Under the flagpole

This building, on a street off TTK Road, is quite unremarkable but for the contrast it provides to its more modern neighbours. But it is also unique in being probably the only house in the neighbourhood that has a flagpole in the front yard. And under that thulasi plant near the flagpole is something that makes this building one of the very few, not just in Chennai but across India, hallowed grounds of independent India.

The building houses the "Srinivasa Gandhi Nilayam", that name paying homage to the "two fathers" of Ambujammal, the lady after whom the street is named. Her biological father was S. Srinivasa Iyengar, a highly respected lawyer who in 1920 returned his CIE and resigned his position as Law Member on the Governor's Executive Council in the wake of the Jallianwala Bagh massacre. Though Srinivasa Iyengar left the Congress owing to his differences with Mohandas Gandhi, he did not in any way thwart his daughter, fired by the vision of the Mahatma, following him ardently, or oppose her claim that Gandhiji was her foster father.

Ambujammal established the Srinivasa Gandhi Nilayam in homage to both her fathers. That was the platform for her to throw herself into social work, continuing her contributions from the mid 1920s right into the 1960s, as the Chairperson of the State Social Welfare Board from 1961 to 1964. The Nilayam was the place where Gandhiji's followers in Madras would meet and decide ways to further his programmes in the city and the state. Whenever Gandhiji would go on a fast, there would be prayer sessions conducted at the Nilayam. Such a profound connection with the man ended with his assassination in 1948. But wait, the connection continues. You see, a portion of the Mahatma's ashes was brought here and interred under the thulasi plant you see. No wonder then, this is a place of pilgrimage even today for anyone claiming to be a Gandhian!

The good doctor

It was sometime in the late 1910s that Gopala Menon, of the Mokkil Maruthur tharavad in Vadavanur landed up in the city of Madras. The eldest of 6 siblings, he had to move to Madras to study medicine - and stayed on in the city to set up practice. Within a short time he was very popular in Kodambakkam, where he was practicing from. His popularity came not just from his medical abilities - which were considerable - but from his seemingly boundless compassion as well. He discriminated patients only on the basis of their health condition and he drew his clientele from all classes. It helped that he was fluent in several languages: Malayalam, Tamizh, Telugu, Hindi, Sanskrit, English, and, it is reliably said, the dialect of Narikoravas, the nomadic tribes of the region. He could relate to his patients and talk to them in their language.

And they flocked to him from all over the Presidency. It was common for his clinic to have indigent outpatients from from as far away as Pazhaverkadu and Nellore; patients in similar straits from Malabar were a constant factor. The doctor would treat them, very often gratis, and then give them free board and lodging for a couple of days, besides giving them "theevandikooli" (steam train fare) to get back to their villages. Such largesse was partly subsidised by Dr. Gopala Menon's well-to-do patients, who included the zamindar of Vizhuthamangalam (more about that connection in a later post) and others. The generosity of such patients also enabled the doctor to acquire lands in the Mambalam / Kodambakkam area, on which he settled some of his patients, helping them find gainful occupations. That was very much in keeping with his belief, printed on his letterhead, "लोका: समस्ता सुखिनो भवन्तु" ("lokah samastah sukhino bhavantu" - may everyone everywhere be happy). 

His generosity extended to his siblings and their families. He brought all his sisters to Madras and had them married off; one of his brothers died young, but the other was brought to Madras and settled down. Meanwhile, his nephews were coming of age and they needed residences of their own. As many of them as possible were accommodated in a 'compound' in Kodambakkam, which was given the name of the ancestral tharavad - Mokkil Maruthur. Having all these members of his extended family around made the doctor forget that he had to get married and have children of his own; he died, a bachelor, on December 26, 1976. The family had little say in the post-mortem ceremonies; dignitaries dictated and the residents of Raja Pillai Thottam, the neighbouring slum, took over the funeral, for he was their doctorayya, the one whose kairasi ("goodness of hands") set right their malaises without ever failing. It was they who made sure the road next to Dr. Gopala Menon's house was renamed in his memory. In the manner of most street signs of Chennai, this one also has got the spelling of his name wrong - that alone testifies to the greatness of the doctor!

