Short and Snappy April 15th 2009

Loudly calling the Lord 

The Man from Madras Musings is as religious as they come and when young was taught that religion was a matter of personal faith and choice. And, therefore, if you felt like praying, it was best done within yourself. But these are changing times and MMM realises that in today’s environment just about everyone, irrespective of religion, caste, creed or sex (and we are truly secular here) wants to be as loud as possible when it comes to calling out to the Lord (or Lady, for who knows?). And what better way to do this than by using modern technology? 

Take the cell-phone for instance. The other day, MMM called someone and he almost rang off, for on connecting the first thing he heard was an automated voice in the most affected Tamil telling him that if he liked the song that he was about to hear, it was his for the payment of a small fee, or words to that effect. Curiosity made MMM hold on and what should come on but a Sanskrit hymn! By which time the person whom MMM had called answered the phone and that was that. On asking about his choice of ring tone (for that, MMM understands, is the correct term), MMM’s interlocutor said that he wanted to spread the good message around and so he had selected it. Did the package include the most affected voice (rather ironically in advertising parlance this is called the Voice of God), a kind of voice which you would associate with film song programmes on television where viewers call in for their favourite numbers? About that MMM’s friend had no clue. But then who said that the path to God(dess) was easy? If you want the hymn, you also get the affected announcer. MMM believes that the correct term is “free add-on package”. 

Leave aside the cell-phone. What about the buildings associated with religion? MMM (for here again we are secular) includes all types of religious buildings of every religion, sect, subsect and sub-subsect in this. All of them sport public address systems which blare prayers, songs and speeches at all times. And the smaller the structure, the larger its public address system. Those who live around these shrines have no choice but to begin, live through and end their day to music, such as it is. But then, have you reflected? High decibels mean high blood pressure and, therefore, are you not already on your way to God(dess)? One way or another?  

And sometimes (or very often), the songs being played on the PA system are not necessarily religious. Having run out of its stock of devotional numbers, a shrine close to MMM’s residence simply connected to an FM station and the divinity inside the shrine was entertained to songs of a wide variety – love, lust, joy, sorrow, death and one even on the virtues of drinking (as extolled by a lovelorn hero- Health Ministry to please note) etc. And so the neighbourhood was entertained. 

MMM wonders if a model code of conduct could be brought into effect like the Election Code which regulates the use of such public address systems by religious institutions. And unlike the election code, the one for religion ought to be in place at all times, not once in five years. But given our country where laws abound but implementation is virtually nonexistent, MMM is not very sanguine about such rules being followed. 

The inside of the shrines are not free from noisy excrescences either. You have recorded hymns, chants and repeats of certain syllables ad nauseam. Whenever MMM goes to pray at such shrines, he gets a kind of nervous twitch every time the syllable is uttered, for he gets all keyed up waiting for the repeat of the same thing. He can focus on nothing else. 

And lastly you have the horror of horrors. This is an automatic bell chiming, drum beating arrangement which is tucked away in some recess in the shrine and becomes operative on the pressing of switch. On doing so it goes thud thud clang-thud thud clang-thud thud clang continuously. MMM had bitten his tongue violently on occasion and suffered palpitations. The first time MMM heard it, he made a brave search for the contraption and found it in a loft in the shrine and below it, inscribed in large letters, was the name of the donor. MMM was surprised that such a man was allowed to remain at large and what’s more would want to take credit for perpetrating such horrific punishment on mankind. In our city, it would appear that those who wish to worship in peace and quiet are a minority (again this term does not mean any individual community, but only denotes a small group of people who are not, er, in a majority).

