Moved

At the departure terminal of Anna International Airport, Chennai. Why would they need this kind of a message? 

Anyway, this is probably the only thing about Chennai that I cannot even begin to defend - our airport - so I will go with any explanation that is given!

Bargain

If you rummage through them, you could probably find all the heroes of your childhood here!

Escape reality

Tamil Nadu's Department of Prisons had set itself a hugely challenging target of collecting 100,000 books this year for inmates across the 130 prisons in the state. This is part of a larger drive to rehabilitate prisoners and it needs the support of book lovers across the state. It would be quite easy to get, say 500 copies of books from a publisher trying to dump them, but the Department's goal is to have members of the public donate books they have found useful - that way, it would impact the prisoners positively. 

As far as I can tell, they have already collected about 35,000 books. These will go to the prison libraries once they've been validated for their content - and also to make sure there are no rock hammers hidden inside them, I would imagine. 

So, if you have books to donate (preferably Tamizh, but any language is fine), do call +91 44-28521306 or +91 44 28521512. They'll guide you on where you can drop of the books. If you have a lot of them to donate, they may even come by to pick them up. But make sure you keep your translation of Le Comte de Monte Cristo away!

 

A riot in Madras

In 1884, the Malappuram Special Police was raised as a special paramilitary force to deal with social unrest in the (north) Malabar region. After successfully quelling a gang of fanatics, the force was made permanent in 1897. By 1921 the force had a sanctioned strength of 6 British Officers, 8 Subedars, 16 Jamadars, 60 Havildars and 600 Constables, making up six companies. By then, the Malappuram Special Police had been successful in blunting the guerrilla tactics of the Moplah rebels not only in Malappuram, but also in other parts of Malabar where the Moplah Rebellion had spread. The force was now renamed the Malabar Special Police (MSP); in 1922, a sizeable part of the MSP was moved to Madras, to deal with uprisings in that part of the Presidency. 

And that was how Jamadar TP Kumaran Nair, who had joined the MSP circa 1924, came to be in Madras in 1931, when news of Bhagat Singh's execution reached the city. There were protests all around India and in Madras, a large gathering, exclusively of women, began their protest on the Marina Beach, singing Vande Mataram and waving black flags as well as the forbidden 'national flag'. This was the kind of situation the MSP was famed for breaking up. Jamadar Kumaran Nair was tasked with lathicharging the protestors. As he marched his platoon close to them, he was struck with a sudden and stark realisation that beating unarmed, peaceful protesters, and women at that, was not what he had joined the MSP for. He refused to carry out his 'duty' and the British officer on the spot had him arrested and carted away, to be sacked from the force later.

So begins the book "Swaraj Spy". Written by Kumaran Nair's grand-nephew Vijay Balan, it is not truly fiction, but a reconstruction of how Kumaran Nair went on to become part of the Indian National Army, to be an instructor at a secret espionage school set up by them. Sadly, Kumaran Nair's story is of sacrifice. Having heard Vijay Balan talk about the book at an event last evening at the CP Arts Centre, I am looking forward to reading the story - one that promises to be a grand lesson in history, as well! 

Vijay Balan is the bearded gentleman in the picture. Talking to him is Pradeep Chakravarthy, who we have met earlier on this blog. 

Books all around

This gentleman was obviously very pleased to be at the Chennai Book Fair, which is in its 46th edition this year. The last day is today, and if you haven't gone over yet, do so as soon as you can. There are at least 700 stalls there - and there are a whole bunch of un-numbered stalls, so if someone tells me that there are 1,000 stalls there, I would believe it to be true - especially if you count all the booksellers on the pavement outside the YMCA Nandanam, who are there only because of the Book Fair, to also be book stalls. 

This year, for the first time, there was an exclusive International Book Fair built into the regular event. Although that was only over 3 days, it had publishers from over 30 countries participating. Didn't have a chance to see how that was, but from all accounts, it will be back next year. And a Sri Lankan publisher seems to have become part of the main event itself, so the international representation will continue even after the IBF has formally ended.

