Float on the water

The steps leading down to the temple tank of the Kapaleeshwarar temple were packed all around with devotees who had come to see the final day of the three-day Theppam festival at the temple. The Theppam is the float, of course, especially made for the festival and large enough to carry a sanctum, and a large number of devotees on it, around the edges of the tank.. 

The float moves through the water thanks to the efforts of a group of devotees who walk along the edge of the tank. It all looks very easy, but it surely must be quite an effort to pull it around nine times - and that was just on the final day, yesterday. On the first day, the theppam went around five times and then seven times the next day. 

It is not just the float that has been decorated and lit up; the temple gopuram was also all bright and colourful, as well as the mandapam in the middle of the tank. All together it made for a grand spectacle, especially when the moon rose and held its own for a while against these artificial lights!

Sports college

The first person to represent India at the Summer Olympics was the Anglo-Indian Norman Pritchard, who, it is said, was holidaying in Paris at the time of the Olympics in 1900 and was therefore persuaded to represent the country at the games. For the next twenty years, there was no India at the Olympics. In 1920, Sir Dorab Tata spearheaded the mission to send a contingent to Antwerp. That contingent comprised six sportsmen, who did not do anything that was newsworthy. That wasn't a surprise, for they had been hastily selected, and their travel uncertain, what with the money pledged coming to only about two-thirds of the estimated cost. It was Sir Dorab's personal contributions that enabled the team to go. 

Four years later, Sir Dorab was at it again. But this time, he was better prepared. He had enlisted the help of a pioneering institution in Madras - the YMCA School of Physical Education, which had been founded in 1920 by an American, Harry Crowe Buck. The Director of the YMCA, A.G.Noehren was made the secretary of the Indian Olympic Association and the selection of the sportsmen was through the 'Delhi Olympic Games'. The final contingent of eight members was evenly split between 'natives' and British / Anglo-Indians. Three of the eight were from Madras: Lakshmanan (Hurdles), Heathcote (High Jump) and Venkatramaswamy (the Mile) and the others were from Bombay, Bengal (2), Patiala and the United Provinces. H.C. Buck was the chef-de-mission and while the athletes did not really cover themselves in glory, they acquitted themselves well enough to ignite the Olympic movement in India. 

Since 1920, India has not missed any of the Olympics. The school started by Buck has now grown into the YMCA College of Physical Education, working out of a 64-acre campus in Nandanam, in the centre of the city. The picture shows one of the fields on the campus. The runner appears to be more fitness enthusiast than Olympic hopeful!

Words and music

There they are on stage, two of Chennai's favourite sons. Gopalkrishna Gandhi, the elder one, is in conversation with T.M. Krishna, a star on the Carnatic music circuit. I can claim to be in the same class as Mr. Gandhi, for he said he knows little about music. (While saying that, he also reminded the audience about MS Subbulakshmi's response when Mahatma Gandhi praised her singing: What does he know about Carnatic music?) As the Mahatma's grandson, Gopalakrishna Gandhi was only being true to his heritage. 

Krishna's heritage, on the other hand, is steeped in the Carnatic music tradition. As one of the younger generation, he has - in my limited understanding - enhanced the tradition by trying to break out of the structures that had become ossified around the art. Of course that has brought him detractors, but it has also endeared him to the younger crowd, even those who might not be able to tell a ragam from a talam. 

What is the singer doing at a lit-fest? Well, primarily because the conversation was around Krishna's latest book, "A Southern Music - The Karnatik Story". Of course it was informative and entertaining - Krishna did a little bit of a lec-dem routine - and the Q&A session was fun. Even though Krishna did address it in a tangential way in the beginning, the question "Why have you narrowed South Indian music to Carnatic music?" did not get a full answer at the end!

Sunshine!

Yesterday was Pongal, the harvest festival, marking the start of a new season of plenty, after the drab - in agricultural terms - month of margazhi. The winter cold is on its way out, now and the days begin to get longer. On Pongal day, the tradition is to worship the Sun God; it is the first day of uttarayanam, when the sun moves to a new constellation. 

Given the mismatch between the definition of a 24-hour day and the actual movement of the stars and the planets, the actual start of Pongal would shift every year. I know many people who did not celebrate Pongal at sunrise this year. They waited for the moment of the constellation shift (yes, they know.) to start their pujas and gaiety. 

