"Jaambajaar Jaggu theriyuma,...."

Where the character came from is not really known, but given the Madrasi's penchant for alliteration, Jaambajaar Jaggu is more likely a legendary figment of imagination. I'm not sure if kids these days have any local personification of a bumbling villain, but Jaggu was it for quite a lot of people from the '60s through to the '80s. The first time he came on the scene was probably in the movie "Bommalattam", with Manorama singing "Vaa vadhiyare vootande / nee varankatti naan vidamatten / Jaambajjaa Jaggu / naan Saidapettai kokku" to Cho Ramaswamy (here's the song from the movie).

Then came Cho's stage play "Madras by Night". Cho makes his entrance asking the question "Jaambajaar Jaggu theriyuma unakku, Jaambajaar Jaggu?" ("Do you know Jaambajaar Jaggu?"). Cho plays a police constable in Madras of the '60s, forever dropping names of rowdies that he has encountered (here's a clip: Jaggu's name drops in the 2nd minute). With that, the name took off and though no one has ever seen him to this day, Jaggu continues to be a menace-laden character, appearing most recently as the villain in the children's book "Trash", published in 2001.

So, when I see the Zambazar Police Station, it is difficult for me to think of anything else but a police constable in the '60s, wearing starched khaki shorts ("...with pockets large enough to hide a monkey", as a school teacher once said), trying to show off - no matter that Zam Bazar has much more than Jaggu to offer us!

Visually separated

Quite close to the 'old townhouses' of Mylapore is this building, which is actually quite distinct from the structures around it. It must have been a twin house at sometime, with one side being quite the mirror image of the other. Interestingly, both sides have space for commercial activity, though my guess is that those were originally meant to be enclosed car-parking spaces.

All other things being equal, the shops provide the distinction between the two residences. On the right is Joseph Store, a general store offering all kinds of provisions; on the left is Sri Vinayaka Auto Works. Maybe the residents thought this differentiation wasn't good enough, so they painted their portions - including the grills and bannisters - in different colours!

New flier spotted

By me, that is. A visit to Adyar Poonga yesterday added two more butterflies to my list. This is one of them - the Lime Butterfly (Papilio demoleus). Although it is described as the most common of the 'Swallowtail' butterflies, I am fairly sure there weren't too many of these in Chennai until a few days, maybe a few weeks, ago. And then, suddenly, they seemed to be everywhere around.

One explanation is that they are migrating from the hills to the plains. Maybe they are moving to avoid the cold, maybe to find food. The movements of butterflies seem to be more mysterious than those of birds and much more difficult to study. Yet, almost anyone in Chennai with even a casual interest in nature would have (and several have, indeed) observed the more-than-usual number of butterflies this season. In some places - by the Thiru Vi Ka bridge, for instance - the air is thick with these and other butterflies; birds swoop and swerve, trying to catch them. If more motorists were nature enthusiasts, traffic on the bridge would have come to a standstill!

Waiting for the train

Inside Chennai Central. As the passengers wait for their rake to come in, the 'licenced porter' uses the break to take a quick nap in the aisle. Everyone will burst into action the moment a coach is sighted in the distance!

Images on the roadside

After having all the hoardings on Chennai's streets removed, the next step for the Corporation of Chennai was to clear posters and graffiti from all the public walls in Chennai. Though the hoardings came down more than 18 months ago, there was a long gap before the next step was implemented (guess the elections had something to do with it). Effective August 1 of this year, all random art and pastings on flyover and subway walls have been banned. The ban also extends to any public walls on Mount Road.

Bringing the hoardings down signalled the end of the huge, originally hand-painted but recently digitally-crafted cinema advertisements which were very much part of Chennai. And now, the bare walls would take away another slice of kitschy art: political graffiti. The limited set of colours used by earlier political artists (colours of the parties flags) had given way to bright, multicoloured works a while ago. It was felt that bare walls would make the stretch of road seem dull, so the Corporation kind of let loose a set of artists on those walls. The first stretch to be done was a stretch near the YMCA, Nandanam.

With a variety of themes - buildings and structures of Tamil Nadu, sculptures and cultural heritage being a few - and a good dose of imaginary imagery thrown in, the paintings seem rather unconnected, if one spends the time to look at them. But for the most part, one is whizzing by in a hurry to get someplace and the overall effect is that a riot of colour is passing one by!

Fork in the road

Maybe that's a shop in the building at the end of the road, with its wooden doors still shut below an awning which appears to be falling under the weight of the previous night's rain. Mundagakanni Amman Koil Street, from where this photo was taken, veers off to the right; the spur on the left is Nattu Subbarayan Street.

This is in Mylapore, very much part of Old Madras and yet, quite different from the streets of George Town. Indeed, these areas were populated much before George Town was. Predominantly revolving around religious activity, these bustle on these streets had God, rather than Mammon, in mind. These are streets where a new face is spotted quickly, and the residents wonder what the stranger is doing, walking their paths. Of course, they are not all that insular, what with many vehicles trying to take a quicker route to their destination through these back roads. But the pedestrian still invites curious glances.