The other first for this event is an exclusive stall for LGBTQ+; works by and for members of the community, published by Queer Publishing House, an arm of the Trans Rights Now Collective. They have managed to stay on at Stall No. 28, which was the one originally allotted to them, despite attempts to push them out of sight. BAPASI, the association that has been running this Book Fair has certainly taken a leap of faith with letting them participate; hope they continue to keep the faith in the years ahead!

 

Republic day

Sixty-seven years ago, it was on this day that India formally declared itself to be a republic, with the constitution that had been adopted exactly two months before coming into force. The choice of this date is significant; between 1930, when the Indian National Congress 'officially' promulgated India's independence and 1947, when the country was actually granted independence (and Dominion status), January 26 was celebrated as Purna Swaraj Divas. With the Constitution of India coming into effect in 1950, the monarch of Britain ceased to be the Head of State and that power transferred to the President of India. That structure is replicated in each state of the Union of India. Part VI of the Constitution deals with the States, with Article 153 creating the position of Governor and Article 154 invests in him the executive power of the State, with a Council of Ministers to "aid and advise" the Governor. The position is something of an anomaly in that the people of the state have little say in who their Governor should be; a person is appointed to hold that post at the pleasure of the President of India. 

Tamil Nadu has been without a full-time Governor since August 31, 2016; the Governor of Maharashtra holds this position as an additional charge. It is not the first time this has happened, but on both the earlier occasions, it was the Governor of Andhra Pradesh who also played the role of Tamil Nadu's Governor. The first such was when Krishan Kant took charge for 55 days and the next was C. Rangarajan, who had a longer stint of six-and-a-half months. On neither occasion, however, did Tamil Nadu have to deviate from the practice of the Governor taking the salute at the State's Republic Day parade - it came very close to that in 1997, but Krishan Kant handed over charge to Fatima Beevi on January 25, ensuring that protocol was intact. This year has been the first time in Tamil Nadu that the Chief Minister takes the salute. 

What does all this have to do with the picture for the day? Not much, really. Except that I had seen two former Governors of West Bengal at The Hindu's LitForLife a few days ago; that got me thinking about why there has been such tardiness at finding a Governor for Tamil Nadu. Not that I have any answers for it, of course!

Book wall

The Hindu's "LitForLife 2017" kicked off today at the Sir Mutha Venkata Subba Rao Concert Hall. It was quite a full house today, with Dr. Shashi Tharoor on stage; after his session, a large chunk of the crowd followed him outside, to the author pavilion where he was signing copies of his latest book. 

On the way back after getting the autograph, spotted this book wall. Couldn't help thinking it would have been better with people - kids, especially - standing up close and reading these. And then, we saw that there were spaces at the Hall where you could sit down and read, and in fact, swap books for the day. 

That's nice - look forward to being back there tomorrow!

Old type

Has this building been around for as long as the year on that small brown board over the door? It is quite likely, given that this was a locality where a lot of publications got their start. What's that? You are not able to make out the board? Well, you can click on the picture to get it to open - you will then still have to enlarge it. For all those pains, you will get to know that the board proclaims "Sastra Sanjeevini Press" and then, in even more faded letters, "ESTD 1900". 

So what did the Sastra Sanjeevini Press do? As best as I have been able to find out, it published largely in two genres: Religion and Linguistics. It will take much more effort before I can hope to have more information about the history of this institution. But thanks to the Digital Library of India at the IISc, it is possible to access at least a dozen titles published by this House. The oldest of them goes back to 1901 - and that, somehow validates the founding date. The most recent is dated 1934, so that begs the question - did Sastra Sanjeevini Press continue to turn out those tomes? 

Chances are that it diversified and went into some other genres - maybe ones that the Digital Library project chose to not archive. But the interesting part is that the oldest title in that list - "Bhagavan Siddhantha Saravali", by Subrahmanya Sastri can be printed on demand, and made available in the hard-bound form (US $8.93) or as a paperback (US$6.89). Wonder if any of those greenbacks get back to this building in Chennai!