Homes for the Lord 

The Man from Madras Musings is aware that wayside shrines (once again of all religions) are an accepted part of life in this, our city. And the tendency to build a particular type of shrine at the intersection of three roads has been a part of our psyche for long. Such shrines are meant to ward off evil  and MMM is prepared to live with that. What really gets MMM’s goat (and here again, MMM would like to point out that he is a vegetarian) is that these shrines soon or later acquire what may loosely be termed a parish of sorts (once again, let MMM point out here that we are secular and the term is only being used as describing a congregation of the faithful) and the members of the parish (see clarification above on what this term means) become ambitious. They feel that their God(dess)/deity/totem or whatever should not be located beneath a mere tree, open to the elements. So what they do is to build a shrine. To begin with, the shrine is small and occupies a part of the pavement. Then, rather like the camel and the Arab, the shrine slowly expands. It acquires a granite platform, a spire/dome/tower and soon the space for pedestrians has vanished, crushed under the ambitious feet of the faithful. Soon it is time for the tree to call it quits, for who can tolerate bird droppings on the holiest of the holies? And so the tree is removed and the spire/dome/tower grows taller. Shortly after this it becomes regular practice to block off the street for festivals connected with the deity/holy personage worshipped there. From here to a public address system that calls (or drives away) the faithful is but the next step. And before you know it, the area is cordoned off for VIPS to visit the place. All this goes on until, many years later, the Corporation wakes up suddenly and realises that the shrine is on poromboke land. There are calls for demolition, counter calls for maintaining status quo and, in short, a good time is had by all. And then, and if and only if, as MMM heard a tutor say during the only computer training class he attended, there is a political will, the shrine vanishes, deeply mourned by the parish (congregation of the faithful).  

Tailpiece 

The Government is taking its job of fixing signboards and providing information on how to access various localities very seriously. But is it correct to have a sign painted on a subway on Mount Road that shows Parry’s Corner to the left and (hold your breath) Tiruchchirappalli on the right? 
 
 

Walajahpet Krishnaswami Bhagavatar

This April marks the 175th year of this disciple of Tyagaraja. My article on him appeared in The Hindu dated 24th April.

http://www.hindu.com/fr/2009/04/24/stories/2009042451240300.htm

Photos from Adhikara Nandi Sevai at Kapaliswarar Temple

The Adhikara Nandi sevai is always a thrilling spectacle to watch. My tribute to Papanasam Sivan who composed Kaana Kann Kodi for this occasion and Madurai Mani Iyer who made it famous, appeared in The Hindu today-

http://www.hindu.com/fr/2009/04/17/stories/2009041751260400.htm

I took some photos on the occasion of the Adhikara Nandi Sevai this year. These are below

1. Kapali on Adhikara Nandi

 

Kapaliswara on Adhikara Nandi

2. Karpagambal on Gandharvi

Karpagambal on Gandharvi during Adhikara Nandi sevai

3. Subrahmanya on Gandharva

Singaravela of Mylai on Gandharva during Adhikara Nandi sevai

4. Nagaswaram ensemble

Nagaswaram ensemble during Adhikara Nandi procession

5. Tavil in action

On Swami Silver and P Orr

On Swami Silver from P Orr

 

Did you know that Swami Silver was the name given during the British Raj to silverware from Madras and Bangalore that featured Hindu Gods and Goddesses? And that our own P Orr & Sons was a pioneer in this area? These, and other interesting facts emerged at a talk titled “Whose Taste? Madras and Indian Silver for the Raj” by Vidya Dahejia an America based expert in Indian art, hosted by the Prakriti Foundation on 8^th February. In a little less than an hour, the speaker took the small audience through the history of Swami Silver, illustrated through a power point presentation with some excellent photographs of silverware.

 

Madras calling card cases were famous even in the early 19^th century and these featured a god or two on the top thereby getting the name “Swami cases”. But the Georgian style featuring straight sides and less ornamentation popularised by Hamilton & Co of Calcutta was preferred over Swami patterns. However, the Great Empire Exhibition of 1851 at the Crystal Palace in London, the brainchild of Prince Albert, opened the eyes of the public to the beauty of Indian silver and soon Indian patterns were in demand for curry pots and marrow spoons. In Madras, Gordon & Co and later Peter Orr cashed in on this demand. The latter firm, later to become famous as P Orr & Sons, experimented with silver claret jugs that were plain all around except for a single band of swami work around the neck. The results must have been encouraging, for P Orr soon branched into silverware that featured elaborate swami work. There was the famous Madras Swami Tea Service. There were trays depicting the ten incarnations of Vishnu, sugar pots that had the child Krishna crawling out by way of handles, spoons that featured Nayak style animals on the handles and even whistles for syces, a sample of which was passed around for the audience to see.

