Taxi trouble

As you must have guessed by now, The Man from Madras Musings was recently on a train and that also means he had to reach Central Station. He decided to book a taxi for this. MMM was informed by several nears and dears that such services were a mere telephone call away. And sure enough MMM found that this was indeed so. A very professional voice answered the phone at first ring, did not swear under its breath that another ‘customer of death’ had come and asked MMM for his personal details. Having done the booking, the voice rang off assuring MMM that the taxi would manifest itself at the appointed hour. Shortly thereafter MMM received a text message on his cell phone which gave the impression that serving MMM was the only raison-d’être for the taxi service’s existence.

Much flattered, MMM awaited the taxi. The appointed hour came and went. The clocks ticked on. No taxi. MMM decided to call the helpline. A pre-recorded voice, exuding much the same warmth as the earlier human voice, now asked MMM to select from several choices. MMM realised that he had but two choices – either reaching the station on time or missing his train. He opted for the former and was ranging hither and thither for an autorickshaw when the truant taxi arrived. The driver apologised profusely, said he was caught up in traffic and could MMM forgive him. There was no time for all that and MMM barged into the cab and asked the man to drive at topmost speed to the station.

The driver then clicked a few buttons, turned on the airconditioning, asked MMM if he was comfortable and set the meter ticking. He then just sat looking through the wind-screen. What was he waiting for asked MMM. For directions to the station came the reply. He was new to the city, he said, and he did not know the way! At any other time MMM would have been reminded of the two drunks who saw the star and argued over whether it was the sun or the moon. They decided to ask the opinion of a third toper who said he was new to the place and so did not know.

But this was not the time for levity. It was more a time for silent prayer, which alone gives the necessary strength. MMM made it to the station, but just about.

The God who gives vision

Garuda, Velleeswarar Koil, Mylapore

Velleeswaran Koil is one of the seven Siva temples of Mylapore. It is physically closest to the Kapaliswarar Temple, existing as it does on South Mada Street. The presiding deities are Sukreswarar/Velleeswarar and Kamakshi. Of equal importance is Muthukumaraswami who has his own flagstaff thereby signifying that he has a set of annual festivities quite independent of Velleeswarar. This is similar to what happens at Kapaliswarar Temple where Singaravelar has his own events calendar.

Brahma, Velleeswarar Koil, Mylapore

In its time, the temple must have been a small but pretty shrine with Shiva facing East, the Goddess having her own sanctum to the right and facing South and Muthukumaraswami a little behind facing East as well. A fairly large Ganesa shrine (Selva Vinayakar) faces the entrance. It is significant that Tekkur Selva Vinyakar Koil Street is exactly opposite the temple and I have often wondered if this Ganesa is that Tekkur Selva Vinayaka,though as to what is Tekkur I don’t know. The late Sundari Mani (a wonderful lady of indomitable spirit) once told me that this Ganesa was also known as Kaikolar Ganapathy as the area was full of weavers till the 1940s. Apparently, the first garment from every loom would be offered to this Ganesa.

Garuda Sevai, Velleeswarar Koil, Mylapore

The temple has in later years become a maze of shrines and sub-shrines, each rivaling the other in poor conception and execution. The biggest star today is Sarabheswarar who draws enormous crowds on Sundays.

But I digress. The story behind the temple’s origin (as always it is said to be a thousand years old though the list of trustees carved on a wall has it that the first trustee was a Chengalvaraya Mudaliar in 1874), is that this was where Sukra (Venus), was blessed with eyesight after Vishnu in the Vamana incarnation blinded him. There is a shrine for this in the temple. Among the processional deities in the shrine is a unique icon of Vishnu as Trivikrama, a foot lifted up to hold the heavens. I enquired about it and was told that during the annual Brahmotsavam which happens in Vaikasi (May/June), one of the highlights is the restoring of eyesight to Sukra. The event was held yesterday with yours truly in attendance.

