Little Things
By Donnie Harris ‘23, American College Fellow 2023-2025
Last night, I stood on the side of Goripalayam Road, idling, like a toad on the banks of a river, futilely waiting for the tide to ease. As I crept forward--first a toe, then the whole foot, then a leg-- the traffic whipped up dust and wind, unfaltering in the face of another obstacle entering the scene. I relish moments like this. Moments when the intersection light is green and there seems to be no shortage of mini buses, four-wheelers and two-wheelers, or the three-wheeled autos with their rhythmic Piaggio engines, which fizzle, pop, and rumble with a tune almost as jazzy as the automaker’s name. You really have no choice in these moments other than be patient or throw yourself headlong into the fray, and it was during such a moment that chose the former; and in this “downtime” (a brief 3-5 minutes) I contemplated what to add to this report.
Collapsing two years into a neat summary is nearly impossible. Not only because of the sheer quantity of memories, or the number of people I’ve come to know along the way, but because I find it difficult to weigh the little things against the monumental moments. I could wax poetic about the vast mountains and meticulously designed temples, the life-sized welcome-poster with my name on it, a concert in a hill station or a trippy trip to Auroville. Or, I could reflect on the day-to-day. Something as mundane as becoming a regular customer at Temple City (a restaurant with some of the best podi around) or Nila (a nearby grocery store with Squid Game themed ramen, and a place where I always pay in cash because I don’t have GPay). I could talk about playing (and often losing) Uno, Jenga, and Bananagrams in my office with students and faculty (my friends)--the smell of instant coffee powder lingering in the air as if we were in some New Hampshire office park. I could recollect the time a friend of mine taught some peers how to floss (after which we had a group flossing party). If I really wanted to make Ted, Gavin, and my parents squirm with angst, I could recall driving in a monsoon (with my sleeves literally sagging under the weight of the water they carried), or all of the near-misses and unseen speedbreakers and potholes (and maybe a gentle rear-ending).
Alternatively, I could just tell you that I’m settled in, that driving has become a routine, rather than a risk-taking exercise, that things aren’t really so spicy as they used to be (in a good way), that I look forward to lecturing in front of a full classroom, that I love sitting back and people-watching as professors shuffle in-and-out of the English Faculty office, that I’ve become climatized, that I’ve found a place for myself with people whom I care deeply for (and I feel that same warmth and love returned in equal measure). Simply put, I’m doing just fine.
Of all the colorful language or lovely adages that I’ve heard in Madurai, my favorite will always be, “Come home sometime.” I really do feel at home, and departing will be like leaving the nest all over again.
*While the photos that I’ve decided to share are a bit haphazard in their organization, I like to think of them as three pages out of a larger scrapbook of my time here. Each scenic view, group photo, and knick-knack carries its own sentimental value for me. If my memory was truly functional, I would have loved to recount each and every moment in great detail--but the best that I can offer is this compilation…maybe you can make a story out of it with your imaginations…
