Deadline nears

Even though the RERA Act of 2016 mandates the declaration of an estimated completion date for a real estate project, it does not require that date to be displayed so publicly. But having taken a position of building "Timeless Homes", DRA Homes could not allow it to be treated casually. I assume that is one reason why they decided to put this sign up on their project in Lady Madhavan Nair Colony, Nungambakkam. 

To my untrained eye, it looks like there is still a lot to be done before this building can be lived in. And yet, the sign says very confidently that the completion date is just a day away. I hope they can do it, without having to cut any corners!

Behind the wall

The Congregation of Our Lady of Charity of the Good Shepherd (the Sisters of the Good Shepherd) was founded in 1835 by St. Mary Euphrasia, (born Rose Virginie Pelletier) who believed that education should bring out the best in every aspect of humans. In the 33 years between her founding the Congregation and her death, St. Mary managed to also establish 110 convents in 35 countries, which has now expanded to 72 countries.

The Sisters set up their schools in many places. One such was in Madras, almost 100 years ago. Given that the Nungambakkam area was not a crowded space, it is possible that the school continues to operate from the same space it was founded in. For some time, it must have been a co-educational school; in the 1920s, there would not have been enough girls going to school to make it viable. By the 1960s/70s, however, Good Shepherd had become a girls-only school. We used to go past the school's walls on the way to our school, quite a distance away. Those days, the walls seemed to be 100-foot high, but I guess they'd have at best been 20-foot tall. At that height, it was impossible to find out what was going on behind those high walls. On the few occasions when we were allowed permission to enter Good Shepherd, it seemed to be the same as our school. But we were sure there was more hidden.

Not any longer, I guess. Going past the Good Shepherd a couple of months ago (the walls are considerable shorter than they then were), I found I could look right through to the grounds of the school. That relentless Chennai Metro has taken over a portion of the school grounds; the Sterling Road station on the proposed Purple Line (Madhavaram to SIPCOT) is to be built underground here. Thankfully for the children of the Good Shepherd school, their playground has been spared; one of the smaller buildings on the edge has been brought down. The girls can continue to enjoy their playtime - I'm sure the walls will come up again, soon!

Library - the first

Situated within the complex of buildings under the Department of Public Instruction, this building houses what is arguably the first 'lending library' in the country. It was not originally intended to be a library. Started as the Madras Literary Society in 1812, its objective was to be forum - a learned forum to present papers and discuss advances in science, geology, archeology, anthropology and sociology, and then to be a repository for these papers and related collections. 

Those papers and collections went on to be the seeds for starting several other institutions such as the University of Madras, the Connemara Library and even the state government's Archeological Department. Even so, it still retains about 80,000 books, which are lent out to the Society's ~200 members. The books are mostly door-delivered; keeping in sync with the institution, most of the members are senior citizens, who are grateful for this service. The library, however, does not lend its older books. Even though the members - at different points, the roster of members included Annie Besant, Dr. S. Radhakrishnan and Subas Chandra Bose - are very careful about handling the books, the library is careful to circulate only newer books: meaning, ones that were printed after 1950.

It is worth a visit to take a look at some of the older volumes. The oldest is probably a 1619 copy of Aristotle's Opera Omnia. There are of course several stacks of other reference material, going back to the early and middle 20th century. Of course it is a wonderful place for historic research in any of the subjects it specialized in. But if you are a true bibliophile, you must consider volunteering time to help the Society sort and categorize its collections. Otherwise, we might end up continuing to see 'Pride and Prejudice' displayed in the New Arrivals section!

A different church

Even though it is a rather big building, it is not very eye-catching because it is set in a side road off Nungambakkam High Road. The building has been around for a while - the design seems to be from the 1960-70 timeframe. It is the building of the Laymen's Evangelical Church, an organisation that was set up in 1935 by a former mathematics teacher named Daniel. His son, Joshua Daniel took the organisation forward, and like several similar institutions, the third generation of family has stepped into the business. 

Though it is not a business, they claim. The organisation makes no appeals for money and sustains itself through charitable donations. They also affiliate 'tentmaker missions' - which do not depend on a central organization for funds, but carry out other professions to raise the money they need (the reference being to Paul the Apostle's practice of making tents to support himself rather than depend on church money) - around the world.

They are quite spread out: 337 missions across India and more than 20 globally. Their services are offered in five non-Indian languages. Radio and television broadcasts, supplemented with a YouTube channel and a publication division, all help the Laymen get their message out to the world. I am not sure what that message is, but a line from their website: "...'intellectual bat-chasing in the dark' which men oft-times call religion today..." had me grinning away!

Direction

The white-on-blue signboards are not only on shops. This one directs visitors (of course it can't be for the residents) to the housing complex within the Regional Meteorological Centre, Nungambakkam.