Shiva Velleeswara, Mylapore

At 3.45 in the afternoon, Brahma on a swan, Vishnu on Garuda and Shiva on the bull, set off to the Chitra Kulam (known at this temple as Sukra Teertham). The processional icon of Velleeswarar does not go for this, the pradosha icon standing in instead. Alas! the Trivikrama is all trussed up and made to appear seated on Garuda and looks so disproportionate. What a beauty the icon is without all this unnecessary decoration.

Trimurthy from Velleeswarar Koil Mylapore at the Chitra Kulam

Anyway, off they go to Chitra Kulam with band, nagaswaram and drums. There they wait for Sukra to complete his penance.This is taking place inside a makeshift shelter just outside the tank. An oduvar reads from the Tirumurai, the verses chiefly being those composed by Sundaramurthy Nayanar for regaining his vision. At the end of this, a screen which covers the shelter is removed and we see a canopy in which are Mahabali holding an enormous kindi, Sukra in anjali pose and Vamana. Deeparadhana is offered and Sukra sees the Trimurthy. The deities then return to the temple, followed by Sukra, Mahabali and Vamana.

Mahabali, Shukra and Vamana, Velleeswarar Koil, Mylapore

Wonder how many Shiva temples other than this one have a Garuda Sevai as part of their events!

Velleeswarar procession, Mylapore

I understand that Shukra complained bitterly about his having to wait next to smelly Chitra Kulam for so long. The Trimurthys apparently pleaded helplessness. There is only so much that the Gods can do in the face of human apathy.

Desperation in the double-decker train

The much-touted double-decker train arrived at the platform. There was a frisson of excitement among the waiting throng. Out came the cell phones to take pictures and upload on Facebook, Twitter and other social sites. Railway officials and porters posed against the coaches. The Man from Madras Musings then joined the waiting passengers to board the train.

Once inside, MMM located his seat only to realise that someone else was already occupying it. Or, at least, it appeared to be so. In order to accommodate double the usual quota of passengers, the railways in their wisdom had decided to halve the space for each of the seats. The passenger who was occupying MMM’s place was actually in the neighbouring seat but being a gentleman of full habit, as the expression is (in other words, plain obese), he had spread himself on to MMM’s space also. There was very little MMM could do other than squeeze himself into a crevice of sorts besides the giant.

The authorities being the epitome of thrift had also apparently decided to cut the airconditioning capacity by half. What with the heat without and the heat within and the friction caused by His Heaviness in the neighbouring seat, MMM soon realised what it was to commit suttee. The situation improved somewhat once the double-decker moved, but it was very marginal.

Once the train was in motion, MMM’s co-passengers resorted to what most of our compatriots do on train. Several tried making phone calls to tell their ‘near and dear’ (to go with the expression often used in invitation cards) that they were on the double-decker. But the signal being weak, they decided to make up by exercising their vocal cords to the fullest. Added to this was the steady din of the vendors carrying food to all the compartments. MMM’s neighbour snored raucously, his head lolling on MMM’s shoulder.

Unlike the Shatabdi (which was a haven of peace until some sick mind decided to install television sets in each coach), where the fare includes food which is served at fixed times, the double-decker sells food from its pantry car and this is done throughout the journey. There were some passengers who had decided to sample everything that was on offer. The airconditioning in the train being what it was, there was soon a strong smell of stale food in the coaches. It clung to the clothes and multiplied itself into a potent force. The gourmands added to the odours by letting off various appreciative vapours.

So much of food meant the problem of waste was just around the corner. Trash bins were soon bursting at the seams. The vestibules separating the coaches became extensions of the trash bins. Those who needed to use the toilets (and there were many, what with the unending browsing and sluicing) had to step over leftovers, food wrappers, paper plates and cups. And as for the toilets, imagine having just four in coaches that were seating 120! They became unusable after the first couple of hours. And when you consider the way in which our brethren pour water all over the place when they perform what are known as ablutions, MMM has pretty much said it all.

