Dhum… dhum… dhum!!!
Oh yes, that’s me you hear – the thuds of machines, the hammering, the dust rising in clouds. They’ve finally begun my renovation.
About time, don’t you think?
After all, I’ve stood here, tall and patient, for more than 130 years.
On paper, they call me the Albert Victor Overbridge. Very official, very stiff.
But around here? I’m simply the Goripalayam Bridge. I like it better that way – short, simple, honest.
Because the people who cross me don’t come with titles or bows, they come with groceries dangling from their arms, with horns blaring, with giggles tucked under their breath. That’s how I like it.
I’ve stretched across the Vaigai River for over a century. Ah, the Vaigai.. she’s mostly dry now, her whispers reduced to silence.
But once, oh once, she cooled my pillars with her rippling silver. Fishermen sang to her, nets straining with life. Now I only hear the rustle of garbage in the wind. Times change, don’t they? But I remember. I hold every sound, every sigh.
I’ve felt the slow dignity of bullock carts creaking across my back, polished like wedding horses. I’ve rattled under the weight of rickshaws, hummed with the rhythm of buses, and quivered beneath bullet bikes tearing across like they owned the place. The carts were slow but noble. The bikes are loud but fleeting. Still, I carry them all.
Every wheel leaves its echo. Every step leaves its trace.
Children have raced across me, shrieking with joy, imagining my arches as dragon wings or castle gates. Some stopped to press tiny palms to my stones and whisper secrets I’ll never betray.
Lovers have leaned over my edges, sighing into the night, their promises woven into my ribs like hidden threads. Stray dogs curl against my stones at dusk, claiming the warmest corners as if they owned the skyline.
And then there’s the chai man. Every evening, he rests against me, steaming cup in hand, eyes closed. I’ve known him since he was a boy. He doesn’t talk much, but his silences are eloquent; he holds more than his eyes show.
Festivals bring me alive. If you haven’t visited Madurai during festivals, you are missing the major part of its culture. The city spills across me in a river of colours, prayers, drums, and fireworks. My arches sway, but I don’t break. Lamps drift away, carrying wishes into the dark. In those moments, I don’t feel like stone and steel. I feel like heartbeat and breath.
And now, they whisper of upgrades – new piers, stronger bones, maybe even a ramp to steady the rush. Don’t worry, I’m not leaving. Change is just another story to carry, another rhythm to hold.
I have carried lives, dreams, laughter, sighs, prayers, and footsteps. And after this shine and polish? I’ll carry more.
I am not just a bridge.
I am the one who listens, even when the world moves too fast.
No. Of Words: 496 (Excluding Glossary)
Image Courtesy: Wikimedia_AVBridge_Madurai
Glossary:
- Albert Victor Overbridge (AV Bridge / Goripalayam Bridge): A colonial-era bridge in Madurai, named after Prince Albert Victor, locally called Goripalayam Bridge.
- Vaigai River: The main river of Madurai, seasonal but historically vital for the city.
- Sungudi saree: A lightweight, hand-dyed cotton saree from Madurai with traditional dotted patterns.