 

The Prince of Wales’ visit to India in 1876 was yet another reason for swami silver to become popular. Maharajahs vied with one another to present the Prince with gifts and placed large orders on P Orr. The Gaekwar of Baroda and the Maharajah of Indore both gave P Orr tea services that featured swami work to the Prince. The Maharajah of Cochin gave a dessert service. Soon a line of swami jewellery also began doing the rounds.

 

It was not long before competition began catching up with P Orr. The first was Krishnaiah Chetty & Sons of Bangalore. That firm did swami work too. The most successful among the competitors was Omarsi Maoji of Kutch who too began swami work and first experimented with a claret jug. The firm slowly gave a new meaning to swami work by featuring less Gods and more animals and birds. Drawings used by the silversmiths of Omarsi Maoji have survived and these bear appreciative remarks by some buyers as well. Kutch work was highly prized and soon London shops began placing orders for silverware to cater to Yuletide demand. Soon other centres such as Kashmir (known for paisley designs), Alwar (for very delicate work), Calcutta (largely depicting rural scenes) and Bombay (urban scenes) began developing. Burma had its own silver styles too. These depicted scenes from the Jataka tales.

 

Ravi Varma was the source of inspiration from 1884 onwards when his oleographic press began churning out prints of his art works. P Orr produced silver articles such as tea caddies, milk jugs and tea pots with the Ravi Varma painting of Saraswathi depicted on them. Swami silver had come full circle. From brass and stone icons for inspiration, it had moved to paintings and prints which people of Madras preserve and worship even now. Interestingly, the speaker said, there is no trace of the Madras Swami Tea Service presented to the Prince of Wales. Her researches led her to the conclusion that the tea service may have made its way to one of the provincial museums of England and is perhaps awaiting rediscovery.

 

 

 

 

On P Orr and Ramsay Unger

Orr and Unger

 

For many years now, the Madras Club is home to John M Davies and his wife during the months of January and February. The Davies wing their way here rather in the manner of migratory birds and it is love for this city that brings them back each year. For Madras was once home. He was with P Orr & Sons in the 1940s and 50s. She was the daughter of S Ramsay Unger who ran the famous South Indian Royal Ice Factory in Egmore.

 

Meeting up with this couple and their memories of a Madras long forgotten was a wonderful experience. “Does your book on houses have Bens Gardens in it?” he asks as I hand him a copy of my book on Historic Residences. “It was a house that I knew very well at one time. When I came to Madras in 1946 it famous for its Sunday evening entertainments. Mrs Buck, the wife of the man who ran the YWCA had the run of the place having been given the responsibility by the Managing Director of Parry & Co who had gone on home leave following the war. Every Sunday a group would gather there to listen to gramophone music. There was plenty of dancing too. We could also have dinner for which the charges were Rs 2/8As.”

 

With that I am taken to Madras as it was around the time the Second World War was ending and independence appeared within reach. John was working as a draughtsman in a shipyard located somewhere outside London. Before the war the company had made yachts. But during the war the work comprised design and construction of torpedoes, landing crafts and launches. Work was monotonous and as it was a reserved occupation dealing with military designs, you could leave only if you found a job abroad. John, then young and ambitious and desperate to get out, responded to every advertisement that sought applicants for postings overseas. And one of these was from P Orr & Sons. The interview was held in London in November or December 1945 and the post on offer was that of manager for P Orr & Sons’ sheet metal furniture division for which they had recently tied up with Art Metal Company of London. John got the job and was all set to sail in February. But with a great shortage of shipping, berths were available only in July. He duly set sail for Madras, in a ship meant for troops and civilians. Cabins meant for two had to be shared by six and there was the ever present danger of deep sea mines. With a stopover in Ismaelia, the ship finally docked in Bombay – right in the middle of the monsoons.