MMM had to get off midway. When he reached the door it was only to find the way barred by trays that had once borne food. An apologetic attendant explained that there was no other space to store them. They did not think anyone was getting off midway. What with the halt at MMM’s station being just for a minute, MMM had to dash through the vestibule, past overflowing toilets and rubbish bins and reach the door of the next compartment, which was fortunately accessible. MMM was informed by reliable sources that by the time the train reached Bangalore, most of the passengers had experienced something akin to the Black Hole of Calcutta.

First recording of a Tamil concert

http://www.thehindu.com/news/cities/chennai/musical-steps-in-the-1940s/article4733721.ece

Full Monty on the Connemara Divorce,part II

Continued from part I

For almost a year Lady Connemara had confabulated with legal luminaries on the grounds for divorce. There had been frank discussions on the Connemaras’ private life and, based on certain proclivities of his, it was agreed that there were sufficient grounds for divorce on the charge of technical cruelty to the partner. But what clinched the decision to pray for annulment of the marriage was the confession of Hannah Moore, a maid-in-waiting, that she had committed adultery with Lord Connemara while in Madras in 1886.

Hannah Moore’s testimony was taken on commission, which meant she deposed in private to officers nominated by the Court. Her story was that she had been in the service of Lady Connemara from 1880 and in 1886 had accompanied the Governor and his wife to Madras. While there, Lord Connemara had committed adultery with her on more than one occasion. In 1887, she had informed Surgeon-Major W. H. Briggs about the matter. Lord Connemara, on being confronted by Dr. Briggs, confirmed that it was the truth and requested the latter to hush it up. Hannah Moore was then sent back to England and had subsequently found employment elsewhere.

The testimony of Surgeon-Major Briggs was, therefore, of vital importance and he sailed for England. In any case it became impossible for him to stay on in Madras for Lord Connemara had spread the story that his estranged wife had committed adultery with Briggs. The latter confronted the Governor over this and managed to obtain a written apology but, sick at heart, he decided to go on home leave. From far away Madras, Lord Connemara began using the official machinery to intimidate him. Threats and blandishments were held out to get him to leave England before the trial. He was posted to Ireland. Surgeon-Major Briggs then met the Director General of the Army Medical Department and informed him in detail of the necessity for his having to stay back in England. He was posted to Woolwich from where he regularly travelled to London to meet Lady Connemara’s lawyers.

A few days before the divorce case, however, he was ordered to leave for India. It was clear that someone high up wanted him out of the way. Dr. Briggs decided to resign his commission with the army and stay on. Realising that the game was up, Lord Connemara went on leave on November 8, 1890, proceeding to England immediately.

The visitors’ gallery of Divorce Court No II was bursting at the seams on November 27, 1890, when Sir James Hannen sat to hear the case of Connemara vs Connemara. The Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs was present at the behest of the Government. The trial was without a jury. Lady Connemara was present, heavily veiled and clad, rather appropriately, in black. A battery of Queen’s Counsel represented her – Sir Frank Lockwood, A. F. Bayford and G. Tahourdin. Lord Connemara was neither present nor represented. The case began with a summing up of the family backgrounds of the two parties and the distressing events that had followed. Doctors who had attended to the Connemara couple as far back as 1875 were summoned and they deposed on the nature of illnesses that they had treated. From what was said, it was surmised that Lady Connemara had suffered ‘cruelty’ at the hands of her husband almost since the early days of marriage.

The deposition of Hannah Moore was then read out. Dr. Briggs was asked to vouch for the veracity of it, which he did. He was then questioned as to whether he had committed adultery with Lady Connemara, which he denied. When Lady Connemara came up for questioning, there was considerable excitement. She slowly lifted her veil and mounted the stand, where she was allowed to sit. She detailed her version of the story, and when asked, said that there was not a word of truth in the canard that she had had a liaison with Dr. Briggs. Further evidence was to be called but the judge ruled this unnecessary as the respondent “had not thought it proper to appear”. The two charges had been established and a decree nisi with costs was granted.