It is certainly not the oldest meteorological observatory in the country - but it has been around for long enough for this sign to be considered of recent vintage!

Old boathouse

The campus of the Women's Christian College in Nungambakkam sits on the southern bank of the Cooum. In days past, some of the colleges in the city had the practice of inter-collegiate classes. It is said that students from the Queen Mary's College, on the Marina, would come over to the WCC for some practical classes.

Even during the mid-50s, this practice of mixed classes continued. And it was not only from the QMC that students came; students of the Presidency College, also on the Marina, had a few classes jointly with the WCC students. The classrooms alternated each week, so the students would have got know both campuses fairly well. 

The easiest mode for students from both Presidency and QMC to come to the WCC campus was by boat. Even though the QMC was a bit of a way away from the river, that was apparently the favoured mode of transport. Presidency College, being closer to the river, would have had an easier time, even if they had to go against the flow to reach the WCC. At the WCC itself, there seems to have been a boathouse for the students to shelter in. It has been a long time since boats moved on the Cooum. It is therefore a wonder that the boathouse, unused for a long time, continues to remain standing inside the WCC campus!

Rust and ruin

These gateposts mark what was once upon a time an entrance to the palace of the Maharaja of Cochin. While the post on the right shows the Maharaja's ownership with the words "The Cochin House", the one on the left bears a plaque saying "Tullock's Gardens". They would have been put up when the Maharaja bought the property from Tullock, whoever he was.

The property was itself part of a much larger expanse, that of Dr. James Anderson. Over time, it seems to have been acquired by someone named Halliburton, for a map in 1822 marks it as such. A few years later, in 1837, another map names it Tullock's Gardens, or, as  Henry Davidson Love, writing about this, says ,"Tulloch's Gardens". Was it a printer's devil in Love's work (for the gatepost very clearly shows the 'k' in the name)? Or, was it a stonecutter's devil, with the mason mishearing the last letter?

Whatever that be, little evidence of Tullock or the Maharaja remains today. A small part has been given to the Asan Memorial Association. Kerala Tourism has set up a hotel in one corner of the property. However, most of the Maharaja's property is today used for housing policemen, with those quarters having been constructed many decades ago. They are not all rust, but certainly given an appearance of being a ruin - or getting there very soon!

Rust and ruin around the world can be very aesthetic, if photographed by the CDP bloggers. Go over here and check it out for yourselves!

Nucleus of a garden

This house and grounds have not changed since the time I first saw them as a school-kid, over 30 years ago. But in the 220 years or so since Dr. James Anderson built his house, the property has undergone several changes - and a lot of shrinkage. Dr. Anderson landed up in Madras in 1761, having completed his MD from Edinburgh, looking for a fortune in the territory of Fort St George. It took him a few years to be appointed as the Company's Assistant Surgeon at the Fort; that was in 1765 and over the next couple of decades, he rose to become the Physician General at Fort St George.

Dr. Anderson was keenly interested in botany. He set up the first botanical gardens in India, a 2-acre plot in Saidapet. That was not merely a hobby; the garden, more specifically called a nopalry, was intended to rear cochineal insects, whose secretions of carminic acid were the basic ingredient for carmine dye (used today in lipsticks and food colouring). These insects are native to South America, which meant that Spain controlled much of the carmine market; a situation unacceptable to the East India Company, which is why Dr. Anderson's nopalry was funded by them. The nopal cacti (g. Opuntia) are the cochineals' preferred hosts and with the nopalry, the East India Company was (probably) able to break the Spanish monopoly. 

With that, Dr. Anderson was as close to royalty within the East India Company. It was therefore no surprise that he was given a 110-acre grant of land in Nungambakkam. That grant covered the land between the Nungambakkam edge of the long tank - what today is Pycroft's Gardens - and extended all the way to the banks of the Cooum. (I am being a bit fanciful here, as I haven't really looked at any map from those years!). It was in these gardens, that Dr. Anderson built his second botanical garden - this time to grow mulberry bushes and silkworms. This was not as successful as the nopalry had been. Very early in the 19th century, Edward Clive (the 2nd Baron Clive) then Governor of Madras, had all the mulberry and silkworms packed off to Mysore - a move that over time led to Mysore being the home of sericulture research in India.

After Dr. Anderson's death in 1809, Anderson's Gardens was fragmented and acquired by various Company notables. This house, named after the man, on the road named after him, became part of the estates of the State Bank of India. Today, it lies in poor condition, used as dumping ground for the bank's furniture. A sad state of affairs for this house - to be overrun by worms and insects other than the ones its original owner grew!

For other school-kids who passed that way with me: No. Cochineal insects had nothing to with Cochin House being just a couple of hundred metres away.

Down. And out.