The sun, of course, rose around the time it usually does and lit up the waters of the Bay of Bengal, as well as the sands of the Marina!

City No.26?

The weekend that went by was quite packed. Apart from the Mylapore Festival that I had mentioned a couple of days ago, the weekend also saw the third edition of The Hindu's Lit for Life happening. The festival ended yesterday, but the photo is from Sunday's discussion about what India's Megacities represent to the country's people. Some part of Saturday was given over to the Mylapore Festival, including a wonderful talk on the Devadasis of Madras by Pradeep Chakravarthy (more about that coming up soon elsewhere!). So on Sunday, it had to be the Lit For Life. 

Any thought about the choice having "been made" was a bit premature. The Lit Fest had a few parallel events, and it was difficult having to flip a coin on where to go to. I do think we managed to cover 'all' the good ones... or maybe not.

The other highlight of the weekend was this article in the New York Times, placing Chennai at No.26 on the list of 52 Places to Visit in 2014. There was a lot more that the contributing writer could have written about the city. However, given that the music season is winding down, the Mylapore and literature festivals are done, the Book Fair under way, and hey, Happy Pongal, everyone... there is not much arguing with how she describes Chennai - "A cultural capital"!

Reserved parking

What better way to ensure that someone does not block your parking gate!

Decorated street

What happens when a hundred ladies converge on the North Mada Street of Mylapore of an evening, for four days in January? Well, one outcome is that a part of the street is completely cut off to vehicles, because the ladies would have come up with these intricate designs - the traditional kolams. The biggest differences between these and the rangoli that is more popular these days are that kolams are outlines and all in white, while rangoli allows one to fill in the spaces with colours of their choice.

These traditional kolams are part of the Mylapore Festival, which is in its eleventh year in 2014. This is probably the only 'competitive' item of the festival - and in the four days of the celebrations, it attracts the greatest number of visitors. Walking through the narrow space between the kolams, each of which is restricted to a 4x4 space, is itself a performance sport for many of the festival's patrons. 

If you want to see more of the designs, head over to the Festival's Facebook page. You will be amazed! 

Old hall

Edward, the second Lord Clive, during his time as the Governor of Madras, wanted to commemorate the Company's victory over Tipu Sultan. His wish culminated in this building, in 1802. John Goldingham, more famous as the astronomer of Madras, was the one who designed this magnificent structure. 

Does it remind you of the Parthenon at Athens? That was apparently the effect that Goldingham was aiming for. The original flight of steps leading up were much narrower, but flanked by sphinxes. These broader steps have added to the grandeur of this building, which was originally called the Banqueting Hall. Apart from the grand banquets hosted by the governor, this hall was also used by the University of Madras in its early years for its convocations. Much later, in the late 1930s, this was the seat of the Madras Presidency's legislature. 

After India's independence, this was renamed to honour the first Indian Governor-General, C. Rajagopalachari. Rajaji Hall became a warren of government offices and a spot for filming movie sequences. At least it was in the public eye then, but now, with most of the surrounding buildings of similar vintage having been demolished, Rajaji Hall sits rather uncared for!

Marker stones

Everyone knows that, over the years, Madras became smaller and smaller. First, it was the Madras Presidency, lording over almost the entire east coast of India, going all the way up to what is today the Ganjam district of Odisha; and then on the west coast, the Malabar and Canara regions, with the kingdoms of Travancore, Cochin and Mysore popping up like chocolate chips in the cookie, leaping across the waters to keep the Laccadive Islands in its folds.... Madras was grand. After independence, it was the Madras State, which lasted for a rather short term before the states reorganization in 1956 left it pretty much with the current outline of Tamil Nadu State. That re-naming of the state happened in 1969, leaving Madras as the name of its capital city.

And then, in 1996, there was no more Madras. Not as a geographical location. Chennai is nearly a generation old. But the name keeps popping up in different places. The two stones in this picture are from what is today the Radisson Blu Resort's Temple Bay at Mamallapuram. When it was first built, it was a government Guest House, later given over to the ITDC to build a five star hotel in the late 1960s. The ITDC's Temple Bay Ashok was much later privatised and passed through different hands before ending up in its current avatar. 