 

“Nobody had prepared me for the rains,” remembers John. “All we were given were 100 clothing coupons with which we were expected to fit out our wardrobe. And rainwear was the last thing that entered our minds.” To John, Bombay presented an overall picture of shabbiness, with rain washed buildings with plaster peeling and mud on the roads. To cap it all, there was a postal strike and there was no way he could know if P Orr & Sons had got the message that he was coming over. Fortunately for him, they had and the local agent of Art Metal Company came to meet him at the docks, checked him into the Taj Mahal Hotel (“The bathroom was twice the size of the bedroom”), took him to a cinema to cheer him up and finally treated him to a heavily spiced Indian dinner. The next day he was put on the train for Madras, with a packed lunch. He also remembers a block of ice being placed in the middle of the cabin to cool it.

 

At the Central Station he was met by John Wood, a Director of P Orr & Sons in charge of its engineering section which imported optics and made theodolites for supply to the Public Works Departments of various provinces of India. He checked into Bosottos Hotel and remembers that it was a Saturday night and that Mount Road was full of Indian and English army officers. He walked down Blackers Road that evening. The next day, Sunday, was when John Wood supervised the cleaning of the P Orr showroom and John went along to help and become familiar with the operations. From then on, till 1956, P Orr & Sons was to be his life, for he not only rose within it to become a Director, but was also to meet inside the showroom the woman who would become his wife.

 

John remembers P Orr & Sons in all its glory. Besides John Wood there were two other Directors. Mackenzie Smith was the Managing Director and had his office on the top most floor of the Chisholm designed building on Mount Road. “He was a devout Catholic and lived with his wife and three daughters in Chesney Hall on Commander in Chief Road. Many a time the sisters of the Presentation Convent would call on him” recollects John. Ian Cormack was the other Director and he was in charge of the showroom besides being a trained gemologist.

 

Behind the lovely façade was a hive of activity that offered employment to a hundred and more. The basement had a packing section where the consignments meant for outstation clients were readied for dispatch. The ground floor had tiles that were imported from Italy and were laid under the supervision of Chisholm. Some of the display cases were also from Chisholm’s time though in the 1940s several had been replaced by the more au courant art deco designs. The coats of arms of local Rajahs and Maharajahs hung from the grilles of the first floor and these included the standard of His Exalted Highness, the Nizam of Hyderabad and Berar himself.

 

“Did he pay for what he ordered?” I ask, keeping in mind the ruler’s notorious niggardliness.

 

“A man from P Orr & Sons would go around the courts and canvass orders and also get payments” he says laconically.

 

On the right hand side in the basement were the foreman’s office and the jewellery workshops. There were six setters all of them Hindu. The polishers were all Muslims and some wore the tarbouche even while at work. “The youngest of them all became a film star”, says John with a chuckle, though regretfully he cannot remember the name.

 

Then there was the silver workshop with Natesan the master silversmith who died suddenly. John also remembers a chaser who wore earrings that came and went according to the state of his finances. The plating department had four people. P Orr did big business making trophies and cups, especially for the races.

 

Besides these there was a workshop for Smith’s movements which were then converted into full-fledged clocks with carpenters making the wooden cases. These clocks were sold under the P Orr brand. All these workshops were under the care of a man called Cheverton.

 

The ground floor had the showrooms. Two officers were in charge of the diamond table in the jewellery section. P Orr & Sons had a ready stock of precious stones. Solitaire rings made by P Orr were in great demand till the Great Depression and declined thereafter though the business in jewels continued for long. The Rangoon branch of P Orr did good business in gems as well. That showroom was looted by the Japanese during the war but the stores manager was clever enough to secret away as many gems as possible and make his escape. He walked all the way to India and later reported at the Head Office. After the war, an agent was stationed in Burma.