Dr. Briggs then lobbied to get himself reinstated in the army. The Secretary of State for War, the Hon. Edward Stanhope, promised assistance and, in 1891, Dr. Briggs was taken back in the army. To his shock, however, he realised that he had been demoted by several ranks. He refused to accept the offer. Negotiations were opened once again. Questions were raised in the House of Commons, with Lockwood, Lady Connemara’s lawyer being an MP, taking up the matter. Stanhope assured the House that Briggs would be reinstated in full. The assurance was, however, never followed up with a gazette notification.

In the meanwhile, interests inimical to Briggs planted a letter in the Army and Navy Gazette. Signed by ‘Veritas’ it questioned the need for reinstating a man who had been a witness in a divorce. Dr. Briggs was quick to take offence. He wrote a long and detailed letter to the same publication, in which he accused the Director General of the Army Medical Department of succumbing to pressure from higher quarters and doing his very best to scuttle the career prospects of Dr Briggs. The letter was published and brought to the attention of Prince George, the Duke of Cambridge and Commander-in-Chief of the British Army. He ordered that reinstatement proceedings of Dr. Briggs be dropped at once as he had made serious allegations against senior officials.

The matter was once again raked up in Parliament by the indefatigable Lockwood. But Henry Campbell-Bannerman (later to be knighted and Prime Minister of England), who had succeeded Stanhope as Secretary of State for War, refused to go against the C-in-C’s orders. Dr. Briggs lost his commission forever. It was some consolation that he had through his ardours secured Lady Connemara’s affection. The two married in 1894 and lived a happy life till her passing away in 1898.

Lord Connemara, whose public career was finished with the lurid details of the divorce, married again in 1894. His new wife was Gertrude, widow of the mining millionaire E.J. Coleman. Queen Victoria never forgave Lady Connemara. In her view, it was less of a case against an erring peer of the realm and more of a besmirching of a Governor of Madras. It was the duty of the white races to set an example to the natives and by exposing her husband to the world Lady Connemara had brought down the image of the empire. She was never received in court while Lord Connemara with his new wife was made welcome. The second Lady Connemara died in 1898. Lord Connemara passed away in 1902.

What of Hannah Moore in the meanwhile? In 1891, a year after the Connemaras had gone their individual ways, the Marchioness of Huntley sued the Brighton Hotel Company for the loss of 1000 pounds worth of jewellery at the Bedford Hotel.

The hotel decided to fight the case, accusing Lady Huntley of carelessness. It also insinuated that her maid Hannah Moore had stolen the jewellery. She denied it and, to support her claim, furnished several testimonials from former employers. Among these was one from Lady Connemara, written after the divorce. She could not speak too highly, Lady Connemara wrote, of the fidelity and trustworthiness of Hannah Moore. Was this a character certificate a wife would ever write on a woman who had had an affair with her husband?

The newspapers speculated on whether Lady Huntley would have taken on a self-confessed adulteress into her employment. Those present in court felt that Hannah was hardly the type to have foolishly involved herself with any man, no matter how highly placed he was. This led to a debate on whether Lady Connemara and Dr. Briggs had paid Hannah to confess to adultery, which Lord Connemara had never committed, at least with her.

The last word is best left to The Star, published from New Zealand. Reporting on the matter on June 10, 1891, it ended its article thus – “The law of libel being what it is, one had better not speculate further”.

Is it what I think it is? #kogul

Observing it from my verandah, I was intrigued to find both names to be male – Anandan weds Rathikamanogar. Is it just a case of #kogul and no spacing?

Traphique sines

Just caught sight of this near Nageswara Rao Park.

Chennai traffic sign

But it gets even better a little beyond

More of the same

Talk of Freudian slips!

It did occur to me that Tamil Matrimony may be better off sponsoring signboards in Tamil.