Legend of the pole

To the east of the St Thomas Basilica, just as the ground drops off to the beach, stands this wooden pole. Legend has it that this is a splinter of a colossal tree that fell across the Adyar river, causing a flood in the neighbourhood. The king (yes, this legend goes back a couple of millennia) tried sending his elephants and mahouts to move the log; no success. It was then that the wandering holy man threw his girdle around the tree trunk and yanked it out to the shore. That was St Thomas and the log has now whittled down to this pole. 

It is a nice story, but there is no way to authenticate it. The legend of Thomas is an article of faith and this wooden pole is going the same way. A more plausible explanation of this wooden structure is that it is all that remains of a flag pole from the time that the Portuguese occupied the town of San Thome. The town's fortifications extended to the beach and this flag pole would have stood on the eastern bastion. 

In 2004, when the tsunami struck the Marina, the waters did not rise up to where the pole stood. There can be many explanations for that (significantly, the pole is at a reasonably high elevation from the shore and the tsunami fizzed out at this spot), but there is only one that the faithful believe - that this pole was the only factor that stood between San Thome and the tsunami!

East tower

For all its presence through this blog (in fact, it had featured in the very first post), the Kapaleeswarar temple at Mylapore has not been written about at all. The main reason for this is quite simple; it is difficult to pack all of the information about this temple into a single post. So here is one about the eastern gopuram (tower) of the temple - one of the two grand gopurams over the entrance to this temple, the other one being over the western entrance. This is the taller one, rising up to a height of about 125 feet, with seven distinct 'floors' above the entryway. Topping off these seven floors is the set of 9 kalasams (pots), gleaming golden in the light of the morning sun. 

Legend is that the kalasams are a combination of lightning conductors and seed vaults. Ancient manuals of temple construction apparently decree the nature of the metals to be used, and the size of the kalasams. It is believed that the kalasams should be filled with grains, sufficient enough to be used as seed-stock should the town / village suffer a severe crop loss. That the grains are non-conductors of electricity kind of negates the whole lightning conductor theory (unless the earthing happens right at the point of contact?), but that could also be the reason why townspeople were exhorted to not build any structure taller than the temple's gopuram. 

And yet, lightning might sometimes bypass the conductor / arrestor that is intended to attract it. It was on the eve of Madras Day (Aug 22) in 2007 that this gopuram was struck by lightning, the first time since its renovation in 1906. The nasi thalai developed a crack, and a chunk of stone dropped off. One of the idols was also partially damaged. Luckily, nobody was injured in this incident. Special pujas were performed within a day, but the reinforcing of the gopuram took a couple of months - and there have not been any further lightning strikes since!

Close of play

The picture is a bit old, taken a couple of years ago. That's because I didn't have any other representing the Tamil Nadu Cricket Association (TNCA). The TNCA sends out one of the strongest teams for the Ranji Trophy, the domestic cricket championship. The Tamil Nadu team has been in the Ranji finals 11 times, but they have won it only twice. The first time they did it was in 1954-55; the man who led them to the title, Balu Alaganan, was perhaps the epitome of what a cricket player should be.

The 1954-55 season started with Balu Alaganan scoring a century against Travancore-Cochin. But right after, his form deserted him, to the extent that he offered to step down after the semi finals, believing that the best team should play the finals. His team mates, including CD Gopinath and AG Kripal Singh, and the manager, V. Pattabhiraman insisted that he continue to captain the side. Coming in at No.5 in the first innings, Alaganan scored a duck. He dropped himself down to No.9 in the second and with the last batsman, Murugesh, added 71 for the 10th wicket - a partnership that was key to Madras (as the side was then called) beating Holkar by 46 runs. Alaganan said that Murugesh "...gave me the confidence I needed. "Don't take me for a No.11", he said to me"; ever modest, eager to give credit where it was due.

Many boys and young men of the 1970s would have little recollection of Balu Alaganan as a player, but he did build the love of the game in them through his commentary. (Not to mention the kids' grasp of English and its usage). Sitting next to the radio, 'seeing' the grass and the skies and the fielders through Alaganan's descriptions: that was the way to follow the Chepauk test, even if you were inside the stadium. That voice is no more. Balu Alaganan has gone over to play for a different team, but will stay on the hearts of all cricket lovers!

