Letter From Chandler

Today the heat index touched 115. But I don’t think we noticed. After 110 it’s all the same. I was tempted to drop an egg on the sidewalk. Instead I let down all the blinds at 6AM and kept them there till the sun finally burned itself out at 7:35 PM. This was pretty much my day today, in Chandler.

This town has been my home for the past 5 years. Every scorching summer I swear it’s going to be my last and every winter I again fall in love with it’s pretty sunshine.

Chandler is located twenty minutes south of Phoenix. The remarkable thing about Chandler is that it’s totally unremarkable. It’s just a peaceful labyrinth of unhurried, perpendicular streets. Days gently roll over into weeks, which slowly turn over into months. Most things are located within 1 mile radius of my house: the grocery story, the hair salon, the gym, the dentist, the family doctor, the tae kwon do studio, the Chinese take-out, even the post-office. It’s almost a relief to drive 2 miles for my annual eye check-up.

In summer, we rely mostly on wildfires and ill-fated bar-be-cues for entertainment. Occasionally a stir is created by an unusually large piece of produce sighted at the local farmer’s market. Sometimes a friendly black widow in the garage or a baby scorpion on the patio can add a personal thrill to the day. But mostly we hibernate into dark, AC-clad homes. We minimize driving because by the time the car cools, we are already at our destination. We never leave children, pets or plants out in the backyard. We never dress below our knees and I cannot remember the last time I wore full sleeves. This poses a moral dilemma for traditional Indian ‘aunties’ in Chandler.

Indians in Chandler belong to three distinct communities: Intel-ites, Motorola-ites, Honeywell-ites. Lately a few Amex-ites have been spotted as well. And of course within these communities exist other sub-communities such as: Tamilians, Punjabis, Bengalis. And then there are the crossbreed types such as the Intel-ite Tamilian who is married to the Motorala-ite Punjabi both of whom are members of the Indo-American society. The mind boggles. I prefer to spend time with the Hispanic gardener, making frantic hand gestures to communicate.

This is not to say that Chandler does not have its fair share of blond, blue-eyed, white skinned all-Americans. There are plenty and they generally treat us (Asians/brown skins) with polite but bewildered respect. For most locals, Chandler has been the only home they know or the second home at the most. The latter take great pains to describe their adventurous, risk-fraught move from Mesa to Chandler. Just FYI, Mesa is the town next to Chandler, 4 miles from my house. We therefore represent an enigma to these people. To cross seven seas and leave behind all we know and love – what could possibly be worth it? Sometimes I wonder if instead of mocking their frog-in-the- well attitude, I should learn something from them…should I return to India?

But I digress now. I told you about the summer in Chandler. Now I want to tell you about the wonderful winters. After a few weeks of thunderous, blazing thunderstorms and a few squalls of rain (when the local TV induces mild hysteria by issuing flood warnings), the weather begins to cool. Crisp, clean breezes replace stolid, oppressive layers of heat. The sky becomes a pool of sparkling blue. Pure gold sunbeams drench everything in yellow warmth. Slowly, ACs wind down. Patio doors are pushed open, backyards become crowded with children, streets are dotted with young mothers pushing strollers and birds flock to grains scattered by kind old hands. Chandler comes alive. We gleefully switch on the news every evening just to see the rest of the country freezing under mounds of snow. We stand vindicated. Every weekend is a pocketful of treats: long walks, sunny hikes, cozy picnics, biking adventures.

And yet….yet that’s not really why I love Chandler. This is the town where I came as a new bride. Where my sons were born. Where my husband comes home early every evening – fresh because he has no long commute to battle. This town has treated us well. It gives us space to look up to open skies. Its offers us quiet restful nights to regain our sanity. Sometimes it pours time into our hands as if to say: spend time with each other, because life is fleeting, much like my winter sunshine.

Hmm…..Some day I will return to my big city roots. But for now, I am just waiting for the first splash of winter--here in Chandler.