Madras Winter

If memories of Madras Summer came to me sepia toned, Madras Winter is High Definition, barely six months old.

This title runs oxymoronic on two levels:

• Writing about winter in peak, sweltering summer - India, home to at least 95 of the top 100 hottest cities globally this year.

• Writing about Madras winter - ha! As my family firmly believes, Madras seasons are: hot, hotter, hottest.

The title is perhaps strategic on two levels as well:

• It made you curious (I hope) - at least those of you familiar with hot, hotter, hottest.

• It is a companion piece to my essay on Madras Summers, written two years ago.

If memories of Madras Summer came to me sepia toned, Madras Winter is High Definition, barely six months old.

Vales - how we refer to my maternal grandparents’ house in Madras - saw peak occupancy during the summer months of the 90s and 2000s with both domestic and international residents.

Over the decades since, the volume and frequency of these overlapping visits decreased. The grandchildren (my generation) grew up to an age where summer vacations were no longer a regular feature. Those who lived in Vales moved away for degrees and a life outside India. Between the twelve of us we span a little over two and half decades and two continents; only two of us remain in India. Our parents’ visits are no longer anchored in our school holidays. My grandparents passed away, as did one of my aunts. Visits to Vales were triggered by ailing family members, funerals, weddings, extended family functions and biannual visits of former full-time residents.

Between the winter months of December 2025 and January 2026, something extraordinary unfolded. All of us - except two cousins, their wives and one niece - made it back. A former full-time resident of Vales and current full-time resident of New Jersey - my cousin A - was getting married, in Madras. Twenty seven adults and six children of a family of thirty one adults and seven children came to attend. Three generations were present in the house again.

In Madras Summers, this house somehow made room for everybody to fit into two air-conditioned bedrooms at night. We had nightly rituals of rolling out bedding on the floor. We would cluster around the bed on which Thatha-Paati (my grandparents) slept as though we were planets orbiting the center of our tiny solar system.

During Madras Winter, there were several smaller solar systems I suppose. While the house still had room, most of us found accommodation in nearby hotels, orbiting at a comfortable distance… drawn together each morning by the pull of the OG sun at Vales.

In Madras Summers, A & I used to sell soda to our aunts and uncles during get-togethers. It was a rather profitable business model. The adults would buy us the Sprite and Fanta. We would set up shop, pour bottled soda into cups and sell each at Rs. 5-10.

During Madras Winter, as an adult, I found myself placing multiple orders on BlinkIt and paying with my very own credit card - how the mighty have fallen. The current generation of grandchildren certainly profited - though not monetarily. On the last day, I asked one of my nieces what her favorite part of the trip had been. She had a smile and was quick to respond with “Sprite”. It was free-flowing - the adults were too busy to notice - and she didn’t get to do it nearly as often back home. I was just happy my American nieces and nephews weren’t entrepreneurial or aware of the rupee-dollar exchange rate.

In Madras Summers, food from outside was a novelty. It was rare, privileged, drawn from very slim pickings. Eating out at a fancy restaurant was a special treat. Ordering in was probably not even a possibility. We often ate rounds of thayir sadam (curd rice) served to a circle by Paati or one of the aunts, in a way all Tamil kids would know.

During Madras Winter, we decided that none of the women of the house needed to slog in the kitchen. Revolutionary, I know. Thanks to the explosion of restaurants (and varied cuisines) and food delivery apps (shout out: Swiggy and Zomato), outside food at home is now significantly easy to order. In fact, my fingers sometimes act independent of my mind. Once everybody arrived, we hosted a family dinner. I used my expertly honed Domino’s ordering skills and loose fingers to have pizza delivered at home. Obviously, we had homemade Thayir Sadam (curd rice) - because US mein rehne se, India k globalise hone se, hum apne sanskaar nahi bhoole. Aur yeh tum matt bhoolna. (Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, iykyk)

During this Madras Winter,

Paati’s Tamil soap operas (cue: Chitti title track) gave way to Bluey and Ninja Kids on the television.

Running to Ravi Kadai (a former hole-in-the-wall convenience store) on second street became Blinkit app enabled deliveries.

Piling into two cars - well beyond the appropriate limit of passengers - was replaced by scheduled cab services for each solar system.

Information that once lived in Paati’s brain migrated to a physical whiteboard to track arrivals and departures.

Memories once captured on film and video cameras were now documented on iPhones and by professional photographers.

The former grandchildren who once played antakshri, dumb charades, and card games such as Go Fish and Bluff, were found playing intense rounds of Mafia.

(The current grandchildren had iPads…)

The former grandchildren are now adults - many married, some parents.

During this Madras Winter, the former grandchildren danced, drank, and took selfies. We went for a walk at midnight, caught up as adults, discussed AI, held unofficial parties in that one designated room during a wedding, had official dance practice, did shots, and started a WhatsApp group - which is currently discussing the New York Knicks.

During this Madras Winter, the current grandchildren wasted no time in discovering this family home. Running inside, outside. Giggling. Screaming. Playing hide and seek. Discovering the mottai maadi (the terrace). Swinging on the multiple oonjals (swings). Like we used to. They also had mini fights and “mood offs” … like we used to :)