Many of the buildings are over half-a-century old, but several have been refurbished and expanded to keep pace with modern day requirements. The building on the corner, however, seems to be just the way it always was!

Grateful for other reasons?

This defunct fountain in front of the Victoria Public Hall proclaims the city's gratitude to a former governor not once but three times, going by the plaques on each of the three faces of the centrepiece. Sir Charles Edward Trevelyan, who is so honoured, was the Governor of Madras for just a short while, from March 1859 to May 1860. Even in that short stint, he did enough for him to be held dear by the citizens of Madras.

For starters, he made land ownership easier, bringing in reforms that allowed freehold titles to be bought. He is also credited with conceptualizing the People's Park; a 116-acre garden spread which had over 5 miles of road inside it, meandering around 11 ponds, a bandstand, tennis courts, a public bath and a very basic zoo. It is for this that he is remembered: the plaques say "...to whom Madras is indebted for The Peoples Park".

But there's a lot more that Trevelyan needs to be remembered for. When he was governor of Madras, his council and he disagreed with a proposal for taxation drawn up by the Financial Member of the Legislative Council for India. And he made his disagreement public, by sending an open telegram to Calcutta and later, by releasing (or allowing the release of) the minutes of a Council meeting where the opposition was recorded. Though he was censured and recalled to England for this action, he was vindicated and returned to India in 1862 as the Financial Member! In the interim, he crafted the principles which guided the creation of the Indian Civil Service. With so much to his credit, one guesses that the city's gratitude stemmed from something more than Trevelyan's civic sensibility!

Sky-high

A long time ago, one would look down into the forecourt of the Hotel Arun, when passing it on Poonamallee High Road. The first thing that the developers did after taking over the property was to raise it up to the road level. During the process, they also blocked part of the Cooum's bed; an act that sparked off some tensions and delayed progress on the mall they were developing.

It has now been almost a month since the first phase of the Ampa Skywalk has been opened; after nearly 4 years of waiting, folks are probably waiting for all the shops, the multiplex screens and the food court to come up before passing judgement on whether this is good enough to be a hip hangout. Big attraction - a walkway inside the mall, 80 feet above ground, which you will have to cross to watch movies at the PVR Cinemas (which I believe are yet to open).

It hasn't yet become so popular as to cause traffic pile-ups. Or did I pass by at the wrong time of the day?

River mouth

At its northern end, just after the MGR and the Anna Memorials, the mouth of the Cooum marks the 'public' limit of the Marina Beach. Not that the public flock to see the river meeting the Bay of Bengal. It is rather dull, but that is only to be expected. The Cooum, at the end of its 65 km run, is weighed down by all the muck that has been poured into it (mostly along its last 16 km within Chennai city) and is barely moving along, more sludge than water.

For maybe just a couple of days in the year, the waters of the Cooum would be racing to the Bay of Bengal. That happens when (and if) the storm water drains do their job during the monsoons. There are 16 canals which collect the runoff from those drains and pour it into the Cooum (and to the other waterways of Chennai - the Adayar River and the Otteri Nullah), en route to the Bay of Bengal. Works well in theory; but with Chennai being quite a flat city, any blockage of the drains will cause the city to flood up.

One of the largest potential blockage points has been the silting - and sedimenting - of the Cooum's mouth. Though it is sometimes cleared up during the monsoon by the sea, most of the time, the waves deposit sediments which clog up the mouth. October is normally the month when the authorities clear up the mouth - and other passages. Let's hope they do it well enough for us to have a flood-less monsoon!

And the crackers burst on!

It was most likely the scene in every street this morning: a few indefatigable souls making sure that no one forgets it is the morning after Deepavali. As the years go by, the number of such souls seems to be going down.

Time was when Deepavali was a morning event in Chennai; kids would leap out of bed at some unearthly, dark hour of the morning and try to find that thin line between taking long enough over the ganga snanam to satisfy the elders, without taking so much time that the neighbouring children become the first to set off the crackers. By some near-divine coordination, almost every household would be ready for the fire-crackers at around the same time, and folks would greet each other with "Yenna, sir, ganga snanam aacha? Happy Deepavali!".

But the sound of the crackers has become politically incorrect. The lights of the fireworks have become more attractive. Deepavali seems to have become more of an evening festival, at least publicly. I'm sure there are enough households that continue to keep the ganga snanam tradition going, even if slightly more privately than before!

Music maker

The harmonium is so closely identified with both Carnatic and Hindustani music that it is difficult to believe it is an import, coming to India in the mid-19th century via Christian missionaries. Somewhere in the early 20th century, it was seen as an instrument of colonialism and there were some attempts to stop Indian musicians using it in their performances. Because of its utilitarian nature, the harmonium survived those attempts.

Probably getting the whole issue confused, John Foulds, who was head of the Indian Broadcasting Company (All India Radio's predecessor)'s Western music section in the 1930s wrote that since the harmonium is incapable of producing microtones and because it cannot be adjusted mid-performance, it is inappropriate for Indian music. A few years later, Lionel Felden, Controller of Broadcasting for the IBC banned the harmonium from the IBC's studios in March 1940. It was only in 1971 that the ban was repealed, but the harmonium player continues to be accorded a secondary status - solo performances are not allowed on AIR even today, apparently.