Somehow, it is nice that these stones from the original building have been preserved; I am fairly sure this was not their original positioning, but even if it was, it is nice to see how it has been blended in with the new layout. Coming upon these stones, one stops short, surprised at being yanked back in time in what one thought was a contemporary hotel! 

Crunchy snacks

No part of a city can claim to be a bastion of traditionalism unless it has some of the markers needed to prove it. No, not just curios or knick-knacks, but stuff that the owners / users / sellers do not consider anything other than real, everyday things, no matter how quaint it appears to outsiders. Getting into the Triplicane area, many Chennaiites would be completely at sea; even allowing for the antiquity of the temple and its environs, few would be prepared for such signs on what seems to be the door to a residence.

The sign clearly says that it is an appalam store. Vedas Appalams functions here at specific intervals of time in the morning and evening. Five-and-a-half hours of work split by an equally long siesta seems a wonderful way to get through the day. But then, how many appalams can you sell in an hour or five? To bad that it was a Sunday and the store was not going to open anyway. Any thoughts about asking the neighbours about appalams were frightened away by the words on the door: "If the door is closed, do not trouble any of the neighbours" - maybe I shall be back one day, to check these appalams out!

Originals

The streets of Madras were first lit up by oil lamps in 1785. I have not been able to find much information about what kind of lamps they were, but they were surely engineered very well, to be able to continue to burn brightly even through the strong sea breeze that would set into the city every afternoon. 

It was a little over a century ago that street lighting in Madras was electrified. In 1910, when electric lamps were introduced on to the city's streets, they had to replace about 6,500 oil lamps. The lamplighters now had to ensure that the switches were turned on at the right time. Or maybe, like it still happens in some of the semi-urban and rural areas, they had to plug in the fuse carrier at dusk and yank it out again at dawn. 

What you see in the picture (you can click on it to blow it up) are two lamp-posts from the early days of electrical street lighting. No, not the fixtures - as you can see, they have been crudely fastened on to the old posts. But I do not think that all the posts were quite so short, for I have seen at least one that is taller. What with the kind of cherry-picker trucks these days, today's lamp posts don't require the crossbar that you see on these; without that support, the lamplighter would not have been able to place his ladder firmly on these posts!

Concert

Chennai's music season is drawing to a close, and as usual, I have missed every concert that was on offer. Of course there was some kind of a list that was drawn up, of where to go to listen to who, but it just remained on paper. All the greats - legends as well as contemporary idols - of Carnatic music performed at the usual spots. 

One of those spots is the Ayyappan-Guruvayoorappan temple at Mahalingapuram. The "gaana gandharvan" of Carnatic music, Padma Bhushan K. J. Yesudas. Since 1974, he has not missed his annual performance at this venue even once - I remember that I first saw him singing here in 1977. Over the last four decades, it has ceased being remarkable that a Roman Catholic unfolds a plethora of devotional, as well as other songs at a Hindu temple. We had landed up at the temple without knowing that it was the Yesudas evening; the only spots free of audience were in front of the sanctums. All attention was focused upon the man with the divine voice. 

I don't think anyone was disappointed that evening. Except us. We had to preserve our 100% record of not attending any concert this season; we were unable to spend any time to listen to the man. But he will be back next year, and Deo volente, so will we!

Bladeless fan

“You see, Watson, but you do not observe!”

As the world’s first consulting detective Sherlock had good reason to be observant. I started looking closely at – observing – the brands of bathroom fittings in airports, cinemas and other public spaces only after our firm started working with one of the manufacturers. Even then, the other paraphernalia in the rest rooms were not bestowed with my attention. Again, it needed a personal connect for the brand to catch my eye. 

I had read a profile of this British inventor a few weeks ago; even that article stood out from the others because a cousin had signed on with the firm a couple of months ago and he was not sure if any of his firm’s products were being used in India. A lot of things coming out of the firm seem to be very cutting edge, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what a ‘bladeless fan’ could be like.

Until a few days ago. The loo at Escape. Suddenly noticed that I could dry my hands in this – the bladeless fan. Dyson Technology calls it the Airblade, but now that I have used it, I can’t figure out how it is significantly different from the wall-mounted hand dryers that one usually sees at such places!