Portrait of the past

Allamai Khareghat Patel

Last week brought the heartening news that the National Art Gallery at the Egmore Museum complex is to be restored at a cost of Rs. 11 crore.
For years, heritage activists have feared that the weak dome would soon collapse.

The Empress Victoria Memorial Hall as it was originally named, had its foundation stone laid on January 26, 1906 by the Prince of Wales, later King George V. Designed by Henry Irwin, it is inspired by Akbar’s Bulund Darwaza in Fatehpur Sikri, though much smaller in size. Completed in February 1909, it became home to the Victoria Technical Institute. In 1951, it became the National Art Gallery, displaying some of the country’s best paintings.

A personal favourite among these, and which I hope will be displayed at a prominent place when the building is restored, is Raja Ravi Varma’s Going Out.It is a rather unusual work of the painter who was better known for his portraits of gods, goddesses, kings, queens and stunningly beautiful women. This is a portrait of a shy Parsi girl, clutching a parasol and setting out for a walk. The story behind the painting is given in Rupika Chawla’s Raja Ravi Varma, Painter of Colonial India (Mapin Publishing, 2010).

The subject is Allamai (Aloo) Khareghat, of a well known Bombay-based Parsi family. Ravi Varma and his brother Raja Varma were frequent visitors to Bombay and while there, became very close to the Khareghats. The artist, according to his sibling, greatly enjoyed conversing with Allamai, who was, “a very intelligent lady having a thorough English education.” One day, Ravi Varma was particularly fascinated by a pose that Allamai struck as she stepped out for a stroll and captured it on canvas.

In 1902, Allamai moved to Madras where her brother Meherwanjee Rustomji Khareghat worked for the PWD. She married Rustom T. Patel, a businessman of Ooty and made her home there. In 1926, the couple’s daughter Mary married Nogi P. Clubwallah, who came from a front-ranking Parsi family of Madras.

Widowed early, Mary dedicated her life to social uplift, joining the Guild of Service, becoming an honorary presidency magistrate and remaining for life a magistrate of the Juvenile Court. Her contributions to the war effort earned her the sobriquet ‘darling’ of the Army from Gen. Cariappa.

In 1952, she founded the Madras School of Social Work, which is now recognised by the government as an institution of higher education. The MSSW pioneered several things we take for granted today — meals on wheels, health centres, bakery units and schools for the deaf. Mary Clubwallah-Jadhav (she married again) was nominated to the Madras Legislative Council in 1946, serving three terms. All this is only a part listing of her contributions and achievements.

In 1952, the Khareghats donated the Ravi Varma painting to the Government Museum. Allamai Khareghat-Patel was present in person as was her daughter. A photographer captured the old lady, standing beside her depiction in the first flush of youth.

This article appeared in the Hidden Histories column of The Hindu on 14th May 2013

Full Monty on the Connemara Divorce

Inspired by your’s truly’s writing on the above subj. in The Hindu, ye ed of Madras Musings, aka S Muthiah and known to close followers as The Chief, requested that I write in greater detail for his paper. And so here is the first part.

Lord Connemara

“A date has been fixed for the hearing of the suit for divorce brought by Lady Connemara against her husband, Lord Connemara, Governor of Madras,” reported the Tararalgon Record of Victoria, Australia, on March 1, 1890. By then, ‘The Connemara Divorce’ had become a permanent headline story in most newspapers across the world. Who would have imagined that what was once considered a brilliant match would come to this?

Born on June 11, 1827 as the third son of the 5th Earl of Mayo, the Hon. Robert Bourke qualified in law and had a successful career as a barrister. In 1863, he married Lady Susan Georgiana Broun-Ramsay, eldest daughter of the 1st Marquess of Dalhousie who, when Governor-General of India, had applied the doctrine of lapse with ruthless efficiency. She was also the grand-daughter of the Marquis of Tweeddale who was Governor of Madras in 1842-48. The Hon. Robert Bourke’s elder brother, the 6th Earl of Mayo, would also become Viceroy and Governor-General of India in 1869, only to fall victim to an assassin’s knife in the Andamans.