But no musician can do without one. Even in this age of the 'electronic sruti box', harmonium makers like Kannan here continue to hand-craft instruments for students and maestros!

Iron - not so old

The locomotive at the southern end of this building looks much bigger than its counterpart at the other end. However, this one does not seem to have the rambling history of the other one and seems to have served on just one sector, running between Bangalore and Bangarpet for all the 25 years it was in service. The Bangarpet-Bangalore line was put in place, in stages, by the Maharaja of Mysore as far back as 1918. Yelahanka, 16 km from Bangalore was at that time the homing shed for the locomotives working on this line.

This ZP-4 locomotive, manufactured by the Nippon Sharyo Seizo Kaisha in 1950 entered service on the Bangarpet-Bangalore line only in 1955. In 1980, the Bangalore-Yelahanka line was dismantled for gauge conversion. With that, this locomotive saw the end of its service and it was brought over to Madras, to be plinthed in front of the Southern Railway headquarters.

Pen No.11

For as long as I can remember, this reptile has been in this enclosure, the Pen No.11 of the Madras Crocodile Bank Trust (MCBT). He apparently wasn't much when he was found on the grounds of the Central Leather Research Institute (CLRI); he only weighed in at around 15kg, as a 5-year old. That wasn't really much, for a salt water crocodile (Crocodylus porosus), a species that can reportedly grow up to 25 feet and weigh over a ton in the wild. In the 34 years since he was found at the CLRI, this croc has grown over 40-fold. Currently measuring close to 17 feet from the tip of his nose to the last scute of his tail, he weighs over 600 kg. And that, when he eats only twice a month, on the first and the third Sundays. The rest of the time, he mostly lazes around, showing off his figure to awed visitors. Some of them - the older ones, especially - find him too pacific to merit a name which had terrorized them on screen: Jaws. Jaws III, to be precise.

But don't be fooled into thinking you can jump in and dance around in the pen. Jaws III is a mean chappie. Believed to be the biggest ever captive salt water crocodile, he has been giving folks at the MCBT a peculiar headache. They just haven't been able to find a female large enough for him to mate with. Two attempts in recent years met with horrific results: Jaws III just grabbed the little lady by her waist, tossed her into the air and chomped her down. Probably the keepers didn't realise what had happened, because they brought in another lady, who met with the same fate. The third attempt wasn't a complete disaster, for there was a mesh separating them. Business did not result, in any event.

C. porosus live to a hundred, in the wild. In captivity, they can potentially live for longer. Jaws III still has time to find the love of his life. Know anyone?

The stage

Rukmini Devi Arundale faced a great deal of opposition in her efforts to re-interpret Bharatanatyam; one of the arguments was that the dance form had become so bawdy, which is why it was rooted out from the very temples, where it was born. Rukmini Devi's intent was that the dance "...should create the temple atmosphere on stage...", as she searched for a design which would meet that intent.

The result was the Koothambalam in the Kalakshetra complex. Designed and built with the help of D.Appukuttan Nair, who had also built the Koothambalam at Kerala Kalamandalm, the building can accommodate 750 - of which 50 will have to sit on the floor directly in front of the stage. The stage itself is raised only a foot-and-a-half from the rest of the floor, allowing the audience to clearly observe the footwork of the dancers. The building has walls of wooden slats, which allows the breeze to blow through, along with sounds from the outside.


This is a view of the Koothambalam - also called the Bharata Kalakshetra Auditorium - from the rear. The front is graced by Rukmini Devi's statue - and her spirit certainly pervades every rafter of the Koothambalam!

Valet parking

Went out for lunch last month to a new restaurant just across the road from where we stay. We walked, but my son insisted that he would cycle down. And yes, he did get his vehicle valet-parked!

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!

Eco-decor

What's a festival without some decorations? Sure, there are a whole lot of 'ready-made', re-usable stuff available, but they somehow lack the charm of the just-made thoranams. One is used to seeing them fashioned from mango leaves - they'd last for days, the slightly thick leaves changing from their dark green to brownish, just before they are replaced by a new bunch of the festoons.

But for a change, here are thoranams made from tender leaves of the coconut palm - the kurutholai. The fronds are taken down before they are fully grown, so as to take full advantage of their flexibility. These are just one of the many designs that the kurutholai can be made into (here is another), but being tender, the festoons don't last for more than a day!

Bridge beyond

Muttukadu; more details in a while...

Government office

Kuralagam building; more details in a while...

Old townhouses

Old houses in Mylapore; more details in a while...

Little sapling

At Kalakshetra; more details in a while...

Vazhga, Gandhi mahan

The Gandhi Mandapam, on the Mahatma's 140th birthday. More details in a while...

Light on marble

The Jain Temple on Mint Street, Sowcarpet. More details in a while...

Coral-top?

Outside the Ripon building; more details in a while...