New dawn

The new titular head of the Royal Family of Travancore, Moolam Tirunaal Rama Varma, was formally anointed last Friday. That is a good reason to think of the last monarch of Travancore, or to give it its vernacular name, Thiruvithamcoor, who decreed that temples are not exclusive to any group of people. It might sound trivial today, but a century ago, entry into temples was restricted only to “caste Hindoos”. That was the prevailing practice across the whole of India, and it was a young ruler from South India who opened the floodgates with his “Temple Entry Proclamation” in 1936. 

Chithira Thirunaal Balarama Varma Maharaja was barely 24 when he declared that "...there should henceforth be no restriction placed on any Hindu by birth or religion on entering or worshipping at temples controlled by us and our Government", thereby putting an end to centuries of discrimination. The decree was welcomed by both the British government as well as the Indian nationalists. Therefore, when there was a move to erect a statue of the Maharaja in Madras, it met with little resistance. Of course, it was projected more as a commemoration of the event, rather than the man. The statute of Maharaja Balarama Varma came up in the Travancore Maharaja Park, opposite the Raja Annamalai Mandram in Esplanade. 

The Raja of Travancore had large tracts of land in Adyar, which is where his Madras 'camp' palace was. As Adyar developed into a residential area, Balarama Varma granted the new residents' request to provide land for a temple, the only proviso being that it should be dedicated to Padmanabhaswamy, the presiding deity of Travancore. So it was that the temple came up in what is Gandhi Nagar today. That grant helped the Raja's statue as well; by the early 1990s, the Travancore Maharaja Park had become a parking spot for buses and the city formalised it by converting the park into a bus terminus. The statute was sadly out of place and was in danger of being vandalised. Luckily, it was shifted to a corner of the Padmanabhaswamy temple, where it stands, appropriately holding the proclamation that lets anyone with faith enter the temples!

The other temple

Of course it is extremely unfair to call it so. But somehow, Mylapore has been more media savvy over the centuries, managing to find mention in Ptolemy's writings. It's neighbouring village to the north, Triplicane, has been more reserved, featuring only in regional works such as the Nalayira Dhiva Prabandham. But the Parthasarathy temple here is believed to go back to the 8th century CE, which makes it a little older than the current Kapaleeswarar temple in Mylapore. 

You can only see the gopuram of the temple in the distance - the blue structure to its right is the shed housing the temple chariot. The temple pond in the foreground is also the one from which the village took its name: Thiru-alli-keni, the holy lily pond. It is said that a millenium and more ago, the forests around this temple were so thick that sunlight couldn't enter, except to play on this pond. The legend is that the Goddess Vedavalli was born on one of the lilies in this pond and then went on to become the consort of Sri Ranganatha, one of the deities of this temple.

The forests are long gone, of course. There weren't much of them around even when the British, in the middle of the 17th century, were getting their act together at Fort St. George, just a couple of kilometres to the north. It was one of the first villages to be annexed by the British, as they expanded their territory around the fort. Even today, the streets around the temple are a throwback to a much older age; it is easy to imagine, from a single street in Triplicane, what most of Madras would have been like a century ago!

Chimneys

If ever you take a train out of Chennai Central, you cannot miss this trio. Well, yes, at night time you will not be able to see the colours so clearly, but the chimneys are lit up, so they are not easy to miss. A generation or so ago, these chimneys weren't around, but you would know that you are crossing the Basin Bridge power station because of their predecessors - massive concrete structures, which looked pretty much like chimneys, as you can see from this picture.

The Basin Bridge power station was modernised by GMR and was commissioned in 1998. Since then, it has been supplying about 200MW of electricity to the state electricity board. GMR claims that it does not use any water from the city, but treats the city's sewage to generate the water it needs for its operations. They boast a 75% recovery rate from the sewage - I am not sure if that is a high benchmark, or just regular operations. 

So, the next time you go out of the Chennai Central station, don't forget to say goodbye to these chimneys!

Jam your liver

It is one of those buildings that, by having been around for so long, makes you feel guilty asking about the origins of its name or any such thing. Had heard of the Jammi Buildings in Royapettah a very long time ago; if I remember right, it housed some big time office of the TN Civil Supplies Corporation in the late 1970s. Dad talked about having to go there for something to do with the ration card, but it was the name that caught attention. Jummy!

