The fruit vendor in front of the house was missing for a few days. He said that he received a call that his mother had fallen and that he was called home 40 kms away. She had been managing her affairs so far but might need help now. She was 95. That typifies an average Indian, taking care of the aged parents.
The girl said, ‘That settles it. We will part as acquaintances. Do not bother. We will not charge you for the refreshments.’
Madras Nalla Madras
That was a song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMzW_hrs2Us) in a movie.
‘Pattanam’ (city) is the word used in the ordinary man’s parlance for Madras. There is another song ‘Pattanamthan pogalamadi pombale’ (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iP9WPo0iWYE).
Pattikada pattanama is yet another song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaT9m9SzjMI).
Pattanama Pattikada was a film.
I thought a filmy introduction would attract readers.
I moved from pattikadu (village) to pattanam (Madras) in 1957 for studies. For the next ten years I lived in Madras during school/college days and in the village during vacations for a week or longer. It is difficult for me to answer ‘pattikada pattanama’. I would like to call myself pattikadu to invite sympathy. A classmate of mine pushed me a century behind, not just ‘pattikadu’, still more backward.
I want to write my humdrum impressions on Madras. I lived there from 1957-1969, 1974-1978, 1985-1987, and in 2007 – in all 19 years of my life of 73 years. Bengaluru comes next - 18 years running, followed by Mumbai – 10 years. I choose ‘Madras’ as it was so called in the times I was there mostly.
The first impression that I recollect is rikshas – hand-pulled and cycle rikshas. I used to hire them as a boy whenever the distance was long or I had heavy baggage. The charge was decided by ‘beram’ (haggling). It did not trouble me that I was using human labour for my personal comfort. The rikshavala will keep shouting ‘oram po’ (move to the side) to make way for the risksha.
Drinking water was scarce and corporation taps were the source. Water would come in the morning and evening for one or two hours and there would be a queue of people and vessels of all types at the taps. Some altercations were routine.
Cinema as movies were called in common man’s lingo was an attraction, but it was ‘bad’ to see a movie, a belief that suited a light purse more than orthodox perception. Occasionally, my aunt would take me to some films she watched, rather rare. There were too many theatres around, Crown (next to the Mint where no minting seemed to be taking place), Krishna near a crematorium, significant perhaps, Murugan, Regal, Broadway, Prabhath, Bharath. Krishna was perhaps a tad better than the others. Lower middle class and poorer sections patronised these theatres. (An uncle of mine was critical about calling them ‘theatre’, which must be used for drama hall; it is ‘cinema’, he would say). Better placed people went to theatres in Mount Road perhaps.
One thing that comes to mind about Madras is the beach, touted as the second largest beach. It was yet to become a statue-yard or graveyard. Even the portion near the railway track was still accessible to the public and was called high court beach as it was close to the stately high court building which was partly damaged by Emden bombing. It housed then the light house which was open for public viewing. It was fun going up the spiral staircase.
Talking of theatres, an incident pops up in mind. When the slew of statues were being out up in the sixties, I shared a feeling with my professor, ‘Why have they not included U.V.Swmainatha Iyer, who took great pains to unearth Tamizh works?’ He laughed and said, ‘Do not say it aloud. You will be mocked at. There is already a statue for him in the University campus, and people used to joke about the crows perching there and excreting.’
The zoo was close to the Central station abutting the railway line. It was an apology for a zoo. At that time, the zoos in Calcutta, Hyderabad and Thiruvananthapuram were better, I think. I have not visited the Vandalur Zoo. Poor animals!
Moor Market was in a Victorian building (since demolished with railway booking office housed there). One went there for second-hand books and curios.
The fourteen story building of LIC became the first sky scraper of Madras in the sixties, I think. It was an attraction, but I never went up.
The George Town (GT) area is a crowded place. You will bump into someone if not careful. Noise was constant inside a many-tenanted dungeons called houses and outside with variety of traffic including cattle. In fact, in the street just behind our house there was a cattle shed and we used to get milk from that owner who seemed to get water without any hassle.
