Where Chennai falls in love: Between platforms, passing trains and parting ways

Every time I listen to ‘Malai Kovil Vaasalil,’ I mourn who I was when I sat next to her on that MRTS train en route Chengalpattu. Ilaiyaraaja was speaking for us through an audio jack splitter that rested gently on our interlocked arms. I still remember how the orange streetlights outside lit her face, her eyes conveying the unease she felt after we ended a difficult conversation.

I can still remember the measured diction with which she told me it was okay and that we would get through it together as always. Ragini* waved goodbye as I boarded my train back to Chennai Beach — I am still not sure who was leaving whom. For thousands of hopeless romantics, the railway station is a lovers’ haunt that gradually becomes something more, an otherworld where everyone is in a hurry but you, and yours.

Pavithra and Manoj Kumar
| Photo Credit:
Monish (RM Studios)

The railway station has seen just as many tearful heartbreaks as the Marina. But at the Egmore railway station, on Independence Day 2023, I saw that some goodbyes can show you all the love you have left to share with the world. Just a couple of days ago, on August 13, I had matched with Hasini* on a dating app. The match was an instant hit, but the story seemed like it would end even before it could start — she was in Chennai on vacation and was soon going back to her college in Tiruchi. On August 15, she told me she was on her way to Egmore. “Lowkey thinking of chasing that train in DDLJ-style. But okay,” I sent. “Come,” she replied, and my pulse shot up instantly.

It was 10 at night, and Rockfort Express was scheduled to depart from Platform 4 at 11.30. I took off to Egmore like The Flash. I had to get her something, but who would sell flowers at that hour. A bar of chocolate was the best I could hope for. But as it happened, a handful of thaenmittai wrapped in a newspaper was what was in store. Who wouldn’t like thaenmittai?

I met Hasini on Platform 4. I can’t recollect much of what we talked about on the bench; I was too taken aback by the absurdity of the moment, knowing she would eventually have to run back in to not be caught seen with a strange man at this hour by her college roommate’s parents. She texted an apology from inside the train and promised to come out and to say bye from the door when the train departed. At the stroke of 11.30pm, Rockfort Express began pulling away from the station, but there was no sign of her. I walked alongside the compartment in anguish until the train suddenly stopped. Hasini appeared at the door with a grin so wide it still fills me with joy — the same joy that made me run after her when the train started again, paying no heed to onlookers. She stretched her hand and waved goodbye, her radiant smile forever imprinted in my mind. This was our Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, even if it only lasted for an evening. The date went well, but I never saw Hasini again (and as it turns out, she didn’t like thaenmittai!).

Manoj Kumar and Pavithra
| Photo Credit:
Monish (RM Studios)

And as is with life, I wasn’t nearly done with railway stations. Neither was love done with me.Later that same year, the Guindy MRTS railway station grew from a dating spot to a world unto itself. In a relationship filled with uncertainty, Meena* and I decided to have our own ‘Montauk’ in Chennai, inspired by The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. “Meet me in Montauk” became a lighthouse phrase, and a bench at the railway station where we spent many rainy evenings under a shared umbrella became a safehouse destination we vowed to find each other, or ourselves, at 8pm on Thursdays, should we get separated by the powers that be. Later, you could have found me sitting alone at Guindy, every Thursday at 8, for more than a month before I realised Meena was gone for good. And yet, that stone bench could tell you all about the poetry we wrote with rainwater under an umbrella.