It was much later that I heard about Dr. Jammi Venkataramanayya and his miracle ayurvedic cure for problems of the liver. Jammi's Liver Cure (as it says on the board)  must have been like one of Jeeves' pick-me-ups for Madras' Woosters. Minus the raw egg, of course. But I have not come across anyone who has actually used Jammi's product, which makes me suspect that everyone has been treated with it. Dr. Jammi's early success was to target the product to specifically treat infantile jaundice - and in the early 20th century, when he began his practice, such success would have given him a God-like aura.

The firm that he started continues as Jammi Pharmaceuticals today. Headquartered in the Jammi Buildings itself, they are very modern - you can get in touch with them online or even buy their products as capsules and syrups. Do you think you need one of those after the night-before-last?!

Red Madras

It may be the New Year, but there are some places where 'old' memories remain. Like the name 'Madras', for instance. In 2014, it will be eighteen years since the city was renamed as Chennai. There are still several places, however, where 'Madras' continues to be used: the IIT Madras, the Madras High Court, the University of Madras... and there would be many more such. 

The picture shows some lesser known users of the 'Madras' appellation. These sheep are native to the Chennai and Kancheepuram districts; with a startling excess of imagination, they were named 'Madras Red'. Once they have been named so, it is only fitting that the Chennai district today has less than a thousand of them; the bulk of them are in Kancheepuram, which has about 200,000 of these, just under 20% of their total population. (The rest are distributed across Tamil Nadu). 

This herd is part of the research station at Kattupakkam, just outside Chennai. And there they are, looking forward to the New Year, when they would be distributed to some farmer or the other, and might end up as mutton on your plate, if you have such tastes. In any case, here's wishing you a wonderful time in the year 2014!

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!

Union office

Once upon a time, WIMCO was an iconic brand, at the very least in the Tiruvottiyur area. It was one of the earliest factories there. The company itself was incorporated in 1923; the factory at Madras used to make matches, which was what the company was known for, so it is likely that its presence at Tiruvottiyur goes back to the first half of the 20th century.

I don't remember much about the factory, even though I had visited it a couple of times. But I remember this building on Tiruvottiyur High Road very well, since I passed it every day for a couple of years or so. WIMCO itself went through a very tough time in the late 1990s and early 2000s, with industrial unrest being almost a standard feature of its operations. Almost all the workers at Tiruvottiyur left. Wimco Workers Union was without a raison d'être. The building came to be used for other businesses. 

Once this building goes - as it is bound to, soon, - there will be little left of WIMCO in this place. The last survivors will be the residential area, still called Wimco Nagar, and the suburban railway station of the same name. Wimco will pass into history!

Ba-Ba Street?

The area to the west of Mowbray's Road, in the early 19th century, was largely paddy fields. Further down was the 'Sudder Adawlat', native courts of the time; the main building was called Sadr Gardens - whether that was a corruption of 'Sudder' is a debatable point - and probably was the judge's residence. The Sudder Adawlat was abolished by the Indian High Courts Act of 1861, so by the time its most famous resident was born, Sadr Gardens had forgotten its courtly history and was just a comfortable garden house. 

But destiny had a way of re-connecting Sadr Gardens with its legal legacy. One of the most respected judges of the Madras High Court, Justice Basheer Ahmed Syeed, lived at Sadr Gardens for most of his life, certainly from the time he became a judge, in 1950, to his death in 1984. He had professional company in his neighbours; many lawyers spilled over from Mylapore into Alwarpet, on the eastern flank of Mowbray's Road. Among them was Bhashyam Iyengar, a senior lawyer and one who, like Basheer Ahmed, was involved in many public causes. Bhashyam Iyengar had his residence at Champaka Vilas, just south-east of Sadr Gardens.  

By the middle of the twentieth century, the paddy fields had gone. Basheer Ahmed was at the height of his social activism, having served on the committee of the Music Academy and also having set up the South India Education Trust; Bhashyam Iyengar was in the twilight of his life. There was a road, or more probably a path, between Sadr Gardens and Champaka Vilas. It was probably after Bhashyam Iyengar's passing away that this road was named after both these legal giants. Since then, many who see this sign for the first time are left wondering how this confusion of a Muslim name beginning with an obviously Iyengar appellation could have arisen!

Backwaters

It is barely 6 am and the light is wonderful. We are about 30km out of Chennai, on the East Coast Road. The Muttukadu Boat House brings back memories of how a college senior fell into the water just as she was getting off the boat, and how quickly panic gave way to embarrassment on realising that the water was only about waist deep at that time. 

