Pause for a minute, and smell the flowers
I find myself engaging in debates with peers from other cities who fall into the same category that I do — millennials who don’t believe they’re products of the cosmopolitan culture, but are anything but. These debates range from discussions about traffic jams to the balance or marriage between the conventional and the cosmopolitan.
Often, we stray into zones that are pit holes without a base; the classic Bengaluru vs Chennai that begins with an argument about the GDP of the city and slowly moves into a discussion on weather, that ends with Bengaluru being called out for its poor management of traffic. Then I step into towns that are developing, ones that don’t necessarily have franchises of popular coffee shops but would have knockoffs of it. I once found myself in Cuddalore wanting a shave and maybe even a head massage.
Unisex salons weren’t a thing in Cuddalore, and the only difference I find between the saloons and the salons of the towns and the cities was the ‘o’ that seemed to have absconded, only to be replaced by the bourgeois. I walk into Mani’s Saloon; it was everything my childhood was made of: mirrors hung strategically and taught me the concept of infinite reflections, powder, blades that didn’t necessarily come to terms with the idea of replacement, and banter that had no motives. The only touch that technology seemed to have made was a flatscreen television and a trimmer that didn’t just run on electricity but also had replaceable batteries.
I don’t remember the last time I made banter with a human being who was providing me with a service; maybe auto-rickshaw drivers. But all systems that made conversation conducive, have been replaced with a technology- driven framework designed to make our lives efficient. And here I am, sitting in a barber shop, one that’s existed for over 30 years but has now been taken over by a brand, only to be renovated and have its charm sucked out of, wondering if the man cutting my hair might be interested in making a connection; a human connection that isn’t valued by the longevity of it but rather by both parties being emotional about the trivial and the mundane — the Chennai or maybe even the Indian equivalent of venting to the barkeep in a lonely tavern during a nightcap.
Having seen my life evolve and change after my move to Bombay and back to Madras again, I think it’s safe to say that the pace that this city operates in makes it easy to form a connection with a stranger — one that could range from asking for directions to seeking validation. Life as a working professional in a city isn’t always about finding ways to make your days efficient or engaging in exercises to make your workdays productive, sometimes it’s about the pointless conversations that make you reminisce; makes you stop and smell the roses that your local flower seller has on her head, but not in a creepy way.
Bhargav Prasad
Twitter@CFLlightSabers
The writer specializes in first drafts, making observations on what makes Chennai, Madras