Chennai
From Mumbai we travel 1,300 kilometres south-east to Chennai. The city greets the senses like an explosion. Smoke rises. Members of an Islamic political party pass our cab with flags on motorcycles. We pass catholic cathedrals and visit restaurants where dishes are advertised as halal. You quickly get a sense that religions other than Hinduism are more covert here than they are in Mumbai.
The food in Chennai makes our tongues burn – it is more spicy. The climate has changed. The air is tropically humid, and somehow feels even hotter. The leaf canopy over the narrow streets gives us the impression of having walked into a jungle. Compared to Mumbai, we may as well be in another country. The size of India dawns on us a little bit more, as does the feeling that we do not understand how big this country, this subcontinent, really is. We are in the state of Tamil Nadu and notice: Chennai not only tastes different, it feels different, it even sounds its own way.
There are 21 official languages in India, beside which over a hundred different languages are spoken. Instead of Hindi, local people here speak Tamil, a very old language with its own expressions and special pronunciation. We notice a kind of gurgling coming from his throat whenever Yesu speaks English with us, imitating the sounds of his mother tongue. Yesu is 26, he is our first contact to the community in Chennai and founder of the community welfare organization “Magizhvan”, still very much in its infancy.
We visit him in his apartment where he lives with his partner and their pug. He invites us to a gathering organised by “Magizhvan” where we eat rice with lentils on banana leaves together with members of the local LGBTIQ community. Two topics are raised: suicide and TikTok* – a social media platform through which some come to find “Magizhvan” and also new confidence.
Chennai
From Mumbai we travel 1,300 kilometres south-east to Chennai. The city greets the senses like an explosion. Smoke rises. Members of an Islamic political party pass our cab with flags on motorcycles. We pass catholic cathedrals and visit restaurants where dishes are advertised as halal. You quickly get a sense that religions other than Hinduism are more covert here than they are in Mumbai.
The food in Chennai makes our tongues burn – it is more spicy. The climate has changed. The air is tropically humid, and somehow feels even hotter. The leaf canopy over the narrow streets gives us the impression of having walked into a jungle. Compared to Mumbai, we may as well be in another country. The size of India dawns on us a little bit more, as does the feeling that we do not understand how big this country, this subcontinent, really is. We are in the state of Tamil Nadu and notice: Chennai not only tastes different, it feels different, it even sounds its own way.
There are 21 official languages in India, beside which over a hundred different languages are spoken. Instead of Hindi, local people here speak Tamil, a very old language with its own expressions and special pronunciation. We notice a kind of gurgling coming from his throat whenever Yesu speaks English with us, imitating the sounds of his mother tongue. Yesu is 26, he is our first contact to the community in Chennai and founder of the community welfare organization “Magizhvan”, still very much in its infancy.
We visit him in his apartment where he lives with his partner and their pug. He invites us to a gathering organised by “Magizhvan” where we eat rice with lentils on banana leaves together with members of the local LGBTIQ community. Two topics are raised: suicide and TikTok* – a social media platform through which some come to find “Magizhvan” and also new confidence.