But that was low tide time and it is not to be taken as an excuse to jump into the waters here. Muttukadu was one more of those open stretches of backwaters along the coast, until a boathouse was opened here by the Tamil Nadu Tourism department, about forty years ago. Even then, it had to struggle to keep itself going. The boat rides that would take you under the bridge and then circle back to the pier were thrilling by themselves, but there was nothing more at the spot.

Not that there is much more available now for the typical holidaymaker out for a good time. The boathouse is bigger, some restaurants are nearby and there are different kinds of boats available. This early in the day, however, we were watching the pelicans and the cormorants, as a solitary fisherman punted his way towards the shore. Hope all of them had a good catch!

Rest-stop

At a time when the world was a much larger place, say a couple of millenia ago, a journey from Mylapore to St Thomas Mount was considerably long-haul. Going inland from the beaches of Mylapore, the traveller would most likely find thick groves, and then the scrub jungles. Coming out of those jungles infested with leopards, wolves and snakes, the traveller would be on the banks of the mighty Adyar river, which must be forded if he was to climb up that hillock of St Thomas Mount.

Thomas Didymus, he of the famed doubt, reportedly made this journey quite frequently. And in the course of doing so, he had at least one specific resting spot, according to legend. Hearing about this, the Portugese settlers at San Thome made sure they also took time out at this spot during their pilgrimage from their seashore settlement to the hillock shrine. Over time, they built a little church here in 1650. It continues to be in use although the name has been changed from the original Portugese Descanco Church to Illaippari Madha Kovil.

New word

Over the past few (several?) years, there has been a sustained effort to ensure that the names of stores and businesses are displayed in Tamizh as well as in English. Initially, the stores just transliterated their names into Tamizh, but these days, they have gone beyond, and have been using more specific words: e.g. 'அடுமனை' for 'bakery' and 'வந்போருலகம்' for hardware. 

This was however a new one on me. I had seen the Tamizh word 'குவியம்' written as 'kuviyam' in English, though I did not know what it meant. When I saw this sign, I just had to look it up - and it seemed very nice, to 'mis-spell' it in English, and to make it fit the business of being an optician: 'kuveyeam' means 'focus'!

One more century

There were a lot of coloured flags along the school wall and I was trying to figure out what they were for. A small sign (you can see it too, if you click on the photo to enlarge it and then check between the second and third flags from the right) gave me a clue, even though I could not really believe it.

The Ewart School - it has a much longer official name - started off in 1913 with three students. It was part of the effort by the Church of England to provide girls with proper education, at least as a finishing school. Over its century, Ewart's has had 7 principals - each of them serving for a long enough stretch to leave their imprint on the school.

The school song is a piece by Rudyard Kipling. I was wondering if he wrote it for Ewart's, but no, he did not. And it is not his work 'A School Song', but the closing poem, 'The Children's Song' from 'Puck of Pook's Hill' that has been used here!

Studying development?

If you have ever had questions about how the patterns of rural-to-urban migration have evolved over the years, this is one place you could probably look to for answers. The Madras Institute of Development Studies (MIDS) was founded in 1971 by Dr Malcolm S. Adiseshiah after his retirement as a Deputy Director-General of the UNESCO. The work that he turned out was impressive enough for the government of India to think about making it an institute of national importance. Accordingly, in 1977, MIDS was taken over by the government (both centre and state governments collaborate in its administration now).

Even though its work continues to provide significant inputs to the development agendas of governments at various levels - remember, it does have a national brief - the main body of the MIDS continues to operate in these premises. It was Dr Adiseshiah's house, which the MIDS trust turned over to the government - and it appears to be pretty much the same way it was when it was taken over!

End point

This pier is just outside and parallel to the eastern boundary of the Bharati Dock. It juts out a long way to the northeast, and helps to form a channel through which ships enter and leave the Port of Chennai. This basically means that you cannot sail a ship in a straight line from Port Blair to enter the Port of Chennai; even though the course of that shipping route is a straight line, your ship will have to turn to the north and then make a U-turn to get into the city's harbour.

The light at this end of the pier is named after the eighth Viceroy of India, Lord Dufferin. Did he contribute to the extension of the port in any way? I don't have an answer to that, but I hope that someone will be able to come up with an explanation of why and how it came to be called the Dufferin Light. The only other nautical connection that I have been able to find is that the first dedicated training ship in India for marine engineering was the RMIS Dufferin! 

