If there was one thing I was never devoid of, even during the cyclones, crazy monsoons and scorching sun (agninakshatram times), was people. People who were genuine and cared. If I fell sick, I had the most random lady on the road telling me the best remedy and sometimes even giving it to me.
I remember when I had an accident and I was alone, there was a little shop where 2 women worked. I was sitting by the side walk and they brought me inside their shop which had just one chair - more like a bar stool. They opened a packet of coconut oil, wiped my wounds and applied it carefully. They gave me a packet of water and cursed the person who hit me on the wrong side of the road with all their heart.
I’ve never seen them before that and did not after that incident. During the scariest accident alone, I was not alone.
And that is my dear Madras.
Today, I see at least 50 people walk beside me on the streets of Manhattan, yet, I walk alone.
For the past 3 yrs. of my life, I wake up to an alarm set at 5 different times, that can snooze and yet everyday force myself to get out of bed into the gloomy, grey, cold world. I shudder to think what would happen to me if I faced an accident like the one I had before, here.
For the first time, I feel the void of people.
I never realized being alone could make a person not share, be concerned or be genuine. Every morning the lady who sells me coffee greets everyone with a "Hi Good morning, How is it going!" and thanks everyone with a "Thank you, have a good one!" with no hint of emotion.
Everyone talks about a culture-shock, the drastic weather difference or even the accent. The most striking difference to me, that hit me hard was how alone a person is in the world’s best place – America!
Years of being alone, surviving through a fast paced life of green bills and the corporate ladder can turn anyone into having just one best friend – oneself. Not only does the habit of living alone develops, but also, ensuring strong boundaries where no one enters to form any sort of a relationship – even of a neighbor.
In Madras I live in an apartment of 12 houses in total – I know each one of their names and am sure, at least 2-3 generations of their family. Here, I live in an apartment of 2 houses and do not have the faintest clue of who they are.
I sure do miss my Madras for more reasons than one, but this tops it all. I love where I am right now, and yet, feel the void of people more often than I would like.
Today, my fear is not living alone, but wanting to live alone.