Fresh vegetables

This is a sight that's getting rarer by the day. Madras had large spaces for markets like these, dotting every part of the city. They were all built over 50 years ago and some are almost 100 years old. The Thaneer Thurai market is somewhere in between, and would fall somewhere into the 'medium-size' category for such markets. They're the last-but-one link in the traditional chain of getting vegetables from field to table within a day. (The last link? That's here!).


But such spaces in the middle of the city's commercial areas are too valuable to be left to such markets; many of them have given way to shopping malls or to multi-storied buildings. Roughly 40,000 sqft of space in the middle of Mylapore would send any property developer's heart pumping, so it is a wonder this market still survives.


Not for long, apparently. Many of the stalls in the Thaneer Thurai market are empty, having been vacated by legal proceedings. It is said that the space has been bought up by a large retail store and once they manage to have all the remaining vegetable vendors evicted, it will be curtains for the market!

Saint's temple

The man is venerated as a saint, but for all that, few people know that there is a temple dedicated to Thiruvalluvar within the city. And no, I'm not talking about Valluvar Kottam, which everyone knows about, but a 'proper' temple in Mylapore, where Valluvar is believed to have born, lived and died. The caretakers of this temple aver that Valluvar was born under an iluppai (mohwa, botanical name Madhuca - or Bassia - longifolia) tree that was fatally damaged in 1935, after having lived for over 2000 years, in this campus. The stump of that tree has been cemented around for much of its height, with a copper covering shielding the part above.

They also point out a well, claiming it to be the one from which Vasuki, Valluvar's wife, used to draw water for her household. Once, hearing her husband call out to her, she ran into the house, letting go of the rope with a vessel that she was hauling up from the well. Legend has it that the vessel remained in place until Vasuki returned - such was the power of Valluvar's word. Yet, it is said that he had to go to Madurai for his work to be recognized. That may be history or legend, but even today, it is at Kanyakumari - or even at the Kottam - that people pay homage to Valluvar, rather than this temple at his putative birthplace.

Given that the poet-saint's great work had very little to talk about God - or religion of any kind - it is somewhat surprising to see shrines of Hindu deities. Trying to balance both legend and faith, the temple ends up doing justice to neither!

Fort station

The Fort railway station on the Beach-Tambaram suburban line is normally very crowded, but not on a Sunday afternoon. The train coming in is almost empty; on a regular day, it would not come in that way, but disgorge a host of people at this station.


But is this what will happen once the Tamil Nadu Secretariat shifts out of Fort St George? Or would the crowd still get off here for the bazaars and the Esplanade? Wait a while, and let's see!

Lighten the load

In the days when mechanised transport was the stuff of science fiction, animal power was used for transporting goods. But for the bullock-cart to be used, there had to be some threshold level of goods that needed to be moved. Small loads were left to the coolies - the headloadsmen who would carry more than their own weight on their backs or heads. A break in their travel from point to point would be painful if they had to bend over to lower and lift their loads each time.


Along the roads, therefore, were rough granite structures - two uprights with a crossbar at shoulder height - where the coolies could ease off their loads for a bit. These structures were funded by rich families and were typically erected as memorials for women who had died during pregnancy or childbirth. The word for such a structure - sumaithangi - is simple enough, meaning 'bearer of the load', but has become imbued with so much of emotion that it is used as high praise, or with a sense of deep gratitude.


Combine that with a deity, and you have a winner. Maybe the temple came up close to a sumaithangi, for the labourers to give thanks after having delivered their load safely at George Town. Maybe the temple was always there, and there was a sumaithangi placed near it. Whatever the cause of the name, the Sumaithangi Sriramar temple on Mint Street continues to assure devotees that their burden would be lightened!

Old iron

Workhorse, it must have been. Lasted a long time, too. In service for 89 years, this steam locomotive manufactured in 1903 was one of the first built by Kerr Stuart & Co for railways in India. It was originally made for the Mayurbhanj State Railways (MSR), with the All India Number 691. When the MSR switched over to diesel locomotives, PL691 along with its 3 brother locomotives of the 0-6-4T class were moved from MSR to Parlakimedi Light Railway (PLR), which was also using locomotives of the same class. The PLR, which was being managed by the Bengal Nagpur Railway almost from its inception, became a part of the Indian government's portfolio when BNR was taken over in 1944.


Later, during the process of re-constituting the divisions of the Indian Railways, Locomotive PL691 moved to the South Eastern Railway division in 1955, after spending 3 years with the Eastern Railway. In 1987, PL691 had the honour of being featured on one of the 4 postage stamps released on the occasion of the South Eastern Railway's centenary year celebrations. It continued in service on the Naupada-Gunupur line until 1992, when the line was converted from steam to diesel. After its last run on April 23, 1992, PL691 was brought to Chennai and placed ("plinthed" is the correct term, apparently) in front of the Southern Railway headquarters building.


Four of its contemporaries (Nos. 692, 693, 694 and 697) have also been preserved. All of them have been plinthed outside various offices (then) of the South Eastern Railway: 692 at Puri and the others at Visakhapatnam. PL 691 alone, for some reason, has travelled all the way to Chennai - wonder what connection it had with the forerunners of the Southern Railway!