The things you find

Of course there was curiosity. But no luck in identifying whose it was, for the passport was missing a few pages and there was no information on any of the other pages. 

Quiet pond

Tucked away at a corner of the Chennai port is a little waterbody called the Timber Pond. It does not berth any of the ships coming in to the Chennai port, but it serves as the parking spot for private yachts as well as the port tugs. 

The Royal Madras Yacht Club has its office at the edge of the Timber Pond. First time sailors are let out into the Pond, where traffic is limited and, should the hull capsize, rescue can be quick. The kids in the picture are both out on their first sail all by themselves. They did topple out a couple of times, but kept their heads above water and right the hull. It all seemed so commonplace, that it was difficult to believe they had fallen off into some 40-foot deep waterbody!

Old marker

This stone tells of a tree being planted to mark the centenary of a building’s foundation. That’s a nice, ‘green’ marker, and it tells you that being green is not a new fad. This tree was planted by Lady Willingdon, the then governor’s wife. That should give you some indication of how long ago it was done.

That tree is itself now nearly a century old. Planted in 1923, it was part of the centenary celebrations at St Mathias Church, in Vepery. More of the church itself later!

Mixed up?

Once upon a time, the name of this street was a little longer. But with the government deciding that caste names and titles should not be publicly acknowledged, the original name of Kalavai Chetty Street was shortened. And in doing so, they anonymised one of Madras' prominent merchants, Kalavai Chetty. Some of his business partners, who were dubashes of the British East India Company, are remembered - with their full titles - in street names of George Town.

Kalavai Chetty was quite prosperous and lived north of Fort St George. His business dealings took up a lot of time and he was unable to visit the Kachhapeeswarar temple in Kanchipuram as often as he would have liked to. His solution was simple: build a temple in Madras itself. That he did, giving over a part of his lands on what is today Armenian Road. It may not have hurt him much, because at his peak, the leases he held included Tiruvottiyur, Tondiarpet, Vyasarpadi, Purasaiwakkam, Egmore and Nungambakkam. 

The settlement of Chintadripet, where this street is located, was a little after his heyday, although he must still have been around. Maybe he gave up a part of his holdings here for the settlement to come up, and hence a street with his name came up here rather than in George Town. How nice it would have been to have retained his anglicised name, Colloway Chetty, in this street - when the Chetty dropped, that would have got us all mixed up!

Waiting to fall

It must have been a lovely residence in its time, but it is now a bhoot-bangla. Set back from the road, it would be missed by almost everyone walking past. All along Ritherdon Road, the buildings, even old ones appeared to be quite well maintained, so this one came as a surprise. Managed to get this one picture before the watchman there insisted we go away.

Surprisingly, there are several buildings like this one. Left to ruin because there are several claimants to the property, litigating over it. Wonder if any of the neighbourhood kids use this to play in… or is that too dangerous?

Inside, looking out

Was ‘security’ in business complexes always this bad? Of course they used to ask you about why you were coming in, who is it you had to meet, and all of those questions, but it was still a human process. As an employee in one of those complexes – or factories – you had a friendly equation with the security folks, but with the implicit understanding that if you tried funny stuff, he wasn’t going to be your friend.

But the people working in this building on the OMR tell me that the guards make no attempt at being friendly. Even if the same guard has seen you for the past five years, s/he will still have a few questions to ask, and they are not about the weather or your haircut.

Well, maybe they are doing their job, but it makes you feel that you have accomplished something heroic!

Looking up

Well, it is Gandhi Jayanthi. And there are still many who look up to the Mahatma.

Details, details

The Khalas Mahal was once the palace of the Nawab of Arcot, and it has now been taken over by the government to house some of its offices. With that, many parts of the Mahal are now out of bounds, with even the employees not accessing them at all.

This balcony is one such. It was originally built with a lot of flourish, with a fair amount of detail in the wood-work, as well as in the three marble mosaics immediately below it. Unfortunately, not many people who visit these offices have time to look at these details, for they would be dreading other kinds of details the officers might demand of them!

It is the theme day at City Daily Photo and the theme for today is 'Details'. More details at the CDPB Theme Day page