Kothwal Chavadi was the whole sale vegetable market situated in the ground belonging to Kannika Parmeswari temple. Occasionally I have gone there with my uncle. The vendors used to cheat in quality and weight. Flower and fruit wholesale market was near Esplanade where the bus stand for buses plying to outstation areas was also situated. The law college and law courts were nearby and lawlessness everywhere.
I used to catch a bus in the bus stand to my village and also go and wait for the rice that would be sent by my father in a bus. I would sit on the low compound wall near the LIC building that was there and watching out for the bus. Getting out the bag from atop the bus using a coolie and taking it home employing a riksha was one of my chores.
Madras Tamizh is a speciality one should not miss. It has been the butt of comedy in many plays and films, after Brahminical expressions. Coming from North Arcot, it was not quite strange to my rustic ears. One thing Madrasis have been dismissive about is ‘hair’ and my badness is partly explained by it.
Commuting by bus used to be an ordeal. After the incentive was introduced, buses were crammed worse than pens. The conductor would ask everyone to move in, and often that would be possible only with some moving out through the front exit opening. The conductors were good whistlers, the whistle given being used occasionally. The bus would be stopped before every stage for issuing tickets. The conductor would be a good juggler with deft fingers, with ticket books and currency notes stacked in the space between fingers. The finger in the free hand will move between the tongue and the ticket every time a ticket was issued. Anyone who gave a currency note like a hundred rupee, will be labelled a candidate for death (savu girakki). The driver for his part would address any cyclist etc. crossing his path as someone who has a death wish (oottile sollikinu vanduttiyaa). The driver was nearly an acrobat. He would start and stop the vehicle in a way even a healthy person may suffer heart strain. The accelerator would be used as horn also. He would keep the clutch pressed and accelerate, and anyone would think that the bus was going to run over them.
I came to know much later that GT had the abodes of people like S S Vasan, Dhanammal, Patnam Subramania Iyer, and so on. Obviously, living in GT alone does not lead you to fortune or fame!
11/11/18
Madras Nalla Madras
That was a song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMzW_hrs2Us) in a movie.
‘Pattanam’ (city) is the word used in the ordinary man’s parlance for Madras. There is another song ‘Pattanamthan pogalamadi pombale’ (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iP9WPo0iWYE).
Pattikada pattanama is yet another song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaT9m9SzjMI).
Pattanama Pattikada was a film.
I thought a filmy introduction would attract readers.
I moved from pattikadu (village) to pattanam (Madras) in 1957 for studies. For the next ten years I lived in Madras during school/college days and in the village during vacations for a week or longer. It is difficult for me to answer ‘pattikada pattanama’. I would like to call myself pattikadu to invite sympathy. A classmate of mine pushed me a century behind, not just ‘pattikadu’, still more backward.
I want to write my humdrum impressions on Madras. I lived there from 1957-1969, 1974-1978, 1985-1987, and in 2007 – in all 19 years of my life of 73 years. Bengaluru comes next - 18 years running, followed by Mumbai – 10 years. I choose ‘Madras’ as it was so called in the times I was there mostly.
The first impression that I recollect is rikshas – hand-pulled and cycle rikshas. I used to hire them as a boy whenever the distance was long or I had heavy baggage. The charge was decided by ‘beram’ (haggling). It did not trouble me that I was using human labour for my personal comfort. The rikshavala will keep shouting ‘oram po’ (move to the side) to make way for the risksha.
Drinking water was scarce and corporation taps were the source. Water would come in the morning and evening for one or two hours and there would be a queue of people and vessels of all types at the taps. Some altercations were routine.
Cinema as movies were called in common man’s lingo was an attraction, but it was ‘bad’ to see a movie, a belief that suited a light purse more than orthodox perception. Occasionally, my aunt would take me to some films she watched, rather rare. There were too many theatres around, Crown (next to the Mint where no minting seemed to be taking place), Krishna near a crematorium, significant perhaps, Murugan, Regal, Broadway, Prabhath, Bharath. Krishna was perhaps a tad better than the others. Lower middle class and poorer sections patronised these theatres. (An uncle of mine was critical about calling them ‘theatre’, which must be used for drama hall; it is ‘cinema’, he would say). Better placed people went to theatres in Mount Road perhaps.