Boys' Town

The concept of a "Boys' Town" was born in 1921 when Fr Edward Flanagan of Omaha, Nebraska, began to work towards building a boys' orphanage as a 'City of Little Men', emphasizing the development of socially useful skills which would help the inmates in making their livelihood once they had to leave the orphanage.


Since then, the model has been adopted by several institutions caring for orphaned children. The term has itself become so generic that there seem to be several Boys' Towns across cities, sometimes even within the same city. This one run by the YMCA near Fort St George is the oldest in Chennai, having had its origins as a Street Boys' Club. It was only in 1947, after the YMCA was given this space to provide accommodation for the children, that the Street Boys' Club came to be called Boys Town.


Today, the Boys Town provides secondary education for over 2000 children, followed by vocational training. That's apart from the orphanage services it provides. Hard to imagine so many of them in such a small space outside the Fort!

Pro bono bridge

According to legend, Thomas Didymus - Doubting Thomas, as he is also known - was martyred somewhere on Parangimalai, or the hillock known to us as St Thomas' Mount. That hillock was south of the Adayar river, which made it slightly inconvenient for the Europeans - the Portugese initially, but also the British later - who were predominantly based further north of the river. There were several bridges fording the Adayar, but it was only after Coja Petrus Uscan built the Marmalong bridge connecting Saidapet (though it was not called by that name, most likely) and Little Mount that access to the township of St Thomas' Mount became much more convenient.


Coja Petrus had settled in Madras barely three years before he had this bridge built. He was quite well off, having been involved in trading between Madras and Manila, where he was based before moving to Madras in 1723. The Marmalong bridge cost him 30,000 pagodas (Rs.100,000), not a small amount in 1726. He did not stop with that; he also gave 1,500 pagodas as a corpus towards regular maintenance of the bridge - that gesture goes a long way towards proving that the bridge was truly built "Pro bono publico".


The Marmalong bridge lasted for over 200 years; it was only in the 1960s that the bridge we use today was built - rather, looking at an old photo of Marmalong bridge, it appears that the existing bridge was strengthened and new lanes added on. The bridge itself was then renamed Maraimalai Adigal Palam. I haven't been able to find too many photos of the old bridge, but here's a painting that supposedly has the bridge in the background!

Attack anniversary

Through the 19th century and until the end of World War II, the Indian Ocean was regarded as a 'British Lake'; such was the volume of British maritime traffic crisscrossing this expanse of water. In 1914, when World War I began, the German light cruiser SMS Emden, with Captain Karl von Muller in command was based at Tsingtao (now Qingdao). In late July, she left her base and after receving orders from Admiral Maximilian von Spee, moved into the Indian Ocean in early September to prey upon the British merchant vessels. In a span of just over 2 weeks, the Emden captured seventeen ships and created so much panic not only at sea, where all shipping was stopped, but also on land, with many residents of Madras fleeing inland, fearing an attack on the city.

Their fear was probably heightend by the knowledge that one man on Emden's crew was Dr Cenpakaraman Pillai, an Indian revolutionary who was a fore-runner to Netaji in taking the help of Britain's enemies to fight for Indian independence. It is said that it was with Dr Cenpakaraman's guidance that the Emden hove-to about 3 km out to sea at 9.30 pm, 95 years ago to this day, and opened fire with its guns, targeting the oil tanks of the Burmah Oil Company in the Port of Madras. That objective was met in short order and the Emden then let loose on the High Court building (where the lighthouse continued to flash, unmindful of the ongoing war), the Port itself (a merchant vessel was sunk, killing 5 seamen. It is said that Karl von Muller was upset on hearing of this later, for they were the only civilians killed by a vessel under his command), the National Bank building and of course on Clive's Battery, which was supposed to protect the harbour. The guns of Clive's Battery took over 20 minutes to organize their response. By 10.00 pm, the 'Bombardment of Madras' was over and the Emden had disappeared.

Chennai retains the memory of that bombardment by this plaque at the spot where one of Emden's shells had smashed into the wall of the High Court. And on this day every year, a small group of people - led by Dr. Cenpakaraman Pillai's nephew - gather at this plaque to remember a freedom fighter whose story has been overwhelmed by the horror of the Emden!

What a cat!

Going down Mint Street on the Madras Day Photowalk last month, we were invited by a shop owner to take a look at his regular visitor. This visitor walks in to the shop at the same time every afternoon and spends about fifteen minutes admiring himself in the mirror. He does not have time to even turn and look at the others in the shop. If spoken to, or questioned, he just turns away disdainfully and goes about doing what he came in to do - preen in front of the mirror. No amount of shouting would make him budge before he was ready to leave.

It was just slightly different today. With quite a few new people crowding the shop entrance to watch - and take photos of - his actions, the visitor reluctantly turned away from the mirror to look at them. He even posed for a couple of pictures, very briefly. But then, he turned right back to the mirror and continued to admire himself!

No more shows

Raghupathy Venkiah was one of the first in Madras to foresee the potential of cinema. Though his first cinema theatre, 'Gaiety', was the third in Madras after Mrs. Klug's 'Bioscope' and Warwick Major's 'Electric Theatre', he lasted much longer in the business. Soon after setting up Gaiety just off Mount Road in 1914, he went to heart of the city and set up 'Crown' next to the Mint, in 1916. These were followed by 'Globe' (later renamed 'Roxy') at Purasawakkam in 1918.