Robert Bourke entered the House of Commons in 1868 as a Conservative member. He was appointed Under Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs in 1874 when Benjamin Disraeli became Prime Minister for the second time. He relinquished the post in 1880 only to be reappointed in 1885 when the Lord Salisbury administration was sworn in. The next year he was made Governor of Madras. It was generally believed that this was a step in the direction of greater things.

Arriving in Madras, the Hon. Robert Bourke proved to be a hard worker. He personally oversaw famine relief measures in Ganjam, lobbied with the Government in England to extend the Madras Railway along the east coast up to Waltair and interested himself in civic works in the city. The drainage of George Town was a pet project. In 1887, the year he was made Baron Connemara, he took the unprecedented step of entertaining at Government House the delegates of the Indian National Congress, then holding their annual session in Madras. The papers of the time praised the Governor for his tact, kindliness, industry and caution. He was known to be a tireless traveller, going up and down the vast Presidency repeatedly, his faithful secretary (later Sir) J.D. Rees in tow.

But there were whispers that all was not well in Government House. Lady Connemara, it was rumoured, had not taken well to India. She complained of the mosquitoes and the heat. Above all, she could rarely sleep without the help of sleeping draughts. Even before leaving England, her health was not good. Indeed it had never been the same since the time when, shortly after marriage, Lord Connemara had come down with ulceration in his mouth. She soon suffered from the same complaint and contemplated going to the Continent for a cure when her husband brought her a medicine that helped her recover. But she had remained sickly ever since.

At Government House, the duties of the hostess were more or less taken over by Lady Eva Quinn, Lord Connemara’s niece. She was married to Captain Quinn of the 17th Lancers, who had been appointed ADC to the Governor. It was said that Lady Connemara, rather than being grateful to Lady Eva for helping her out, felt that her official position was being taken over by the younger woman. She suspected her husband of taking an undue interest in Lady Eva. There were other rumours as well. “Losing his head with the greatness of his position,” went an analysis in the New York World (28.11.1890), “he began a career of moral licentiousness that was the scandal of the little Governmental court, to the disgrace of English representation.” Whatever that meant, Lady Connemara was not so much bothered with it as she was with his Lordship’s closeness to Lady Eva.

Matters came to a head in 1888, when the Connemaras retired to Ootacamund for the hot weather. Lady Connemara insisted that Lady Eva could not be a guest at any of the gubernatorial houses and, so, was lodged in Coonoor. The Quinns decided it was time to return to England, and Capt. Quinn resigned his commission. In October the Governor’s household moved back to Madras, Lady Connemara remaining in Ooty, tended by Surgeon Major Briggs. Back in Madras, Lord Connemara, overlooking his promise to his wife, permitted Lady Eva to spend her last few days in India in Government House. He needed a woman there anyway, for the house was overflowing with guests, several being members of the British aristocracy, among them the Earl and Countess of Jersey.

What happened next is best given in Lady Jersey’s own words (Fifty One Years of Victorian Life): “Shortly after our arrival, Lady Connemara, who had been staying at Ootacamund, arrived at Government House, accompanied by the doctor and one of the staff. The following day she migrated to an hotel just as a large dinner party was arriving and we had to conceal her absence on the plea of indisposition.” Newspaper reports had it that Lady Connemara had drawn up a paper listing out her demands as preconditions for her staying on in Government House. When Lord Connemara refused, she had no option but to move, Surgeon Major Briggs arranging her accommodation at the hotel and helping her to shift.

The Quinns having left for England, Lord Connemara had to request the Jerseys to stay back so that Lady Jersey could help in taking care of the house guests. Among them were Sir Harry Prendergast of Baroda and his daughters. The absence of Lady Connemara was concealed so skilfully that most thought she was ill and confined to her rooms. Fortunately, as Lady Jersey recollected, the servants knew no English and did not communicate with the guests.

