Wandering grinder

At first glance he seemed to be carrying a bicycle - no, a unicycle - on his back. Bent forward by the weight of the frame, he trudged along. A few steps down, he looked up and calculating the optimum angle for his voice to carry through the street, he bellowed, "saana pudikarathu, kaththi saana...".

There weren't many who responded to the call. Even the older folks seem to have forgotten that their knives need sharpening. And this man walked on, untiring, the grindstone-and-wheel arrangement fitted on a wooden frame that he carries on his back, looking up only to repeat his cry, "...saana pudikarathu, kaththi saana!"

The half-Monty

It is ridiculously expensive to even think about the possibility of such things now, but there was a time when one man owned a stretch of property from today's Abhiramapuram down to the Boat Club area, right up to the Adayar river. 108 acres he had, did John de Monte, a Portugese businessman who had come to ply his trade in the French controlled, originally Portugese, settlement of San Thome. His businesses flourished and he was for a time the junior partner in the firm of Arbuthnot, de Monte & Co - a firm that was one of the pre-eminent businesses in British India before the collapse of Arbuthnot in the early 20th century.

His son having died in an ill-fated sea voyage at a young age, and his mentally ill wife also having passed away, John de Monte bequeathed most of his money to various individuals and charities. But he desired that none of his lands be sold, preferring instead that the houses be maintained by the executors of his will, to be let out for 'Pious and Charitable uses'. This clause was managed by the Bishop of San Thome; over time, the Archbishop of Madras-Mylapore has come to be the owner/operator of these lands and buildings. Sometime over the past 15 years, the Archbishop has let the maintenance of the buildings slide. They were last occupied by executives belong to the Easun Group of companies; since they vacated, the houses haven't been let out and the whole of de Monte Colony had taken on an eerie aspect.

Suddenly, these signs have sprouted in front of all those empty shells in de Monte Colony. As anyone can figure out, the only reason for them to have sprung up now is the one that's sought to be negated in the last line of the signs - surely the properties must be up for sale, now!

That's a warning!

Went a bit further down the dead-end I had written about in an earlier post. No, I wasn't looking for anything specific, it was just that there was no parking space near the building I wanted to go to. There wasn't much to do for it, but park the car further deep into the street. Didn't notice this board first; actually, I did see it, but dismissed it as one of those omni-present signs saying "Do Not Park in Front of the Gates". It was bit later that I realized the sign was - most probably - intended to warn children playing cricket in the street, to not hit the ball into the walls.

Despite what it says, I am sure the person who had this put up on her* gate must have a wry sense of humour. At least, she* seems to be playing along with all those childhood stories. If you remember, the rakshasan/ogre/troll never waits at the near end of the bridge/road/forest: the hero has to go to a point-of-no-return before the ground thunders. Bringing the ball back after hitting it into the grounds of a house is a dull task. Imagine how deliciously exciting it can be if the ball has to be retrieved when you know the house is inhabited by a fire-breathing demoness!* Don't you agree with me that this livens up the game quite a bit?

*There is a Tamil translation of this board, indicating the gender...

Retail sales

There are still a few streets in Chennai that have more houses than flats. It is always a pleasure to go into such a street, because one gets to see sights that are unique today, but were commonplace a couple of decades ago. And when the street is a dead-end, it makes for some added excitement - because you know you don't have the excuse of 'passing through'!

Early last morning, I went into one such street in Abhiramapuram. Okay, the excitement was slightly lower, because I had a good reason to be there. It was nice to see that the practice of washing the space in front of the gates and tracing 'kolams' in them still continues - that's something one can't get to see in front of a flat. And because it had rained a bit during the night, the street had a misty feel to it, the fresh mist that foretells a crisp day.

And then I saw this colourful sight. These tricycles have almost disappeared with the advent of all the big, corporatised retail stores. They are the last link in a chain that has connected farmer to consumer, getting the vegetables from the field to the table within 24 hours more often than not. Unlike the big stores, this chain does not have any fancy infrastructure or management overheads; no storage facilities or refrigerated trucks. It runs on links that fragment the produce at every stage, making sure that there is no need to carry inventory. And it works because there are still many wives and mothers who do not believe in storing vegetables in their freezers - they want them fresh, every day. And these tricyles bring such vegetables right to the gates, dispensing of 250g of tomatoes, a 100g of beans - just enough for a household to be fed that day. And these retail specialists probably know much more about their customers' preferences than any store manager can find out from his databases!