. Fragrant incense and curry excited my olfactory while Bollywood music drenched the air. I was mostly an unmotivated tourist in Singapore. I slept late and never rushed out to see many things when I finally did roll out of bed. I feasted on curry for most of my meals and lazed around shady park benches next to old retired men where I could nap and read interchangeably. I went on an excellent tour of the oldest monastery with an anthropologist, but since many of the things he discovered during research are of a sensitive nature to the government, he explicitly asked that I not repeat what he said. I will respect his wishes and keep mum. The highlight of Singapore for me came on my last night when the hostel next to mine held an open mic night which I got to play at. I hadn’t sung to anyone since I left the U.S. and it felt great. A combination of excitement from the music as well as standing at the end of my Asian tour and on the threshold of once again coming to India kept me up all night. I lay in bed with my mind racing about the morning flight until it was time to get up and leave. Because I had an early morning flight it was important to me to be quiet as I packed and left the dorm so as not to disturb the others who were still sleeping. Tiptoeing down the stairs and slinking towards the door I eventually burst into the hot Singapore pre-dawn and took a deep exhale along with my first steps toward India.
Upon arriving at the Chennai airport I had to make a choice: should I take a taxi, auto rickshaw, or public train into the city? I opted for the much less expensive choice of a 2nd class train ticket (about 25 cents). Once my decision was made I had to navigate my way through the sea of waiting taxi and auto rickshaw drivers. I fended off their offers by proudly proclaiming that I would be taking the train, thank you very much. Breaking the first line was the hardest, but once past I encountered several others that wanted my fare. Again, I smiled and said, “no thank you, I will be taking the train.” What I didn’t think about was that I really didn’t know where the train station was located. But you can bet I acted like I did whenever approached by the constantly circling rickshaw drivers. For someone like me who is so obviously not from around here, I felt it crucial to at least maintain the façade that I knew what I was doing and needed no assistance, even though I’m sure it was obvious that I did. Even though I knew I didn’t know where I was going and I knew that they knew that I didn’t know where I was going I continued brushing them off and marching with purpose towards where I thought the train station should be. I marched right into the police station. Realizing my mistake I sheepishly turned around to see the laughter of my rickshaw-driving friends as they scrambled towards me to once again restate their offers. But just as determined as they were to take me to the city, I was equally determined to take myself to the city. After all, I proudly thought, I have been to India once before and therefore should be more self-sufficient (i.e. cheap). The long and the short of it is that I conceded to my friends that I didn’t know where the train station was and they gladly told me where it was. We called a truce. But even with their directions, I still had to ask directions two more times before I got to the train station, which it turns out is actually only 500 meters from the front of the airport.

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