The last of the three had the shortest life; it was shut down sometime in the mid 1990s. That building was used as an exhibition hall for a while, but was pulled down a few years ago. Gaiety has also given way, the empty lot being used for the filming of 'Kanthaswamy' recently. Nothing remains of those two theatres, but the Crown is slightly different. It has also shut down, but it is the only one of the three that still has a part of its facade standing, just fronting the empty lot behind. It will not last many weeks, however.

Wonder if the 'Imperial', the fourth of Raghupathy Venkiah's theatres, is still standing. It is in Madurai, however, so I'll have to wait for someone from that city to let me know!

Almost evergreen

It is such a common sight in Chennai; the raintree has been used to line so many roads in the city, that it comes as a surprise to know it is not native to the region - indeed, it is not native to India, having been brought from Central / South America. From the forests of Mexico, Peru and Brazil, this tree has travelled to all the tropical regions of the world, with each region bestowing it a name (even its scientific name is in some confusion: it is called both Albizia saman as well as Samanea saman): monkey-pod tree, 5-o'clock tree, sleepy-faced tree, french tamarind... but the name 'raintree' was apparently coined in India.



Why 'raintree'? Again, there are several explanations, so take your pick. One, that the tree is host to a species of cicada, and their honey-dew like discharge fall like rain. The tree shuts its leaves when the skies go dark; during the monsoons, therefore, the raindrops fall through to the ground below - that's another explanation for its name. It is unique because most large trees of similar size provide shelter from the rain. The saman does not do so, despite being a contender for 'large tree' awards. It is an uncommon occurance for its leaf-faces to be splattered with rain - this one just got a little late in closing!



Hitachi has used one of the largest raintrees - on the Hawaiian island of Oafu - as part of its corporate identity since the early 1970s and in 2007, agreed to pay $ 4 million over the next 10 years for continued maintenance of that tree. That's indeed a lot of green!

Music Street

Madras of the 19th century was an attractive destination not only for traders and business-people, but also for many others. Among them were the musicians, several of who relocated to Madras. They were then influential in bringing in some of the musical greats, if not to stay in the city, to at least make their visits regular occurances, typically coinciding with one of the many festivals.

One such musician/composer was 'Veena' Kuppier. Although he moved only a short distance to reach George Town from Tiruvottiyur, his hometown, it must have been a significant decision in the early nineteenth century. His patron was Kovur Sundaresa Mudaliar, who made Kuppier the samasthana vidwan of Kovur, a village that Kuppier had probably never even visited earlier. Kuppier was not only an expert vainika (veena player), but also a violinist and singer - accomplishments which led him to be called gana chakravarti (emperor of music). It was Kuppier who, on behalf of Kovur Sundaresa Mudaliar, persuaded Thyagaraja to visit Madras in 1839. Though the great composer stayed at Sundaresa Mudaliar's town-house on Bunder Street, he did visit Kuppier's house and also sang in praise of the family deity.

All this information was gathered much later. This photo was taken more because the street sign is of a style that was used maybe 50 years or so ago; the name 'Kuppier' sounded odd; familiar, yet foreign. I guess I couldn't have been more mistaken about that!

How's the weather?

A few months ago, there were some reports that the Nungambakkam Regional Meteorological Centre was planning to display weather bulletins in a highly sophisticated fashion at its premises on College Road.

A couple of days ago, I noticed that even this not-so-sophisticated display has been taken down. Granted that Chennai's weather is fairly constant, but we'd still like to know how hot and humid it is!

You can check out any time you like, but...

It does look like a the facade of a nice garden house, with its high-ceilinged verandah on the first floor and the arches almost inviting you to step into the portico. The most famous tenant of this building was probably Veer Savarkar. But this is not a place that you'd try to be invited to - Savarkar was transited through this en route to the infamous Kalapani at Andaman - for, it is was part of the Chennai Central Prison complex, which has now been completely razed to make way for - well, a lot of modernity.

Don't be fooled into thinking that the Chennai prison was a place of leisure; there were only a few buildings like this, which were built to accommodate convalescing prisoners - and the high-profile ones at that. Even that luxury disppeared a few decades ago, when these buildings were converted into study areas on the ground floor and maybe some office spaces on the first floor. Convalescing or not, prisoners had to stay in their cells. Along with all the other buildings of the complex, this one is gone too, and the 11-acre space will soon have a new look.

Replacing the stony blocks of prison cells will be a blood bank attached to the General Hospital, as well as a station of the proposed Chennai Metro. There are a couple of smaller buildings planned, but it seems that a reasonably large part of the space will be given over to a park and some recreational facility - what a change that would be from its previous use!





Some more photos of the former Chennai Central Prison complex are here.

Who was it

This building itself has many stories about it, but I shall keep those for another day (with a different picture, I promise!). Today it is about one of the signs in the picture, a name that has been in business in Madras since the 1880s: Allbutt & Co., Pharmacists. Despite the name having survived for so long - I seem to remember the shop being open for business even in the early 1990s - little is known of the Allbutt, the man himself.

