“Chennai, a city I’ve often wanted to leave, but somehow, it never lets me.

I’ve lived across four cities and two countries. On paper, that sounds exciting. But in reality, it meant never feeling fully rooted anywhere. Whenever someone asked where home was, I’d pause. I had four answers depending on how modest or nostalgic I wanted to sound, but deep down, nothing ever felt like home the way Chennai does.

Whether it’s the fast-paced, high-tech lands abroad or the sleepy southern towns, nothing compares to the warm sunrises at Marina, the familiar smell of the streets in KK Nagar, or the movie-climax-worthy traffic I’ve come to love and loathe in equal measure.

To me, Chennai isn’t just a city. It’s a personality, a feeling, a rhythm, a way of being. I call it Chennainess.
It’s the ability to make random auto drivers our annas and akkas.
It’s the comfort of having deep conversations with strangers on buses.
It’s the way we care for people we’ve just met, like they’ve always been part of our story. It’s the spirit of living and letting live.

Chennainess, I’ve realised, is what I look for in people. That quiet warmth. That effortless empathy.

This city also holds my father’s stories, tales of his youth that once tucked me to sleep. Today, I walk the same streets, making memories that I’ll someday pass on. Chennai, to me, is inheritance. It’s legacy. It’s love.

It represents liberty, the freedom to dream, to fail, and to rebuild. It represents culture, not the kind that binds you, but the kind that lets you exist freely, without judgement.

I have a degree in Biomedical Science, something that, in theory, could help cure diseases. But beyond that, I think I’m still learning to understand myself. Like the sea, I keep discovering new tides. Each day surprises me, a thought, a song, a stranger, or a random quote I find while doomscrolling at 2 a.m.

To pick one thing and settle feels like too much commitment in a life that’s constantly evolving. I’m a science major who believes in logic, yet my first instinct during any crisis is to run to God. What does that make me? Maybe human. Maybe confused. Maybe both. But the good thing is, I’m learning to be okay with not having it all figured out.

And perhaps that’s why I love Chennai, because it doesn’t demand clarity. It lets you exist in contradictions. It gives you space to become. It allows you to just be.

Beyond everything, Chennai isn’t just where I’m from, it’s who I’m becoming. Every nagar, every salai, every sound (even the constant hum of metro construction) has shaped me. It’s in my thoughts, my words, my rhythm.

Maybe that’s why, no matter where I go, the city never really leaves me. It just stays, quietly, like the sea breeze at dawn, reminding me that home isn’t always a place. But the good thing is, I’m learning to be okay with not having it all figured out.

And perhaps that’s why I love Chennai, because it doesn’t demand clarity. It lets you exist in contradictions. It gives you space to become. It allows you to just be.

Beyond everything, Chennai isn’t just where I’m from, it’s who I’m becoming. Every nagar, every salai, every sound (even the constant hum of metro construction) has shaped me. It’s in my thoughts, my words, my rhythm.

Maybe that’s why, no matter where I go, the city never really leaves me. It just stays, quietly, like the sea breeze at dawn, reminding me that home isn’t always a place. Sometimes, it’s a feeling that finds you again and again.”