One thing that comes to mind about Madras is the beach, touted as the second largest beach. It was yet to become a statue-yard or graveyard. Even the portion near the railway track was still accessible to the public and was called high court beach as it was close to the stately high court building which was partly damaged by Emden bombing. It housed then the light house which was open for public viewing. It was fun going up the spiral staircase.
Talking of theatres, an incident pops up in mind. When the slew of statues were being out up in the sixties, I shared a feeling with my professor, ‘Why have they not included U.V.Swmainatha Iyer, who took great pains to unearth Tamizh works?’ He laughed and said, ‘Do not say it aloud. You will be mocked at. There is already a statue for him in the University campus, and people used to joke about the crows perching there and excreting.’
The zoo was close to the Central station abutting the railway line. It was an apology for a zoo. At that time, the zoos in Calcutta, Hyderabad and Thiruvananthapuram were better, I think. I have not visited the Vandalur Zoo. Poor animals!
Moor Market was in a Victorian building (since demolished with railway booking office housed there). One went there for second-hand books and curios.
The fourteen story building of LIC became the first sky scraper of Madras in the sixties, I think. It was an attraction, but I never went up.
The George Town (GT) area is a crowded place. You will bump into someone if not careful. Noise was constant inside a many-tenanted dungeons called houses and outside with variety of traffic including cattle. In fact, in the street just behind our house there was a cattle shed and we used to get milk from that owner who seemed to get water without any hassle.
Kothwal Chavadi was the whole sale vegetable market situated in the ground belonging to Kannika Parmeswari temple. Occasionally I have gone there with my uncle. The vendors used to cheat in quality and weight. Flower and fruit wholesale market was near Esplanade where the bus stand for buses plying to outstation areas was also situated. The law college and law courts were nearby and lawlessness everywhere.
I used to catch a bus in the bus stand to my village and also go and wait for the rice that would be sent by my father in a bus. I would sit on the low compound wall near the LIC building that was there and watching out for the bus. Getting out the bag from atop the bus using a coolie and taking it home employing a riksha was one of my chores.
Madras Tamizh is a speciality one should not miss. It has been the butt of comedy in many plays and films, after Brahminical expressions. Coming from North Arcot, it was not quite strange to my rustic ears. One thing Madrasis have been dismissive about is ‘hair’ and my badness is partly explained by it.
Commuting by bus used to be an ordeal. After the incentive was introduced, buses were crammed worse than pens. The conductor would ask everyone to move in, and often that would be possible only with some moving out through the front exit opening. The conductors were good whistlers, the whistle given being used occasionally. The bus would be stopped before every stage for issuing tickets. The conductor would be a good juggler with deft fingers, with ticket books and currency notes stacked in the space between fingers. The finger in the free hand will move between the tongue and the ticket every time a ticket was issued. Anyone who gave a currency note like a hundred rupee, will be labelled a candidate for death (savu girakki). The driver for his part would address any cyclist etc. crossing his path as someone who has a death wish (oottile sollikinu vanduttiyaa). The driver was nearly an acrobat. He would start and stop the vehicle in a way even a healthy person may suffer heart strain. The accelerator would be used as horn also. He would keep the clutch pressed and accelerate, and anyone would think that the bus was going to run over them.
I came to know much later that GT had the abodes of people like S S Vasan, Dhanammal, Patnam Subramania Iyer, and so on. Obviously, living in GT alone does not lead you to fortune or fame!
May 07, 2015
Monkey plays guest
Post Office
I took an auto. On the way, a motorist took a right turn blindly ahead of the auto and dashed on it. He stopped, came out and looked at the damage to his car and the auto. The auto driver also inspected. No altercation! The motorist, a young man, pulled out his purse and offered some cash. The auto driver refused. He said coolly that there was already damage to the auto. The young man tried to force it, but the auto driver would have nothing of it.