That doesn't stop me from speculating, however. Though I did not know it before, a search on Google tells me that Allbutt is a hallowed name in medicine; Sir Thomas Clifford Allbutt who lived between 1836 and 1925, was not only a skilled physician, but also a medical historian and an inventor. He taught at the University of Cambridge, where he was made a Regius professor in 1892. He wrote his classic on medical history, 'Greek Medicine in Rome' quite late in life, in 1921, but his own place in the history of healthcare was assured when he designed the modern clinical thermometer in 1866.

It is another Allbutt who leads the Google search results for 'Allbutt Madras', however. Dr. Henry A.Allbutt was a member of the Malthusian League. In 1879, at a medical conference in Amsterdam, a lecture by three French physicians convinced him that contraception was not medically harmful. Strengthened with this conviction, he persuaded the Malthusian League to set up a group to spread this information among doctors and was also made the Secretary of that group. Apparently, one of the reasons for his strong committment to birth control was his experiences of problems in India; he was invited to be a Patron of the Hindu Malthusian League in Madras in 1882. Possibly, that gave him added information for his sixpenny booklet, published in 1886, named 'The Wife's Handbook', which included a summarised version of the then major contraceptive methods. The General Medical Council in England found this to be "infamous conduct in a professional respect" and his name was struck off the medical register.

It is highly probable - almost certain - that neither physician had any interest in Allbutt & Co., Pharmacists. But I can't help thinking that someone who was impressed by either Allbutt's work borrowed the name for a shop in Madras!

Town temple - the twin

Although the twin town temples - of Chenna Kesavaperumal and Chenna Malleswarar - cover roughly the same area, it does not appear to be so from their entrances. The entrance to the former is pretty much on the road; being gopuram-less, it is not easy to spot unless you know what you're looking for. The entrance to the latter is tucked into a corner - what you have to do is to go further north on Devaraja Mudali Street, past the entrance to the Chenna Kesavaperumal temple and turn left into NSC Bose Road. Do you see it now?

Ah, you probably missed it amidst all the shops and their signboards and you've probably walked much further down NSC Bose Road than you intended to - so now, turn around and walk east: there! The high wall behind the shops, you see it now, don't you? Where the wall ends is the doorway and now you can go in for your darshan of Chenna Malleswarar.

There is probably an easier way to get in - as both temples share a common tank, I guess one can skirt around the tank and get to one from the other. I have not tried that so far, though!

Don't read this...

Is this sign meant to reassure the good travellers that an omnipotent power watches over their well-being or is it meant to strike terror into the hard heart of one who has crossed over to the dark side? I think it is the former, but a spin-off is that a criminal reading this will think twice before attempting any funny business at this spot!

Of course you can't spot the cameras - they are secret, you understand?!

Fantasy world

It was in 1896 that the Lumiere brothers visited India with their 'cinematographe'. Madras was not on their itinerary; it was Bombay that they favoured, making it the fourth city in their world tour, the other three being London, New York and Buenos Aires. It is said, however, that a firm named Madras Photographic Store advertised a show of 'animated photographs', which would make it the first 'motion picture' show in the city. I have not been able to find any reliable data to back the claim of the Madras Photographic Store, so we must turn elsewhere to find the city's first movie theatre.

Given the fickle nature of the movie industry, it is no surprise that the first cinema in the city is no longer in business. Neither is the second, the Electric Theatre, but at least it remained in business for a couple of years and is sometimes credited as being the first - it helps that the building still exists. The first theatre of Madras was the rather factually named Bioscope, which opened for business in 1911, but closed down within a few months. Not much is known about this theatre, save that it was on Broadway (or Popham's Broadway, as it was then called) and was owned by a Mrs. Klug.

Of Mrs. Klug, too, we hear little else; she is part of Chennai's history, but nobody seems to know who she was or where she went to after her pioneering attempt failed. The only cinema on Broadway - though it boggles the mind that Broadway can actually have a cinema - is the New Broadway Talkies, show in the photograph. That there was an older Broadway Talkies at this site is known - but it is still unknown if that one came up where the Bioscope used to be. That would be a truly filmy ending!

The river link

In one of his forms, Siva had agreed to cushion the Earth from the river Ganga as she came down from the heavens. 'Ganga-mai' is of course the most sacred of rivers and temples in various parts of the country claim that Ganga-mai's waters reach their premises - through un-mappable subterranean channels, is the usual explanation - so as to offer more value to the devotee. One alternative was to have Siva in his form as 'Gangadeeswaran', implying the presence of the holy river.

Supposed to have been built by a Chola king, the Gangadeeswarar temple at Purasaiwakam honours that form of Siva. The story also goes that the spot where waters brought from the Ganga were placed during the consecration of the temple turned into a tank that would never run dry, not even during the times of drought which emptied all other wells of Purasaiwakam.

For a temple that is supposed to have been around for at least a millenium, there is very little information available about it - and I can't think of any explanation as to why it should be so!