There were about 50 people in the store. More than half of them were in their tweens or teens. Of the remaining, almost nine-tenths were in their mid thirties, or younger. From the conversations, it seemed that almost everyone had moved into Chennai sometime in the past five years or so. The layout was different, too. That half of the store where books used to be displayed - the 'original' Landmark - was off bounds. There were no books there, anymore. Those left over fitted into six display racks. The toys, VCDs and game cartridges filled up the rest of the space. And the shoppers were busy raiding. 50% off, and that's got the bargain hunters in. 

The old timers were staying away. There was one other shopper who engaged the store manager in conversation. "I was here on the first day you opened, you know", he said. The manager nodded, with a semi-polite half-smile. Of course he wasn't there when it opened. That was a long time ago. The store manager must have been eligible for a half-ticket at Safire when Hemu Ramaiah set up this store. She made sure that once you get down the steps and past the door on the right, you could transport yourself to a different world - or worlds. It didn't feel like half-a-basement at all. One could sit there all day and browse - yes, browse. In the days before Netscape Navigator, Hemu's Landmark would take you all over the wide world. 

Landmark was then a break from the past, but now, a throwback to another era. No bookstore before it tolerated anyone - school and college kids the least of all - flipping through their books. And here was the staff practically shoving a book into your hands and telling you to take your time reading it. It is difficult to believe that for 19 of the 26 years it has been around, the store has been competing against the Internet. The memories of those first seven years were strong enough for many to turn up again and again at the first Landmark store, now spread across the entire basement of Apex Plaza. Indra Nooyi, it is said, used to make it a point to spend a couple of hours here every time she visited Madras/Chennai. She was only one of the many non-residents - Madrasis or otherwise - for whom the Nungambakkam Landmark was the place to visit. And browse. And browse.

The first time I bought a set of greeting cards from Landmark, I did not realize that I was taking the first step to losing the bookstore of my college days. Greeting cards were followed by other stationery items. Then came CDs. Toys. Games. Suddenly, books seemed to be an "also there" item. And then the Tatas bought the chain, in 2005. India's best bookstore, born of passion, boosted by the quiz, sustained by the loyalty of its Madras customers (who spread the word about it to their friends in Pune, Bengaluru and other places) had now completely transformed into a 'business'. The staff didn't know their books. (Or even music, or toys, for that matter). But they still let customers visitors browse through the books, and the Nungambakkam store was the best place to do that. 

Now it is gone. When the bargain hunters have cleared it out ("50% off!!" "Everything must go!!!"), I shall also be gone. I did not intend to walk into the store yesterday, but I did. And I picked up a few books, at random. I only had a vague idea of what I was doing, because memories of 26 years obscured the actions of the day. My eyes were moist; I could not look at the girl at the billing counter, who asked me if I had a loyalty card. "I am turning it in today", I thought. I suddenly felt very old. Good bye, Landmark. You've taken my youth with you.

Weather-beaten

I am still not convinced that the dome in the picture is really a part of the main business of the Regional Meteorological Centre (RMC) in Nungambakkam. It looks a bit like an oddly-shaped water-tank, but being where it is, I must accept that it is very likely to have a scientific purpose. The RMC is, of course, one of the six such across the country; this one covers the four southern states, Pondicherry and Lakshadweep. 

Although the RMC was formally set up only on April 1, 1945, its beginnings go back to 1769. The transit of Venus that year saw a lot of activity, which ultimately ended up, unfortunately, with little to show for it. One of those who must have been deeply affected by this was William Petrie, who was at that time a junior civil servant in Fort St George. By 1786, Petrie was a big shot and had enough money to spare for an iron-and-timber observatory, its instruments and to employ an assistant named John Goldingham. By 1792, when Sir Charles Oakeley was the Governor of Madras, the proposal for an observatory was backed by Micheal Topping, who had made a name himself as the 'most talented and highly qualified all-round surveyor of the East India Company'. Petrie's instruments, and the observatory itself, were moved to a garden house on the banks of the Cooum, with John Goldingham taking charge as the first Astronomer.

That, of course, was the first Observatory in the country. Having been reduced to a mere RMC now cannot take that credit away from it, no matter how the wind blows!

Local boss

In a strange way, this area between Nungambakkam and Egmore seems to be some kind of banking hub. There are a couple of representative offices of foreign banks up ahead on this road. Then there is the large Standard Chartered Bank complex on Haddows Road. The State Bank of India however beats all of them because not only does it have its 'LHO' - Local Head Office - here, but it also has quite a number of Officers' Quarters just behind the LHO.

This building is obviously a fairly recent one. The State Bank of India, as you may know, has its roots in the Presidency Banks of the early 19th century. For a long while, the erstwhile headquarters of the Bank of Madras served as the LHO for State Bank of India as well. It was probably about a dozen years or so ago that the LHO moved into this building. In doing so, SBI went against the grain, picking a spot that was not on 'Main Street', so to say. However, once the big daddy of India's banks came in, it became the main street, almost by default.