Weekend book

Reading the review of the book a couple of weeks ago, I knew that I had to have "A Madras Misama" as soon as possible. Not having an India publisher, or distributor, the book had to come in from lands beyond the seas, but thanks to the wonders of Amazon, it got to me on Christmas Day, within a couple of weeks of the order having been placed.

Over the weekend, therefore, I got myself acquainted with Superintendent Chris Le Fanu. It has everything you look for in a mystery - murders, drugs, sex, movies, money - and the setting, of Madras in the 1920s, is incidental. However, that setting has been brought to life; the author, Brian Stoddart, has spent a lot of time in this city and therefore gets it right when it comes to the atmosphere of those times. 

I'm not going to tell you whodunit. But I can tell you it was racing good read on a murky Madras afternoon!

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!

What the Dickens!

That is quite an unusual way to name a store selling silks. Okay, it doesn't restrict itself to just silks, what with the display of an innerwear brand on its shutters. That still doesn't give us any reasons for the store's name. 

Let us just guess that the founder-owner is a fan of Dickens!

Four years on

How long does it take to write a book? Quite a while, apparently. It has taken a lot of travelling, a lot of cloak-and-dagger meetings, and a whole lot of surreptitious telephone notes and sketches for Samanth Subramanian to get his second book out on to the shelves. The first was four years ago, and the years between, on the evidence of the first few pages of his new book, have been spent well.

This Divided Island does not have a political agenda. It is very easy for the Lankan civil war to grab any discussion about it and drag it to an abusive free-for-all. The first evidence of that was in 1985, when some of my college-mates went on a signature campaign against the government of Sri Lanka, and the years since have hardened stances. 

I am looking forward to reading this book. I thought I would be able to finish a substantial part of it before its Chennai launch ten days ago, but it is not a light read. There will be no chest thumping, guts-and-glory story. The stories will be of ordinary Sri Lankans, voiceless people who were the worst affected in the 3-decade long war. The war ended in 2009. These stories will live on for ever!

Throwing light

Pradeep Chakravarthy is a management consultant. But he is more than that, as well. He is deeply interested in the history and heritage - of this part of the world, specifically. He has written "Thanjavur: A Cultural History" and has also been the editor of a collection of writings on Kodaikanal. So, when he announces that he is going to lead a session to explain the basic differences between the Pallava, Chola and Vijayanagara styles, there is a rush to be part of that session. We were lucky to get in, and there we were at the Museum on Sunday morning. 

Basically: the Pallavas were the earliest of the three - their sculptures of Gods, or humans, were natural, showing them in relaxed postures, low on detailing, oval faces, cylindrical headgear. Through the Chola period, the figures became more stylized, the headgear conical, faces rounder and the body began to take postures that would have been difficult to sustain in real life. The volume of sculptures grew through the Chola and the Vijayanagara dynasties, and they became more 'industrialized'; templated designs and details, churned out by moderately skilled craftsmen, sacrificing originality and natural representation for the ease of mass production.

There were more details, and Pradeep weaved them into a tapestry of how life must have been in those days of yore; it was a compelling performance. The importance of noticing details, which is what helps you become a more-than-an-open-mouthed-gaper, was especially brought out right at the start. What most people would consider to be run of the mill stone columns near the statue of the Buddha are actually columns from the Pallava era, with inscriptions revealing what the king Mahendravarman considered himself to be. For more on that, over to Pradeep himself!

Market model

In the evening of May 30, 1985, the city of Madras heard about a fire near the Central Station. By the next morning, the fire, supposedly set off by an electrical fault, had completely gutted an 85-year old icon of the city. More than 20 fire engines, including Simon Snorkel, had battled the blaze, but the combination of paper, cloth, vinyl and plastic made sure that the building was beyond salvage. Thus ended Moore Market, the go-to place for old books, records, clothes, pet supplies, exotic meats and pretty much everything that anyone in Madras might have a fancy for. 