When he dropped me, I paid him 70 as the metre showed 66. He promptly shelled out the change, something the auto drivers normally do not have.
We perhaps get rains still because of such people.
3/3/18
I am trying to cross near St Joseph’s college. As the signal does not seem to be on, I walk up to the policeman. He puts his hand out and walks across escorting me. I thank him wondering whether it is a dream.
I look for Sundaram Mutual Fund in Phoenix building, but it is not there. I ask a person in the stairway, and he suggests that I try in another building a few yards away. There also there is no trace of it. I ask a gentleman. He goes out of the way to find it for me using his mobile and calling a few numbers. Then, he looks around for the watchman who just returned from lunch. He says that they had moved near Trinity Church.
A good day when I met people who try to help. Never mind that I did not go to Trinity Church.
9/12/17
I waved but many autowalas ignored or refused as the distance was short. One stopped and took us in. He did not turn on the metre. He put his hand on it, but withdrew and murmured inaudibly something. I did not press as I know the fare.
The driver saw me talking to my wife in Tamizh and started a conversation. He said that there was too much evil, injustice and strife in the world and gave a laundry list of sufferings. He asked me why it was so and answered himself that it was because we have man’s rule on earth. He assured me that soon god’s rule would come and there would be no suffering. I suggested to him that even now there is only god’s rule and suffering will be part of life and without problems life would not be there. He brushed me aside and said that it is man’s view. I looked at him and he too looked like a man only.
He kept haranguing at every signal when the auto had to wait. But, as in life, in journey too there is an end mercifully. I paid him more than the normal fare in appreciation of his taking us when others refused.
As I got down, I saw the name ‘Emmanuel’.
That is mobile evangelism.
The music was thunderous making the whole body shake as in an earthquake. It is a wonder how they call it music. Long back I attennded Rolling Stones performance. The name was apt. Rolling stones might have been sweeter perhaps.
After every performance she said it was fantastic, awesome, and such things, making me wonder whether she was a dictionary or human being knowing the meaning of what she uttered.
After the first two performances, I left to save my ears and heart. The immediate reason was that the performance of my grandchildren was over.
After the function was over, one boy said, ‘It was such a bore. They could have given it in the next class.’
Children love play, excitement, animation, fight, chat and what not.
I made no noise and heard no meaningful syllable. After the event, I found myself alone as everyone left me dreaming, a favour conferred on old age. Luckily I knew the way back.
Then, he said that his elder brother died in an accident at the age of 29. His father was shattered and died of grief a year later. The wife of his brother and a year old child were left to be cared for when his brother died. His mother was also there, who died at 94 years of age. He devoted himself to taking care of all of them. A family of his own would have cut into this duty, he said. He added, 'I do not call it sacrifice. It is duty.' The son, he referred to is his nephew.
He would have shared more information. But, my legs rather than my ears got tired. I invited him to come home some time and took leave.
That brought to mind a story my mother told me as a boy, something she must have read in a magazine.
A deaf one (that was the normal expression sixty years ago) planned to visit a friend who was ill for some time. He visualised (his sight was in order!) how the meeting would go. “I will ask him how he is and he will say ‘better’, and I will express satisfaction, I will probe about his diet, and he will say some porridge, and I will recommend to continue it, and I will ask him who his doctor is and he will mention some renowned doctor’s name and I will endorse it.” He went and the actual interview took the following pattern:
“How are you?”
“There is some deterioration.”
“Glad to hear. What diet do you take?”
Irritated, the friend exploded, “Mannangatti (clump of mud).”
“That is the proper diet. Keep it up. Which doctor are you consulting?”
“Yamadharmaraja.”
“He is the best doctor. Follow his advice.”
That answers my curiosity about how my listeners take my responses!
When I go to buy milk in the morning, it is my custom to collect some flowers. As I was plucking flowers one day, a girl, who was returning rom walk in the park, smiled genially, plucked some flowers for me and went her way.
*********************
Living is fulfilling with such trivia.
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