The one thing that is mysterious about this is the building's name. "Circletop House" conjures up an Enid Blyton-esque image, that's quite far removed from the business of  banking. But that's the name of this building. Try as I could, I was unable to spot any circular appendages on the roof of the building!

Riders' dream

There is a Harley's Road in Chennai, but it is in danger of losing its identity. The Chennai dealership of Harley-Davidson was opened in late 2011. It has been quite low key (as in, "How come I didn't know about it for so long?!"), but then, the other luxury automobile brands in Chennai - Porsche, Jaguar - have also been low key. Harley has its showroom in Wallace Garden. I am sure this dealership has met its sales targets for the year; there seem to be quite a few Harleys roaring around Chennai. 

Roaring is probably the wrong word to use. This was a company that tried to trademark the sound of its machines. In 1981, Harley-Davidson was 'rescued', after a dozen years of being a division of AMF through a management buy-out led by Vaughn Beals. Soon after that, the company tried to claim that the 'potato-potato-potato' sound of its engines was unique and distinctive. A long and tedious application process was contested at every stage by other motorcycle makers; at the turn of the millenium, the company dropped the application, with a spokesperson saying "...Harley-Davidson owners from around the world ... told me repeatedly that there is nothing like the sound of a Harley-Davidson motorcycle..."

In India, that sound is spread through the eight dealerships that Harley has. (No, make that nine, for the dealership at Kochi opens today). This one at Chennai is called the Coromandel Harley-Davidson.  I am afraid to go any closer, for I always think of Harley-Davidson as the 'Belle dame sans merci'. I am enthralled enough, as it is!

Get the picture?

Once upon a time, the idly was a truly humble, workmanlike, everyday dish. Fairly simple to cook, and in volumes, it continues to be the staple breakfast at many a south Indian home. But there had to be variants. The Kanchipuram idly was one of the earliest, and that set a trend for place-name idlies, including a Thanjavur idly and the now-ubiquitous Madurai (Murugan) idly. 

But Kushboo idly? At least the place-name idlies had some differentiators originally, arising from local ingredients being used. And of course, rava idly or stuffed idlies do not tax your imagination. But Kushboo idly? Could it be along the lines of the MLA pesarattu? Or is it like that famous Chiranjeevi dosa one used to get at Chutney's in Hyderabad? The story goes that the actor had tried out the steamed variant of the dosa at his house and had the method perfected before sharing it with Chutney's. 

Of course I have been curious as to the twist that Kushboo has given idly. I suspect there is none, however. And the reviews about this restaurant in Nungambakkam are so dismal that I am not tempted to go there and find out!

Mill Hill Church

I don't think that's really true, calling this a "Mill Hill Church". Although it was the Mill Hill Missionaries who took charge of the parishes of Nungambakkam and Vepery sometime in the early 20th century, their hold on it remained only for about 20 years or so. In 1930, the control of these parishes was passed on to the Padroado Portugues do Oriente  (the protection of the King of Portugal). 

St Teresa's Church, which is the one being discussed, stands on Nungambakkam High Road. It is said this was originally a small chapel within the Bishop of Madras' house and that it began to grow only after the Mill Hill-ers took charge. The chapel was elevated to the level of a parish church in 1912 (and a centenary celebration is called for?) and has continued its growth since.

The Mill Hill-ers handed over the church to the Padroado in 1930. By that time, however, the Padroado was itself in the wane, what with the Padroado Real having given way to the Padroado Portugues do Oriente. The last vestiges of the Padroado disappeared in 1999 when Macau was handed over to China; but in Nungambakkam, this church (and the parish) was moved to the Archdiocese of Madras-Mylapore sometime in the 1950s itself!

Rest in peace

Somehow, this view of the Nungambakkam burial-and-cremation ground seemed rather serene. I seem to remember that whenever I looked out at this from the train, there was some smoke coming out of the chimney; this was the first time in a long while that the crematorium seemed to be at rest.

This is one of the bruial grounds run by the Corporation of Chennai. Their website lists the other 34, as also 38 private ones. From what little I know about the procedures, the place where the death certificate is issued determines which one of the Corporation's grounds can be used. There is possibly no such restriction for the private ones, but many of them are denominational and therefore, well, private. There are 4 crematoria maintained by the Corporation which do not have any geographical restrictions; these are the electric crematoria at Anna Nagar, Kannamapet and Besant Nagar and the gasified one at Washermanpet.

The draft Master Plan for Chennai's development had proposed to convert at least 20 of the existing crematoria to gasified ones. That will no doubt reduce the amount of firewood used for the purpose. It will also do away with the smoke from the chimneys - maybe this one has been modified already!