In the closing years of the 19th century, an organized market for groceries, meats and other items was a dire need for the city's European (and westernized) residents. An earlier market, on Popham's Broadway, had been long marked down as being unsanitary, but no concrete action on an alternate had been taken. Enter Sir George Montgomerie John Moore, who had taken over as President of the Corporation of Madras in 1886. Though he had begun addressing this requirement in the early days of his term, the selection of a suitable site - which turned out to be a corner of the Peoples' Park near the Central Station - and clearing it up (there was a thriving Gujili Bajaar (okay, Guzili Bazaar), a grey market of second-hand, counterfeit and purloined goods operating there) took a while and it was only in 1898 that the foundation stone was laid.

Sir George was clear that apart from its functional requirements, the new market should aesthetically blend its architecture with its neighbours, Central Station to the east and Victoria Public Hall to the west. The architect chosen was R.E.Ellis and the market was built by A. Subramania Iyer. In 1890, the Governor of Madras, Sir Arthur Havelock opened the Moore Market for trade. Over the course of the 20th century, the Moore Market served the needs of a variety of Madras' citizenry, until other shopping options came up in the 1970s and 80s. Yet, Moore Market held on. The bookshops were a bibliophile's paradise and many other things beside. With that fire on a summer night, a part of Madras' soul was extinguished. 

There are many claimants to the name today. The Allikulam (அல்லி குளம் - Lily Pond) complex tries to pass off as today's Moore Market. There is a digital version somewhere. The Railways call their office complex (built where the market stood) the "Moore Market Complex (MMC)". But the original building can be seen in this faithful replica, right in the middle of the parking complex outside the Railways' MMC. The model is quite exquisite, but the way it is neglected forces one to thinking that it might meet the same fate as its original!

Cenotaph by the side

Coming into the city from the airport, the traveller would pass this cenotaph, standing in a fenced-off piece of land just where the Kathipara flyover starts climbing. It is easy enough to miss; the whitewash neither new nor too old. The cupola not ornate at all, its urn finial hardly discernible by the traveller, who is more concerned about the traffic all around. Even those citizens of Chennai who notice it might pause for a moment to think about how this structure survived when the statue of Jawaharlal had to be shifted to make way for the flyover's construction.

The patch of land belongs to the army and the cenotaph - that's what it is - is of an army man. From a long time ago. Lt Col Sam shed his mortal coils this day 194 years ago. He was a member of the Madras Artillery; my guess is that he was with them since the day that force was raised. Major Peter James Begbie, in his 1852 history of the Madras Artillery, indicates that (then) Lieutenant Sam was one of the nine officers wounded in the Battle of Argaum (eh, what's that?). Elsewhere, he is credited with having suggested the best manner of transporting ordnance across the Indian rivers. Going by the plaque on the cenotaph, he was not just an officer, but a gentleman - his martial exploits may therefore have been limited.

In recent years, this cenotaph's popularity experienced a bump up thanks to Lt Col Sam's descendent. Though I am not certain how they are related, the writer William Dalrymple acknowledges Lt Col Sam Dalrymple, CB, as an ancestor - actually one of the several Dalrymples who seem to have made their fortunes in the empire!

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.

Doctor of letters - almost

It might sound a bit surprising now, but in the late 19th century, it was pretty much the order of things that a young girl in the Bombay Presidency desiring to study a formal course in medicine should come up to Madras to do so. The Madras Medical College had just started admitting female students and Krupabai Khisty's frail health did not allow her to go abroad to study medicine, as she had been advised to by a family friend. And so to Madras she went, in 1878, a frail girl of sixteen. Though her father, Rev Hari Punt Khisty had died when she was very young, he was remembered enough for a fellow missionary, Rev W.T. Satthianadhan, to take her into his house as a boarder. At the end of the first year, Krupabai was rated as a brilliant student, but her health was shot - she had to give up the study of medicine.

It was an extremely trying period for her. Her elder brother Bhasker was also no more and she was in Madras, far away from her family. Luckily, she found a companion for her intellect in the Rev. Satthianadhan's son Samuel, who had recently returned from Cambridge. They got along very well and were married in 1883. She had been writing short pieces to get past her loneliness and Samuel encouraged her to go further. That was how the magazine South India Observer carried her first published article, "A visit to the Todas", under her pen name 'An Indian Lady'. 