The Goddess protects

Chhatrapati Shivaji was always known to be a devotee of the Goddess Bhavani; one legend has it that the Goddess gifted him the Chandrahas sword. Shivaji was also in the habit of reconnoitering his enemy's fortifications and strength incognitio. It is most likely that this habit brought him close to Fort St George 335 years ago this night. Since April of 1677, he had been criss-crossing the country around Madras; in fact, on three occasions, he sent emissaries to Fort St George requesting "cordial stones and counter-poisons" and suchlike things. After a couple of passages humouring him, the British turned down Shivaji's request for English engineers. 

Shivaji had at that time gone past Madras to capture Vellore and Gingee. Maybe he kept the refusal in mind when he came back in October, and camped to the north of Fort St George. In the Fort as Governor was Streynsham Master, who had been part of the defence when Shivaji had attacked the Company's factory at Surat in 1670. Probably recalling  his failure to penetrate Master's defences in Surat, Shivaji was trying to learn more about them. In that quest, he likely came across the Kalikambal temple on what is now Thambu Chetty Street - or maybe the temple was in its 'original' spot, closer to the sea in those times. The portrait in the temple commemorates that visit, of which there is no real record.

Kalikambal, the presiding deity of this temple was originally portrayed in a martial, fearsome form. That was replaced by a more benign representation of the goddess. Shivaji's prayers to her may have resulted in her tempering Shivaji's belligerence into pragmatism; he probably figured out it was not worth the effort trying to sack Fort St George and went quietly back to Raigad. In protecting her favourite son, Goddess Kalikambal also ended up protecting the young city of Madras!

Bare tower

Less than a generation ago, Velachery was an ignored outpost of Madras, a temple suburb that was poorly connected with the rest of the city. Velachery - the name is supposedly a corruption of the original Vedashreni (the abode of the Vedas) - has two temples that go back several hundred years. And they used to be the major reason for people to go to that part of the city. 

Now, Velachery is the hub of the new-economy; the temples have been largely forgotten. Not because of anything else, but it is just that the population of Velachery has grown exponentially in the last few years and the newcomers have not had the time or the inclination to think about the heritage of their new hometown. But not all is lost. The temples have been sprucing themselves up, in anticipation of new visitors.

One such spruce-up project was probably this gopuram. I am not sure if the Sree Dhandeeswarar Koil had a gopuram here earlier, but this one is surely of very recent origin. Unlike the normal colourful gopurams, this one seems to remain bare - or has it been painted over since I last saw it?!

The man himself

With so many instant celebrities around these days, the term 'living legend' has been much abused. In the case of Shri S.Rajam, however, it is the most apt description of the man, because any other attempt to describe him only serves to narrow the definition. He is a painter, but more than a painter; a singer, yet more than a singer; composer, writer, teacher, researcher, a man of many parts, each of which would be a fulfilling life by itself. Yet, going into his 90s, Rajam shows no sign of slowing down. The voice may not hold out for a full concert today, but it is still clear enough to hold down the listener. The eyes sparkle with life, with the joy of being; they are sharp enough to discern, without spectacles, the subtle shades that he colours his paintings in. The energy that he radiates will liven up even the most weary pessimist.

With teachers like Ariyakudi Ramanujam Iyer, Papanasam Sivan and Madurai Mani Iyer, Rajam's musical talent blossomed early; at thirteen, he began giving public performances. By the time he finished school, he had not only given several stage performances but had also acted in three movies - the first being 'Seetha Kalyanam', produced by Prabhat Studios of Pune (R.V.Shantaram, one of the founders of Prabhat, was trying to offset the losses incurred by the first Indian colour film, Sairandhri and offered produce a Tamizh film with the same sets and props). Rajam played Rama and his sister Jayalakshmi played the role of Seetha - this casting offended many and they strongly castigated the father, Sundaram Iyer, for allowing his children to play the roles of husband and wife! (Incidentally, that movie also had Sundaram Iyer acting as Janaka, while two more of his children, Saraswathi and Balachander, acted as Urmila and as a child musician in Ravana's court, respectively)

Maybe that was a factor in Rajam moving onto art; he joined the Government of Madras School of Arts and Crafts. With his immense talent, he completed the six year course in four years. He developed his own style, blending his love of music with classical art to give visual form to musical notes, picturing the flow of several ragas and of course, countless portraits of Carnatic music composers and Tamizh poet-saints across the ages. That his work is still very much in demand is evident from the stack of semi-finished paintings on his table!

Listen to Shri Rajam talk about life in those days or watch him sketching in a notebook.