Eight days and several imploring letters later, Lady Connemara returned. But it was only for a brief while. During her stay in Government House, she discovered the true nature of her illness. Her condition, Dr Briggs explained, was of a nature that could have been transmitted only by a wayward husband who was infected himself. That decided Lady Connemara. It was back to the hotel and from there to England in March 1889.

Left behind, Lord Connemara continued with what was considered by The Madras Mail to be a “bright epoch in the annals of British administration.” The foundation stone for the Madras High Court was laid in 1889 and, a year later, work commenced on the Connemara Public Library. Shortly thereafter, a market in Chintadripet was named after the Governor. But the storm clouds were gathering for, in early 1890, Lady Connemara, much against the wishes of her family and Queen Victoria, filed for divorce.

To be concluded…

Where is the water? And why is rainwater harvesting forgotten?

In an alarming repeat of what happened in 2004 and several years before that, the water supply in the city is vast depleting. Thanks to a poor monsoon last year, an exploding population and scant regard to water bodies in the city, Chennai is facing the prospect of a parched summer and even a few months after that, at least till the next monsoon. And hopefully that should be a bountiful one. What is ironic is that Government is not following up on its own excellent scheme – rainwater harvesting.

The combined storage level at the four reservoirs of the city – Chembarambakkam, Cholavaram, Poondi and Red Hills – now stands at 3.4 tmc ft, roughly half of what it was at the same time last year. With Chennai needing 1 tmc ft of water each month, this is expected to last till July end. What after that?

The authorities are, as usual, trotting out a list of alternatives – Krishna water, Veeranam supply, and tankers that draw water from mofussil areas. None of these is going to be easy. The first, plagued as it has been with maintenance issues from the start, was recently closed for further repairs. Further, Andhra has not had a good monsoon either and, so, copious supplies, if they were ever that, cannot be hoped for. The Veeranam tank which supplies water to Chennai, especially to industries, dipped to 3 per cent of its total storage capacity as early as February this year. That necessitated reduction in Metrowater’s daily supplies to the city, especially to commercial consumers. The situation has since improved but officials termed the situation as precarious when it came to continued supplies from this tank.

That leaves the wells in the mofussil. These were dug in 2003/4 at Neyveli, Poondi, Tamaraipakkam and Minjur and supply 40 million litres to the city. These have, at best, a marginal influence on the water situation. Private tankers have been drawing water from wells in the suburbs and effecting supplies to the city. But residents in those areas have long since woken up to the dangers of over-exploitation of groundwater. In several localities, neighbourhood vigilance squads have been formed to prevent water tankers from accessing wells. However, the same awareness has not come about in the matter of deep borewells. Most housing developments are merrily indulging in this with scant regard for the future.

Which brings us to the question of rainwater harvesting. Why is the Government remaining silent on this? In 2004, it was this same regime in power that made a determined and highly commendable effort to get rainwater harvesting implemented in every building. The Chief Minister appealed to citizens through the electronic media and it paid rich dividends. The Kapaleeswarar Temple tank filled up in the monsoons that followed and groundwater was recharged in most localities in Chennai.

However, that practice has now fallen into disuse. Most buildings are not ensuring that soak pits and drain chutes are kept clear to divert rainwater to underground sumps. It is doubtful whether buildings that were constructed after 2007 have even implemented rainwater harvesting. Certainly, the CMDA and Corporation authorities are not attending to this with the diligence that it requires. Public structures, such as flyovers and bridges, certainly do not have any such scheme in place as is evident from the way run-offs simply stagnate at either end.

Given the way the city is expanding, conserving rainwater appears to be the only long- term solution. And considering that we were lucky to have nine bountiful monsoons since the last drought, we ought to have managed better. So can we please get back to basics and implement what was a very successful scheme and which is required even more now than when it was first thought of in 2004