I need sand in my slippers.

Why is her hair wet? If one were to look closely, they would realize that it’s not just her hair that is wet — her churidar, shawl, her pants, all of it, drenched. Did she fall into a puddle, or did a car passing by splash one on her? It can’t be just that, because there is sand too. There is wet sand glistening from the root of her thinning plait, all the way down to her slippers.

It is the Tamil New Year today. My usual hang at the museum library had to be cancelled because they were closed. The librarians deciding they wanted to enjoy the holiday, ended up ruining my holiday plans. Having already stepped out of the room and in desperate need of some time with saakshaal nature, I decided to take a round trip on the nearest local train.

By the look of it, today is also a major cricket match day. I had to swim through a yellow jersey-clad crowd before I could make it to the railway station. Having no proclivity towards enjoying popular sports, I was mildly irritated and simultaneously amused. Yes, the sports spirit is commendable, but not when you live near a cricket stadium.

As I sat at the platform waiting for my flying train, the boy beside me removed his slipper and started vigorously slapping the floor with it. His father followed suit—both of them spraying shards of sand from their chappals.

The little boy was also drenched — his faded red t-shirt pasted in detail against his chest and tummy. My mind wandered back to the lady with the plait, at the ticket counter, standing in line. Against the music of footwear hitting the asphalt, it slowly dawned upon me, embarrassingly late, that all of these people might just have been to the beach.

Why none of them thought to board from the train station closer to the beach is not my problem to solve.

Chennai feels different this time. I know that it’s just me. The city hasn’t changed very much during the few months I was away. Amidst a pile of PFAs, iterations, and office coffees, I simply miss the person this city once made out of me. I’m still the flag bearer for relentless dad jokes in my team, so maybe not all is lost.

Lamenting is useless, but so are horrible living conditions. They can be surprisingly mentally tiring. Though, if I try hard enough and believe enough, things can be fixed, one step at a time. Maybe this post is one of those steps. Maybe I’ll take another step; I sure hope I do. And maybe, most likely not, but just maybe, I’ll go to the beach and get some sand in my slippers.

Extremely random pointless post. More and better ones to come In Sha Allah.

Never knew that working so closely with writers and writings would push me the farthest away from the writer in me than ever before. Glad that it happened. Such shallow complaints are not to be encouraged. Not having immense gratitude in times like today’s is not to be encouraged.