 

Next to the jewels section was the arms and ammunition showroom. The watch section was an extremely popular one. Twenty watch-makers laboured away in the first floor under the eyes of a Scot who was trained by Hamilton and Inches in horology. Down below was the showroom for watches. After the war P Orr acquired the franchise to sell Rolex watches. There was also the P Orr brand – the Orr Lion. Customers walked in all through the day and the most famous among them was Lady Nye, wife of the Governor of Madras, Sir Archibald.

 

If there was a department that won the stakes in popularity hands down, it was the gramophone department. Probably the P Orr & Sons orchestra had been disbanded by the time John came on the scene, but customers would always be present in this section and it was here that he met Pamela Ramsay Unger.

 

Pamela, unlike John came from an old Madras family. The Ungers, probably of Austrian origin trace their Indian roots to the time of Tipu Sultan when an Unger served as a gunner in the Madras Regiment. By the 1900s they had turned civilian with John Ramsay Unger working as a clerk in Parry & Co. He later went on to found Ramsay & Co, a firm of building contractors who were involved in the construction of Ripon Buildings. Pamela says that the plaque commemorating the construction also includes Ramsay & Co in the credits. John Ramsay Unger had many sons among whom Oscar became Chief Medical Superintendent of the Madras Jail. Another, S Ramsay Unger, went to the United States of America and qualified in refrigeration at Louisville in 1913 and returning from there, he set up the South Indian Royal Ice Factory (SIRIC), an ice making and cold storage unit located next to where the Albert Theatre is in Egmore today. “It was important that the unit be close to the Railway Station” says Pamela. A major customer for ice was the South Indian Railway Company (the SIR). The SIRIC stocked and sold besides meat, a whole host of food products, imported from various countries. At times they could rival and even better the availability at Spencers. Ramsay Unger’s business prospered and being a firm believer in real estate, he bought up land in plenty in Madras. He also ensured that he sent all his children to England for education. Of these, his son Raymond came back and joined him in the business.

 

Over the years there grew a rumour that Ramsay Unger was in reality Ramaswami Iyengar, who had changed his name to get a knighthood. Pamela chuckles in this memory. “He did have an extremely Brahmin face,” she laughs.

 

Pamela had just come back from England when she visited the gramophone records section at P Orr. John and she had fallen into conversation and into love at first sight. They were soon married. John who had lived in a large flat for bachelors on Commander in Chief Road, in a building that “probably dated back to the East India Company” with no kitchen and hip baths and generally managing with a bearer, now moved in with her and set up home at Edinburgh House, another Unger property close to the Egmore station. “It is still there,” says Pamela. “Now a marriage hall and a mere shell with its interiors completely changed.”

 

“Why and when did you leave India?” I ask.

 

“It was 1956. The P Orr business was winding down. We were still getting orders for engineering equipment but these were becoming fewer with the states favouring suppliers in their own territory. The branch in Ooty was still servicing the planters. Mackenzie Smith had long retired and Wood left in 1952. It was Ian Cormack who finally sold the shares to Karumuthu Thyagaraja Chettiar. By then, we were unsure of what would happen to us in India. We were still being allowed to repatriate our earnings but there were rumours that legislation to prevent this would soon come up. And we did not know what work we could survive with.”

 

The day of departure arrived and who should come calling but the polisher of P Orr who became a film star. He tore from his finger a silver ring with a cornelian set into it, presented it to John and burst into tears. It was an emotional moment for everyone.

 

The Ungers had also decided to wind up their business. The family migrated to Australia and the Ice Factory was sold to a consortium of four or five well-to-do landlords and businessmen of Madras including RSA Sankara Iyer of a prominent family of Kallidaikurichi bankers. It was said that much later Sankara Iyer felt uncomfortable with being associated with a business that sold fish and cold cuts and it changed hands once more. Today it does not survive any longer though the property continued to remain, a derelict premises, for very long.

 

John and Pamela moved to England and there he found employment with Garrards, the jewellers. It was work very similar to what he had done at P Orr & Sons, though settling down in post-war England was by no means easy. Madras never left their psyche. It stills exerts an attraction to keep them visiting it every year.