Today as I bid farewell to Trichy, after five years of extreme hatred and dislike for the city, I sit down with Jiten Da, the first Architecture student whom I met in the campus and thus my oldest friend in the college, to walk down the memory lane with what I hear to be the best coffee in the town. I have completed my course and am about to leave the city, probably (and if God blesses me, definitely), forever. Over the last five years, there has not been a single offensive word, in the Hindi and English dictionary combined, that I have known and not used it to describe Trichy.
I still remember coming to my college the first time when I was abandoned by the Rockfort Express at 5 in the morning on the third station in the Trichy district itself, called Tiruchchirappalli junction. The name itself took 10 minutes of my useless life’s time to understand. Anyways, I did recheck with my railway ticket to make sure if I have got down at the right place. Anyways, the disappointment did continue when I realized I was at the right place. The things didn’t get any better as the day progressed. It was a suttam(pure) Tamil dominion. The bus boards were in an illegible script and it was with the help of a polite gentleman that I boarded a bus towards hell, read NIT Trichy. It took me one hour, yes you read it right, one bloody hour to reach my destination, within which I got up several times to make sure with the conductor if I was in the correct bus or to give a 3 person seat to a single lady who would look me down if I try to sit next to her, hinting that I was an arrogant and manner less North India. Just as my frustration was about to reach its limit, I was called upon by the conductor who repeatedly screamed at me…..REC…. REC….. so? What was I suppose to do? Why the hell should I get down here? I paid for a ticked to get down at NIT! May be it’s because I just paid 4 rupee 50 paise, that he is not ready to take me to my destination. But before my brain could find any more ridiculous reasons, I saw a board over the entrance of an enormous estate which said “National Institute of Technology, Tiruchirappalli” and I got down. My first observation about the place was, that the spelling of Tiruchirappalli was different from what it was at the station, which read “Tiruchchirappalli”, but after all, it didn’t matter, however you may spell, hell is helllll…..
Being born and brought up in Gujarat, the city seemed quite cruel to me. The city spoke a language that I didn’t understand, it ate food that I disliked, my college was accessible only by buses which usually didn’t stop in front of my college gate and the city lacked basic amenities for young people (i.e. KFC, McDonalds and CCD). I was surprised to know that there was a Mc. Donald road in Trichy, but not a Mc. Donald restaurant. The songs that were played in buses were loud and outrageous, friendly conversations of people sounded like some heated argument, the roads in the evening were crowded with drunkards who created nuisance every now and then, and you were offered a ladies blouse when you ask for a jacket! I just couldn’t imagine myself liking this place even if I was forced to spend my lifetime here. It was like a five year prison sentence for me, for not being at my best behavior at home. I was the prisoner who was isolated by the local people for not wearing a wastie over my shorts and speaking English, which I assumed the British people might have taught the local junta.
By this time, my first cup ofcoffee was over and I found myself being stared by the people around me. Jiten Da, who was quiet all this time, just smiled back at me after a 10 minute long “I hate Trichy” monologue. His smile and the filter coffee just reminded me of how I have changed over these past five years and the person cursing Trichy is the Rachit five years ago. His smile just reminded me that today, most of the songs I listen to are Tamil, the movies I watch are generally Tamil, the food I like is Tamil, the waistie I bought for myself is Tamil, most of my friends are Tamil, the filter coffee which I ordered once again is Tamil and I have to accept that I have been Tambified! Yes, I am no more the complaining Gujju that I was the first time I came here. Trichy accepted me and made me one of its own….. Who, other than Jiten Da, my oldest friend in college, could have reminded me that I am no more the same guy who met him on the first day of college? His smile did the trick and by the time my third cup of coffee was over, my train had arrived.
I dumped the luggage under my seat, went out to a stall and said “anna, urr tanni bottle venum” for the last time. As the train started moving, I waved Jiten Da and shed a tear for Trichy, for the first and the last time.