Follower, in a way

'Bharathidasan' is probably the smallest of the people whose statues are lined up along the Marina. Not in a physical sense, of course: some of the statues are of folks whose features have been shaped by imagination rather than data, but Bharatidasan suffers from a 'recency effect'. He died in 1964 which means many who have memories of him are still around to try and knock him off his pedestal once in a while.

Born in Pondicherry in 1891 and named Subburathinam by his parents, he came under the influence of Subramania Bharathi while in his teens. Bharathi mentored him in his early days and Subburathinam acknowledged that by changing his name to Bharatidasan (Follower of Bharathi). Mentee struck a slightly different path from mentor, being more fiercely protective of the Tamizh language against external influences as well as being an atheist, involving himself with the Dravidan political movement in the late 1940s and the 1950s. Though he had thrown himself into the independence movement earlier, he did not generate the reverence that his mentor did. Maybe that explains not only his political involvement, but also his search for an identity: he used several pseudonymns even as he continued to write as 'Bharathidasan'

And yet, the fact remains that when the World Tamil Conference was held in Madras in 1968, he was considered worthy of being placed alongside the greats of generations past - something that would probably make his the tallest of the statues along the Marina!

Step lively, now

It feels very nice to imagine oneself thundering across an open field on horseback, not a care in the world, rider and mount in perfect understanding with each other. But like any other skill, horse riding is something that one needs to learn, preferably through a proper course of instruction. Given the city life, any other way of learning to ride is rather improbable, I guess. Chennai has a couple of riding schools, and from whatever I've heard, both of them are equally good.

Which is understandable, given that until a few years ago, there was just the Madras Riding School monopolising the field. It was in 1997 that a couple of people broke away from the MRS and, along with a few others, launched the Chennai Equestrian Academy, which is where this picture was taken. The CEA is located on Rajiv Gandhi Salai (OMR) and is probably convenient for all those folks headed out to work on the IT corridor.

Whatever thoughts I had about learning to ride vaporised when I figured out that it would involve a 4.00 am wake-up time at least twice a week!

Break time

The dining area of Agarwal Bhavan in Sowcarpet is too far away - by a few streets - from this doorway for this to be a backdoor entry. The only other explanation is that this is the main storehouse for provisions needed by the eatery, which accounts for the milk can and the boxes.

Quite likely that it is also the rest area - maybe even the living quarters - for staff of Agarwal Bhavan, who seem to be enjoying their break. Once they go to the restaurant, there is little chance of them enjoying free time until the crowd thins out!

To treat them all

It is hard to believe that a major reason for relocating the military hospital of Fort St George to this site in 1772 was because it had, all around it, open spaces and was therefore considered to be much healthier than its previous location in (today's) Armenian Street. The decision to move was made in 1762, but it took another decade to be operationalized. John Sullivan, a young 'writer' won the tender for constructing the hospital buildings with a quote of 42,000 pagodas, which was almost 10% less than Col. Patrick Ross' outlay of 46,500 pagodas. It appears that the original specification of 1762, to build a hospital capable of receiving and accommodating "500 men and 30 officers" remained unchanged; the construction, though was reportedly designed so as to carry a second storey, when required.

The expansion does not seem to have been required until 1859. By then, the hospital had become truly 'general', with native civilians being admitted for treatment since 1842. (The military handed it over to pure civilian control in 1899). More additions were made through the last quarter of the 19th century; and then, between 1928 and 1938, a complete remodelling and much re-construction was done. With so much of chopping and changing, it is likely that none of the original buildings were still around when the most recent re-construction was done in 2002. That effort tore down all the hospital buildings and replaced them with these twin blocks - glass and concrete, but with the porticos shaped like those of Chola palaces.

While the open spaces around it have long since disappeared, the Government General Hospital's location is still convenient for travellers coming in - in these days of A(H1N1) threat, it may be reassuring to find this, the first hospital of India, waiting at the gates of the Chennai Central!

No relation

The fascination for white-enamel-on-blue-board continues. Apart from the board, it is also interesting to see what's on it; a five-digit telephone number, which must have been last used sometime in the '70s and an identifier for 'Telegrams' which must have been quite the in thing in the '60s. Obviously, this is a business that has been built, and continues to thrive, on relationships, rather than on its brand.

The one other curious thing about it was the name of the senior partner. For a moment, I wondered if it was the same man who had built many of Madras' buildings between the late 19th and early 20th century. But no, that was a namesake, one who probably had no interest in precious metals, but made stones into precious buildings in his day!

Travelling house

It looks like a bamboo windchime that's been stuck, but it is actually a pretty interesting home. It is built by the larva of the bagworm moths of the family Psychidae - apparently, these cases are more helpful in identifying the exact species of the moth, rather than the full grown insect itself. The larva builds this case out of any natural protective material it can find; other than such tiny twigs, building materials include sand, leaves, or other plant matter. Until the larva is feeding, it moves around, carrying its 'house' with it. Once it is ready to pupate, it fixes the case to the nearest anchor - a branch, wall or rocks - with its silken adhesive.

If you look closely, you'll see some wing-scales peeping through at the bottom of this house; the adult moth will be ready to fly out, maybe in a day or so!