It was An Indian Lady who went on to write what is arguably the first English novel written by an Indian woman: Saguna: A Story of Native Christian Life, published in 1890. The Story of a Conversion followed in 1891 and her last work Kamala: A Story of Hindu Life came out in 1894. In some ways, she followed a path taken by Toru Dutt, a "pioneer of Indo-Anglican writing"; there is however no reason to believe that Krupabai knew of her, for Toru died in 1877, all of 21 years old; Krupabai was then 5. Krupabai died young, too, in 1894. Had Toru Dutt completed writing Bianca, she would have been the claimant to the title that now seems quite firmly Krupabai's.  It is as such that she is remembered in the memorial tablet erected by her husband, in the church cared for by her father-in-law!

Open for reading?

As far as I can make out, the first state in independent India to pass 'library legislation' was Madras; today's Tamil Nadu Public Libraries Act is essentially the Madras Public Library Act of 1948. The name had to be changed once the state's name changed from Madras to Tamil Nadu, but that was it. 

It is not as if there were no libraries in the state - or this city - before this legislation. The oldest library, in the current sense of the word, in Chennai would be the Connemara Library, which is one of India's 4 National Repository Libraries (which means that a copy of any publication, anywhere in India, has to be sent to the Connemara Library, as well as the 3 other NRLs). The Department of Public Libraries therefore considers Connemara the jewel in its crown. Three other libraries shine equally: the U Ve Swaminatha Iyer Library and Maraimalai Adigalar Library in Chennai and Thanjavur's Maharaja Serfoji Sarasvati Mahal Library.

There a 32 District Central Libraries and 1664 Branch Libraries spread throughout the state. Chennai has one central library for the district and about 140 branch libraries. Including the biggies, there would be about 150 libraries in the city. Of course, these are only the public libraries; circulating libraries like the Eloor Lending Library are not included in this count. By one study a few years ago, the book use index in Chennai's public libraries was 13.18, which means that each user gets through 13.18 books a year on the average. That doesn't seem like much, but when I can't remember a single day that I have seen this Branch Library at Adyar open, it seems to be quite a feat!

Neighbourly lanes

They were all there, in name. Except two, all the others were well known to readers of Tamizh literature. The exceptions were a Bharat Ratna whose funeral in December 2013 was attended by the heads of 89 countries - chances are anyone who can read any language knows him - and the other has been credited with bringing the reading habit back to millions of children around the world. The others were Va Suba Manikkanar, Maa Rasa Manikkar, Kavingar Vaali, Tamizhvaanan, Ma Po Si and Mu Mu Ismail.  

Madiba was the only (real-life) non-Tamizh-literary person to have a lane named after him at the recently concluded Chennai Book Fair. Harry Potter was the only fictional character to have a similar honour. Books can transport you in to imaginary lands; but they are not the only ones. Book fairs can also get you to walk along lanes that mostly do not exist anywhere but in the imagination!

Tangy!

In the one-and-a-half years since it was published, I had managed to get only half-way through the first chapter of "Tamarind City" until last week. Over the weekend, I raced through the rest of it, wondering what it was that kept me from finishing this much, much earlier. 

I haven't been able to find a solid reason, but there was a vague feeling that by reading the book, I will be biased about what I write on this blog. Towards the end of the last week, I figured out that I was neither writing this blog going nor reading the book and I wanted to get at least one of that done. 

Bishwanath Ghosh has an easy familiarity with the city, coupled with the eye of the outsider, that helps him spot interesting quirks in what the lay Chennaite would consider commonplace. Having been a fellow traveller on at least one of the walks that he had taken, it was easy for me to visualize Bishwanath taking in the details and then highlighting that one aspect which brings the city to life for an outsider - and for anyone who hasn't bothered to look around their own living space. 

Most of all, it has spurred me to write again, and to remind me that I have to observe and not just see. The blog starts again. And you, if you have any interest in the people of Chennai, do get the book!