We got married in 1993 and I moved to Coimbatore to start my married life with my husband. Our manufacturing unit in Karur was a two-hour drive from the city. The strenuous highway commute meant that Manish was a weekend husband, shuttling between the mill and the city. I struggled to adjust to this unusual restriction of enjoying his company for just three days in a week. Though we lived a full life on the weekends, the loneliness he left in his wake gnawed at my confidence, forcing me to fill the days in between with constructive domestic activity. This routine continued for months until one day I gathered enough courage to cross the threshold and seek the world outside.
With apprehension and excitement, I stepped into the car. My driver, always alert to my needs, asked,
“Where to, Ma?”
“Anywhere, Loka,” I said.
Alarmed, Loka stared out of the window not knowing how to react. I, on the other hand, had rehearsed my part and smiling at his awkwardness, said,
“Loka, I have not been anywhere in Coimbatore. Please take me around and show me the city.”
Nodding, he started the car, “Let us begin with the temple then.” The Saradambal Temple is a 200-year-old structure dedicated to the Goddess of Knowledge. The ornate gopuram stands high above the idol and a thousand oil lamps illuminate the inner sanctum daily. Here, I was amazed at the maturity of the devotees. At the busy temple, followers went about their business with decorum, maintaining absolute silence, respecting the power of the positivism in the atmosphere.
Leaving the temple, we came to Race Course Road. The walking path running alongside the motorway is decorated with Gulmohur trees that are rich with orange blossoms. I lived in the lane behind and reveled in this natural vista every time I passed it. The affluent lived here in their palatial homes, cold in their approach and clammed in their attitudes.
In about 20 minutes we reached RS Puram a meticulous grid held together by a central roadway. Further divided into east and west zones, the parallel lanes had large row houses that shared common boundaries. I saw people talking over the walls of their homes and chatting outside their lanes. It seemed that they enjoyed a connected existence, a far cry from the standoffish nature of those residing at Race Course Road.
“Shall we move on Ma?”
“Hmm. Where will we go next?
“To the main market Ma. The heart of the city.”
Driving further north, Loka took me to Raja Steet, the silk hub of the city. The bustling and crowded street had stores on either side, some large showrooms, others singular stalls. The car stopped outside a three-storied shop that seemed to be largest in the area. Asking Loka to park the car, I got out and went inside.
For the wedding, I had visited a number of such showrooms in Mumbai and Kolkatta but the display at Shobha Sarees and the service I received there was second to none. The walls of the majestic store were stacked with rows and rows of sarees. The interiors were uniquely done in such a manner that one could stand at the central atrium and look around at the displays on all the floors. I thought that, here, even the silk merchants of Kanchipuram would find it hard to resist the temptation to shop.
The attendants greeted me warmly and ushered me to the section on the right. After asking for my preference, a couple of them got busy displaying their wares. With grace and patience, they wooed me, draping the sarees on themselves, on the mannequins and the models. In the 30 minutes I spent there, I discovered that the locals of the city held women in high regard. When I left the store, I carried with me a red and white Pochampalli as well as a sense of acceptance and connect.
“To know Coimbatore, you must know its food Ma” Loka chirped.
“Yes, I have heard Annapurna is the best,”.
A local home-kitchen restaurant, Annapurna serves delicious south Indian meals. To my surprise that day they were celebrating Baisakhi and were serving a Punjabi thali. The depth of the city astonished me. There was cultural variety at every juncture. At the temple I had heard Telegu, in RS Puram I had seen a Gujarati Community Center, in Raja Street, the vendors spoke Hindi. Such diversity, all contained in one metro city. Digging into the delicious Maa Ki Daal, I had thought that I wanted more of the city.
In the seven years I lived there I had made the city my own. Enjoying wholesome experiences that would stay with me a lifetime, I made friends who were closer to me than family. The open spaces, cultural convergences and sophisticated economies taught me how to invest fruitfully in nature, people, and myself. Contrarily, the extreme situations I encountered including riots, weather calamities and industrial meltdowns reminded me to have faith, maintain resilience, be tolerant and accept the world with grace.
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