I have been in Chennai for nearly a month and a half, and I sometimes feel I have had little chance to see India. Yesterday, I pondered over how different my life would be if my traineeship was in another country. For a few short moments, I was sad that it might not be by much. I then realised the truth.
Every day, for six days a week, I dress for work in the Ladies’ Locker Room. Here, mobile phones play a heady concoction of Bollywood hits and Western ballads. Here, we braid one another’s hair, and help to put sari safety pins securely into place. Here, girls squeal and tease, running about.
Here, we gossip about pasts and futures, and grumble often about men. Here, we massage one another’s aching shoulders, delighting at the end of yet another shift. Here, we get homesick, and cry into each other’s arms; here, Muslims and Christians bow their heads, praying side by side.
It is here, in the Ladies’ Locker Room, that I see India. I see her rich diversity as the North and South dress together. I see her sisterly culture unite each and every woman. I see her fierce pride and defence of not only this country, but of each state and each city that is called ‘home’.
Most poignantly, I see her determined acceptance of difference, and of otherness; I am living, for certain, in India.
Going Home to India 